Smed was the one who called Sammi's mother about the illness. After all, he was the one who got her to the hospital. There was a time, he thought it might be too late.
What was he thinking, not checking on her more? He felt it was all his fault, and he stayed with her at the hospital, thinking he might get meningitis too.
She'd been so lethargic and feverish. They thought it was just the flu. Maybe a very bad sinus infection. There was still a horror in the back of his mind, how he remembered finding her practically lifeless. He'd feared the worse. Even once he got her to the hospital, it still worried him.
Smed found himself praying a lot. Maybe even making a promise that he'd do what ever it took to look after her. He wanted to see her healthy and happy, again.
"Oh, my God," he wasn't even sure he could spit out the words to her mother once she got there. "I'm so sorry." And he was. He still hoped he'd gotten her to the hospital in time. He'd gone days without even thinking to eat. Watching and waiting for her to get better.
Of course, her mother talked fondly of him. She told him Sammi still talked about him when she called home. She squeezed his hand. "I'm just glad you were here for her. I really think she's trying to grow up. You're a good influence."
Smed wasn't sure he believed that about himself, but he planned to be here for Sammi. It was the least he could do. But at the moment, he was sure it would be a slow go to get there.