Part 26 (1/2)
Then, a few feet away, thras.h.i.+ng arms and legs rose from the water. He rushed toward her, hampered by yet another, smaller wave. When he caught hold of one of her arms, the other smacked him in the shoulder.
”Sweetheart.” Her eyes were tightly closed, and she didn't seem to hear him. ”Honey-pie!”
Her wet lashes blinked open. He yanked her against him, and she latched onto his body. ”You're okay,” he said, keeping her close. ”You're fine.”
”I almost died!” she said, in Rebecca-like tones.
”Not even close.” Her hair was sodden, and he finger combed it off her forehead.
Her breath was sawing in and out, and he just held her, waiting for her to calm as he kept one eye on the incoming waves. Finally, she shuddered, and her head dipped, her forehead against his chin. ”I feel like an idiot.”
”It was my fault,” he said, moving a little closer to sh.o.r.e, Jane still in his arms. ”I wasn't paying attention.”
”I was thras.h.i.+ng.”
”More like floundering.”
Her head lifted. ”Gee, thanks, I feel so much better now.”
”It's no big deal.”
”I don't like looking foolish,” she said. ”You didn't panic.”
Only when I thought I might have lost you. He shook the words out of his head. ”You don't have to corner the market on competence, Jane.”
”Funny you should say that.” She wrinkled her nose, then her pretty, clear eyes gazed past his shoulder at the horizon. ”My father told me not long ago it was better to be competent than lovable.”
”Jesus,” he muttered, then he drew her head to his shoulder, holding her cheek to his salty skin. ”You're a pain in the a.s.s, Jane, you know that? But somebody's going to find that lovable about you. Somebody's coming along real soon and you'll know just how lovable you are.”
She was still for a moment, her mouth touching his wet shoulder, pressing it there in the semblance of a kiss.
The water, the world, swirled about them for a quiet few moments. Then Griffin cleared his throat. ”Want to go any farther, Jane?”
”No.” She had begun to s.h.i.+ver, but he didn't think it was from the sixty-eight-degree water. ”I'm afraid I'm already out of my depth.”
EVERY PARENT KNEW the worst day in a normal family household was the day when all the kids were hit with the flu at the same time-and then the mom was struck down too. Tess tried telling herself that wasn't happening, though. It was the was.h.i.+ng out of the barf bowl for the tenth time that was making her nauseous. She was only burning up one moment, then s.h.i.+vering with cold the next because one minute she was running to her room where she'd placed the two middle boys in her own bed, and the next she was sitting with the baby on her shoulder, trying to console his unhappy whimpers.
She and Russ were the only ones who hadn't disgorged the contents of their stomachs. But she had a terrible feeling it was only a matter of time.
The sounds of retching reached her. Duncan or Oliver-too sick to be counted on to make it to the bathroom-was making use of the big plastic bowl that she planned to never see again once this was over. Closing her eyes, Tess willed her legs to move. When they didn't obey, she raised her voice. ”Rebecca, do you think you could-”
The remainder of her sentence was drowned out by the pitter-patter of her daughter's feet on a mad dash from her ”bower of death”-the teen's own words-to the bathroom across the hall.
There would be no help there.
She pushed off with her bare feet and managed to stand. A short spin of her head later, she stumbled toward her needy children. Women manage alone all the time, she reminded herself. It's good preparation for your life ahead.
Tears gathered, but she blinked them away. She needed to be clear-eyed to wash the despicable bowl. Next she wiped down Duncan's and Oliver's faces with a cool, wet cloth. When she asked them if they could take a sip of water, they didn't bother answering. She was a little more forceful about offering the pediatric drink that she tried to foist off as ”juice,” but they both turned their faces away.
In a last-ditch effort, she dangled the image of cold cola-a rare treat-and it was testament to how ill they felt that neither gave a twitch.
Rebecca's footsteps sounded zombielike as she moved from the bathroom back to her bed. Tess wet another washcloth and bathed her daughter's face as she lay sprawled on the mattress. The cell phone on the small table beside Rebecca's pillow started a little dance. Things were serious when the teenager didn't even reach for the device to check the sender of the text.
”I want Daddy,” Rebecca moaned, her eyes squeezed shut.
Things were serious indeed. Her daughter hadn't called her father ”Daddy” since her thirteenth birthday. David, Tess thought, then pinched off the fruitless longing. He was somewhere pus.h.i.+ng pedals in circles or lifting a weight that wasn't the weight of their family's situation.
She stood over her daughter, rocking the baby back and forth. Perhaps the movement would counterbalance the seasick feeling in her stomach. Her decision-making process felt just as unbalanced as she pondered her options. ”Maybe I should call Uncle Griff,” she said.
One of Rebecca's eyes opened. ”You called Uncle Griff. He said he was rus.h.i.+ng right over...to put a quarantine sign on the door.”
”I didn't tell him we needed help.” That had been eight hours ago, when she'd thought the kids were suffering from a mild tummy bug.
”If you call next door again,” Rebecca said, ”ask for Jane. Men aren't any good at caretaking.”
More tears burned behind Tess's eyes. Her lovely, sweet, trusting little girl had already been disappointed enough to internalize that message. Men aren't any good at caretaking. Hadn't her father given up on that job during the past few months?
Anger added itself to Tess's mix of sickness and sadness. David had done this! David had fractured Rebecca's faith. The thought put a bit of steel in her spine, and she sought to rea.s.sure her teenager. ”I'm here to take care of us. We don't need anyone but me.”
One-handed, she pulled up the covers around Rebecca's neck while the other hand balanced Russ, draped over her shoulder. Then she put the drowsing baby down in his crib and ignored her own queasiness to gather the clothes and towels strewn around the house. She filled the was.h.i.+ng machine and pressed Start, just as she heard yet another round of retching.
Duncan or Oliver or possibly both had missed the bowl. Standing in the doorway of her bedroom, holding on to the jamb to keep herself upright, she stared at the miserable children and the messed sheets. For just a moment she envisioned that other life she'd stopped fantasizing about the night David had dropped by with his carton of files. It beckoned more seductively than before. Shared custody-and they'd be sick on David's watch. Hours of blissful alone time. A different man with whom she could play on the beach while her children were someone else's responsibility.
”Mommy,” Duncan whispered.
The plaintive word broke her heart. She hurried toward her little guy. ”Mommy's here,” she a.s.sured him, as she moved forward to tackle the task of changing sheets and pajamas. ”Mommy will always be here.”
A couple of hours later a knock roused her. She'd been half-asleep on the living room couch, the baby slumbering on her chest. Her movement woke him, and he started to cry a little.
Tess just managed not to join him as she pulled open the door. Her brother stood on the doorstep. ”Plague over?” he asked. ”I've brought provisions for you and the minions.” He waved a greasy bag in her face that was branded with the golden arches.
The smell of the burgers and fries-usually one of her favorites in the whole world-wafted in on a briny breeze.
Tess felt herself go green. Then, Russ still in her arms, she slammed the door in Griffin's face and ran to the kitchen sink where she left the contents of her stomach and entered the eighth circle of h.e.l.l. According to Dante, the eighth circle was the provenance of Fraud, which made perfect sense because she'd have brief moments of elated good health following a trip to the bathroom before queasiness rose up once again.
Now she was glad she was alone with the kids because she couldn't imagine wanting anyone to see her like this: worn down, lank-haired and sweaty around the edges.
There wasn't a name for the next level of h.e.l.l, the one in which the baby finally caught up with the rest of them and started throwing up too. It was his first experience with the oh-so-unpleasant activity, and clearly it frightened him, even though Tess had been prepared enough to unearth another plastic bowl.
He cried through the whole procedure.
Sitting on the living room couch, she cried afterward, silently though, so as not to frighten the kids. Mom needs to be strong, she reminded herself. Mom can go it alone. While Russ kept up a low whimper, she half dozed and held him close to her heart, the bowl in her lap at the ready.
When the baby's weight lifted from her chest, she thought the sudden change was part of a dream. Since David's fortieth birthday, rarely had anyone taken Russ from her when he was fussy-and she'd asked for help even more rarely. An almost-fatherless baby shouldn't have his mommy pa.s.s him off too.