Chapter 2: The Golden Boy’s Fever

With no one home, I packed a suitcase and walked the two blocks to my aunt’s place—past Mr. Henderson’s pickup, parked crooked by the curb, and waved at Mrs. Bell watering her petunias, pretending not to notice my suitcase. Aunt’s house always smelled like cinnamon and lemon Pledge, the kind of place where secrets settle in the corners.

Aunt Marie is the mayor’s second wife. She never had children of her own, but the late mayor’s first wife left behind Caleb—who everyone said was cleaner than a preacher on Sunday and twice as good-looking.

Aunt Marie moved into the mayor’s big old house after the first Mrs. Wright passed. Caleb—tall, sharp-eyed, the kind of man who makes people straighten up when he walks into a room—was her late step-son. The town gossips say he’s too good to be true: always volunteering, always looking like he stepped out of a magazine.

She insisted I call him Cousin.

It always sounded awkward, like a line from a dusty old novel. But she’d give me that look and say, “Call him cousin, Anna. You’re family now.” I never argued, even though it never felt right.

Caleb’s a good person, just a little icy with people.

Folks admire him from a distance—he helps out at church, shakes hands at the festival, brings pies to the fall bake sale. But he keeps his heart locked up tight. Sometimes I think he’s lonely, but maybe that’s just how he likes it.

Every girl in town wants him.

They flock to him at the summer barbecue, beg him for a dance at the Christmas fundraiser, and bring casseroles every Sunday. Some even switch to his favorite coffee, hoping he’ll finally look their way.

But Caleb’s got bigger plans—he’s not looking for love.

He’s got his eyes on City Hall, maybe even the state senate. Romance is just background noise, something to be managed, not felt.

Aunt dropped plenty of hints—even I could pick up on them.

She’d drum her fingers on the kitchen counter and say, “You’d be good for Caleb, Anna. He needs someone steady.”

"If you’re diligent and can marry Caleb, that would be your good fortune."

She meant well, I guess. To her, love was earned by hard work, not sparks or wild chemistry.

Her idea of diligence meant pestering Caleb.

I kept trying—showing up with coffee, asking about his work, offering to run errands he never wanted. I figured if I tried hard enough, maybe he’d see me. Maybe I’d finally belong.

But the more I tried, the more Caleb avoided me.

He’d vanish into his study, drown himself in spreadsheets or legal work, or go for long runs by the river. Every time I knocked, I heard his footsteps pause, then fade away.

One day, Mrs. Lopez from next door came rushing in, breathless. “Marie, I just saw Caleb—he’s burning up! You gotta get someone over here. He’s white as a sheet, then bright red. Maybe it’s the flu, or worse.”

Aunt’s eyes flickered, and she made a snap decision: no doctor. Instead, she turned to me. “Don’t call Dr. Owens. Anna, go check on Caleb. Hurry!” She herded me toward the stairs like a sheepdog.

I clung to the banister. “Aunt Marie, I barely passed biology. What if he needs real help?”

She just waved me off, her voice brisk. “You’re what he needs—just go, Anna. Don’t ask questions.”

My palms were sweaty as I crept down the hallway, heart in my throat. The family photos watched me like silent judges. I could barely breathe.

Standing at Caleb’s door, I saw his face flushed, sweat glistening on his forehead. He looked half out of it, shirt open at the collar, the room thick with the scent of cologne and something sharp, almost like rubbing alcohol. Even the desk lamp flickered nervously.

I blurted, “Caleb, I’m here to be the medicine…”

It sounded ridiculous, but I had nothing else. My voice wobbled, and I fiddled with my sleeve, eyes darting away.

He stared at me, eyes burning, and suddenly pulled me into his arms. My sneakers squeaked on the hardwood as I stumbled forward, heart hammering, his heat seeping through my clothes.

We were pressed so close I could smell the pine on his skin. His breath came rough, his grip almost desperate. I tried to lighten the mood, voice shaking, “Caleb, did you burn your brain?”

His skin was fever-hot, sweat dampening his hair. He closed his eyes, then pushed me away, voice strangled: “Go. Leave, quickly.”

His eyes were rimmed red, haunted. For a split second, I saw a wolf in the golden boy—a danger that made my breath hitch.

But I couldn’t walk away. I reached out, hand trembling, to touch his forehead. He grabbed my wrist, fast and hard. In one dizzying second, he pulled me onto the bed, the ceiling fan above whirring as if it could spin the tension away.

I landed on the crisp sheets, shoes still on, hair a mess. Right where Aunt had sent me—caught in a story bigger than myself.