Time and Again

sitting on me. Besides, I think you broke my ribs."
    "Nonsense. I'm ten pounds underweight."
    "You wouldn't think so from here."
    Too cheerful to be annoyed, she scrambled up, took a firm grip on his forearm and, after some pulling and tugging, dragged him to his feet. "You can make the french fries."
    "I can?"
    "Sure." To demonstrate her confidence in him, she kept her hand in his and pulled him into the kitchen.
    "Everything's in the freezer. God, it's cold in here." She rubbed the bottom of one stockinged foot on the top of the other. "Here." She tossed him a bag of frozen fries over her shoulder. "You just dump some on a cookie sheet and stick them in the oven."
    "Right." He thought he could figure out the workings of the oven, but he hadn't a clue as to what a cookie sheet might look like.
    "Pans are- down there." She gestured vaguely in the direction of a cabinet while she contemplated the package of hamburger.
    "The meat's frozen," he pointed out.
    "Yeah. Well, we'll have sloppy joes."
    "Which are?"
    "Delicious," she assured him. Whistling along with the music, she began to rattle pots. Cooking was far down on her list of favorite pastimes, but when push came to shove she was willing to give it her best shot. "Here, use this." She handed him a long, thin piece of metal blackened by heat.
    The cookie sheet, Jacob surmised. He went to work. "I don't suppose there's a possibility of coffee."
    "Sure. I keep a stash." Still whistling, she dumped the chunk of frozen meat in a pot and set it on low. In moments she had water on to boil and cups waiting. "Heat, hot water, real food." She did a quick little tap dance before digging into a bag of potato chips. "You don't appreciate the little things until you can't have them," she said with her mouth full. "I don't know how people managed before electricity. Imagine having to heat water over an open fire. It must have taken forever."
    Jacob was watching the electric ring slowly turn red under the kettle. "Amazing," he agreed, and contemplated just eating the coffee grounds dry.
    "Those fries won't cook unless you put them in the oven."
    "Yeah." He wished she wouldn't watch him as he studied the dials. The Bake setting seemed safe enough-unless they were supposed to be broiled. He would have given a year of his life for the nutritional center in his lab.
    "Spend much time in the kitchen?" Sunny asked from behind him.
    "No."
    "Who would have guessed?" With a cluck of her tongue, she turned the oven on, then popped the tray inside. "Takes about ten, maybe fifteen."
    "Seconds?"
    "I love an optimist. Minutes." Because she understood what it was like to wake up ready to chew glass, she patted his cheek. "Why don't you go have a shower? You'll feel better. Most of this should come together by the time you're finished."
    "Thanks." As he made his way upstairs he figured it was the nicest thing she'd done for him so far.
    He spent a great deal of time cursing the ridiculously archaic workings of her shower. But she was right.
    He did feel better when he'd accomplished it. Using his ultrasound, he rid himself of his beard. Then he took his daily dose of fluoratyne for his teeth and, curious, poked inside the mirrored cabinet over the sink.
    It was a scientific treasure trove. Lotions, potions, creams, powders. A glance at the safety razor made him shudder. The toothbrush made him grin. He saw little puffs of white that appeared to be cotton, thin brushes, tiny pots filled with vividly colored powder.
    There was a cream with an exotic name. When he opened the top and sniffed, it was as if Sunny had joined him in the small, steamy room. He made quick work of putting it back on the shelf.
    There were pills. A cursory glance showed him that she had them for headaches, body aches, head colds, chest colds. He would make a note to take back a few samples. There was a small plastic case that held a circle of tiny pills that weren't marked at all. Since they were half gone, he assumed they were something she took regularly. That concerned him. He didn't like to think that she was ill. Replacing them, he wondered how he might ask her about her medication.
    He started downstairs, then simply followed the scents. He didn't know what she could have done with the hunk of frozen meat, but it smelled like heaven. And there was coffee. No perfume could have been sweeter. She handed him a cup as he walked in the door.
    "Thanks."
    "It's okay. I know how it feels."
    He sipped, giving her a clinical