Helping

Our downstairs neighbor and her friend come out of her apartment (where, it turns out, they've been cooking for us all day) as I'm going down to the truck to help unload from the flea.

"What can we do to help?" she asks. My head is full of cotton, and I'm nauseated, tired, and depressed, but I'm so touched for a second that I think I'm going to cry.

I stare at her blankly for a moment before saying, "Uh, I'm not sure."