“ Thanks for the drops, Dan. Don’t forget us at allergy season. ”

Daniel’s blood ran cold. He pressed the heel of his palm against his ear. “Who is this?”

“ You’ve been storing us in a damp cabinet for eleven months. The rubber bulb has mold. Real classy, Dan. ”

“ There, ” Geri said, satisfied. “ Canal’s open. Ferry’s running again. Now for the love of all that is sterile, do not use those drops again without checking the expiration date. And tell Claire the soup idea was good. We’re starving in here. ”

He stared at the ceiling. “I’m having a stroke.”

Daniel smiled, tapped his ear one last time, and heard only silence. Blessed, ordinary silence.

It was the third day of Daniel’s cold, and his head felt like a sealed terrarium. His nose was a faucet, his throat a sandpaper slide, but the worst part was his ears. Both of them. Clogged. Muffled. As if someone had stuffed cotton balls soaked in wet cement deep inside his canals.