“Nathan’s sick.” Liz waited in the doorway, watching Johnny for a reaction.
He fiddled with his fingers. “I know.”
Big, dumb fingers, she thought. Do something, Johnny. Get up, go to him.
“Probably just a cold,” he finally said.
She resisted the urge to shove him into action. “You know as well as I do what it is.”
“They said it hasn’t got this far north yet.” Johnny’s voice was weak.
“They lie. All the...