With that pleasant notion clanging in his head, he walked to his own car to make the drive to the airport. Two days in Dallas suddenly sounded like a good idea. At least he’d be so busy, he wouldn’t be tempted to call her.
* * *
“I don’t feel so good,” Jonas admitted when he walked in the door that afternoon.
“You don’t look so good, either,” Tasha said, and instantly swept her palm beneath his hair to test his forehead. “You’re burning up, kiddo.”
He looked up at her through glassy eyes. “My head hurts, too, Tash. Really bad.”
Worry tingled in every cell in her body. Jonas never complained. Ever. Mimi used to say the kid’s arteries could be spurting blood and he’d apologize for the mess he was making. So if he said his head hurt, Tasha was willing to bet there was something more wrong than a simple headache. Worry jelled into fear and took a quick slide toward panic.
There was no one to ask if she was overreacting. No Mimi. No Nick. So, if she was overreacting, she’d apologize to the doctor and be embarrassed. But either way, Jonas would be safe.
She took his backpack from him and tossed it onto the closest chair. “Wait here a sec,” she told him before turning and sprinting toward the beauty shop. Sticking her head in the doorway, she ignored the customer with her head in the sink and called out, “Molly? Jonas is sick. I’m taking him to the doctor.”
“Poor kid—” Molly nodded. “Sure, go ahead. I’ll lock up here when I’m finished.”
“Thanks.” Then she was racing back to the living room, grabbing her purse and keys off the dining room table as she passed. Stopping beside Jonas, she ran one hand over his hair, then tipped his head back. New panic jumped inside her when he winced. “Your neck hurt, too?”
“A little,” he said, and one small tear squeezed from the corner of his eye.
Tasha’s mouth went dry. Could just be a pinched nerve, she told herself, but even she didn’t believe it. “It’s okay, sweetie. The doctor’ll fix you up. It’ll be okay.”
He nodded and walked beside her, squinting into the late-afternoon sunlight as they stepped onto the porch. Draping one arm around his shoulders, Tasha pulled him tightly to her side and kept him there as they walked to the car.
* * *
Dr. Weston had been around forever. At least, that’s what he claimed. The man looked as old as time, but his smile was young and bright and always comforting.
Until today.
He stepped out of the examination room, drawing Tasha with him. Looking back at Jonas, he said, “Sit right there, champ. We’ll be back in a minute.”
When the door closed quietly, Tasha blurted, “What is it?”
The old man took off his glasses and cleaned them on a white hanky he was forever pulling out of his breast pocket for just that purpose. Tasha had long suspected he used the action as a stalling tactic while trying to figure out what to say to worried families. Today he proved her right.
Setting his wire-framed lenses back into place, he looked at her, reached out one hand to lay on her forearm, and said, “I think it’s meningitis, Tasha.”
“Meningitis?” She took a step back, as if distancing herself from the man would distance her from his diagnosis as well. She’d been hoping for flu. Would have accepted strep throat. Would even have settled for mono. But this? Oh God.
“Don’t know what kind yet. Could be either viral or bacterial.” He was talking to himself now, as well as her. “I’m admitting him to the hospital right away. Get some tests done. Find out what we’re dealing with.”
“Hospital?” Fear, wearing tiny metal spikes, ran up and down her spine, delivering pain and panic. “Tests?”
The doctor nodded grimly but continued to pat her hand absently. “It’s probably viral,” he said, his voice that practiced soothing monotone doctors seemed to develop in medical school. Did they teach classes in that stuff? “If it is,” he continued, “we’ll send him home with some antibiotics and he’ll be fine in a few days.”
“And if it’s not…?” She wanted to know it all. The bad and the good. How could you possibly panic properly without all the facts?
He sighed wearily. “Bacterial carries a new set of threats, up to and including possible brain damage.”
Tasha staggered backward, slamming into the wall behind her. Breath rushed from her lungs. Her eyes filled and then spilled over with tears she was helpless to stop. Her gaze shot to the closed door behind which sat Jonas. Alone. Scared. Sick. Breathe, Tasha, she told herself. Breathe.
“I’m not saying that’s what this is,” Dr. Weston said sternly, “or that that’s what will happen. But I wanted you to know going in what to expect.”
“Does he know?” she asked, unable to shift her gaze from that closed door.
“Not yet.” Dr. Weston’s fingers squeezed on her arm until she looked at him. “I’ll tell him. But, Tasha, I want you to get a grip. He’s going to need you. He’ll be scared and I want you to be able to help him through what’s coming.”
She nodded. “What is coming?”
“A spinal tap.”
“Oh God.…” Nick, why aren’t you here? Oh God, she wanted someone to hold on to right now. She wanted … needed Nick. He loved Jonas, too. He’d know what she was feeling. He’d help her keep the screams that wanted to rush from her locked inside.
“It’s the only way to find out what we’re dealing with,” he said. “Now. I’ll make the call to set things up. Which hospital do you want to take him to?”
Santa Cruz, she asked herself, where the only person she knew well was Ms. Walker?… Or Chandler Community? Nick wasn’t there. But his family was. And suddenly she so didn’t want to be alone anymore.
“Chandler,” she said, then looked at the doctor. “After the spinal test … how long before we know?”
He shrugged. “If the lab’s not too backed up, a few hours.”
Hours of not knowing. Hours of prayer and hope and panic. Tasha dragged air into her lungs, then reached up and rubbed away her tears. She didn’t want Jonas to see her crying. “Okay then,” she said. “Let’s do it.”
He patted her arm again, gave her a wink, then turned back to the examining room to break the news to Jonas. Alone in the hall, Tasha looked up at the ceiling and murmured, “Mimi, do what you can to look out for our boy, okay?”
Then she headed outside to use her cell phone to call Nick.
CHAPTER 21
Fear perched on Nick’s shoulders on the long flight home from Dallas. It whispered in his ear. Taunted him with visions of disaster. Fear dragged icy fingers along his spine and twisted his guts into a tight knot.
Would it be easier if he were there, in the hospital, with Tasha? Would it help to worry as a team? He didn’t know. All he was sure of was his desire to be there. With her. Holding her.
Praying with her.
When Tasha called his cell phone, Nick hadn’t thought twice. He’d looked the producer in the eye, said, “I quit,” and hit the road running. Suddenly football and a shot at national TV coverage seemed small. Pitiful. All he could think of was an eleven-year-old boy, lying in a hospital bed. And Tasha, terrified and alone.
He couldn’t help the terrified part, but on the cab ride to the Dallas airport, he took care of the alone part of her situation. One phone call to Paul had alerted the Candellanos, and Nick knew his family well enough to know that Tasha would be taken care of until he could reach her. But it should have been him. He should have been at home when he was needed.
Why was Texas so damn big? If it had been a regular-size state, he’d have been a hell of a lot closer to California. To home. To Tasha. He never should have gone for the stupid interview. He didn’t even care about it anymore. Didn’t wonder when his agent would call. Didn’t see his career as the all-encompassing ego massage he once had. There were other plans flitting through his mind now. Better plans.
But they included Tasha and Jonas.
And without them, the plans
alone would be meaningless.
The four-hour flight seemed to take forever. At the airport, he’d sprinted for the front door and grabbed the first cab he saw. Now all he had to do was survive the forty-minute ride to the hospital. Tasha’s voice repeated over and over in his mind, breaking up until only certain words echoed through his brain. Jonas. Hospital. Spinal tap. Meningitis. Nick closed his eyes and mentally hurried the damn cab.
* * *
The Candellanos circled the wagons.
Just like in those old westerns you could catch on late-night TV, Tasha thought. They drew together, protecting each other with a strong line of defense.
And for the first time since losing Mimi, Tasha was on the inside of a tightly drawn circle of love. From her seat on the mint green Naugahyde couch in the waiting room, she shifted her gaze across the people waiting with her.
Tony, still in his sheriff’s uniform, was standing in the far corner, talking to Nick’s twin brother, Paul. Their sister, Carla, was making yet another coffee run with Stevie, Paul’s wife. Tony’s wife, Beth, since she was pregnant, and Tony didn’t want her near the hospital with its sea of germs, had been left at home to watch the kids. But Mama hadn’t left Tasha’s side since the family arrived, responding to a long-distance call from Nick.
Nick.
Come home, she thought, wishing he were there already. Knowing all of this would be easier to bear if he were there beside her. Love? Yes, she loved him. And whether he really loved her or not, she wanted him there. With her. With Jonas. His family was kind and supportive and … wonderful. But they weren’t Nick.
Tasha pushed up from her chair and paced. She already knew the dimensions of the waiting room where a handful of people—besides their group—sat, reading, watching the muted TV in the corner, and drinking god-awful coffee. Thirty paces long, ten paces wide. She walked it again. Then one more time. Nerves jumped inside her. She was supposed to be on a break. Since Jonas was sleeping, everyone said there was no need to sit beside his bed.
But she needed to be there.
She needed to watch each shallow breath rushing in and out of his chest. Besides, if he woke, she didn’t want him to be alone.
“I’ll be with Jonas,” she muttered to no one in particular, and headed across the sparkling cream-colored linoleum, her tennis shoes squeaking like tiny screams. Tony and Paul came away from the wall as one unit, each of them turning toward her, concern etched into their features.
Tasha smiled tightly but kept walking, headed for the long brightly lit hallway. Outside, it was twilight, a cool November evening. Here, in the hospital, time meant nothing. Day and night blended together beneath the glare of fluorescent lights. The air smelled of disinfectant and fear. Tasha hugged herself and drew a tight rein on her imagination. Televisions in the rooms she passed flickered in weird flashes of light. Someone moaned and her eyes squeezed briefly shut in sympathy.
She stepped into Jonas’s room and paused just inside. Shadows crouched in the corners, but from directly over the bed where the boy lay sleeping, a bright light poured down on him. His sweaty hair clung to his forehead. Needles attached to IV poles were stuck into his arms. Machines measuring his heart rate, blood pressure, and blood oxygen levels blinked in a series of numbers designed to confuse worried families. And beneath the blankets, his narrow chest lifted and fell in a regular rhythm. Tasha drew in a long, shuddering breath and didn’t even turn when a voice spoke up from behind her.
“He will be all right.”
“You sound so sure.”
Mama sighed heavily, then walked up beside her, taking Tasha’s hand in hers. “I am sure,” she said. “Jonas is young. And strong. And the doctors are good.”
Tasha stared at the child who meant so much. Outside, clouds were gathering for a storm and families gathered for dinner. Life moved on in the universe beyond the hospital corridors. But here, in this one corner of the world, everything felt as if it had been frozen. As if clocks had stopped. As if the world had taken a breath—and held it. “He’s never been this sick before.”
“Children get sick, families worry.” Mama’s hand squeezed around hers. “Is the way when you love.”
“It’s hard.” Tasha closed her eyes briefly and felt a stray tear snake down her cheek.
“It is.”
Tasha appreciated that Mama hadn’t tried to buoy her up by saying, “Don’t worry.” Her words were simple, quiet, and filled with a sympathetic unity that made Tasha feel a little better despite the fear curled in the pit of her stomach. She’d done the right thing by admitting Jonas to Chandler. Here she wasn’t alone. Here there were people who cared—and though Nick wasn’t here, it was a comfort to at least have his family standing beside her.
She took a breath and shifted a look at the older woman beside her. Stoic, she thought. Unflappable. Mimi would have liked her. “Nick thinks he loves me,” she blurted in a harsh whisper, and couldn’t imagine, after it was said, what had prompted the words.
Mama only smiled. “This I knew.”
“You knew?”
“I can see it in him.”
Tasha watched the woman’s eyes for signs of disapproval, and when she couldn’t find any, she felt compelled to make Mama understand. She pulled her hand free. “Well, he has to stop.”
Mama’s smile darn near glowed. “You love him, too.”
“That’s not the point.”
The older woman chuckled. “Love is always the point.”
“Not this time,” Tasha murmured. “It can’t work. Nick has to stop this.”
“Why?”
“Because…” What was the use? Tasha threw her hands up. “You guys are impossible to argue with.”
“Is nothing to argue about. Tasha,” Mama said, reaching for her hand again, “the heart knows what it wants. What it needs. Listen to yours, as Nicky listens to his.” She gave her hand a squeeze, then said, “You’re a good girl, Tasha. Strong. Smart. Don’t turn your back on love. Is a gift that only gets bigger and better with time. When love comes, embrace it.” Mama handed her a clump of neatly folded tissues. “Now dry your eyes and blow your nose. Your family will be here when you need us.”
Tasha’s vision blurred as Mama left the room. Turning her gaze heavenward, she whispered, “Hurry, Nick, I need you. We need you.”
“Now that’s what I call timing.”
“Nick?” Tasha whirled around and saw him, standing in the doorway. His hair stood on end, no doubt from hours of him jamming his fingers through it. His eyes were tired, and a shadow of whisker stubble dotted his jaws. And no one had ever looked better to her.
Hope and joy and relief clashed together in her chest and Tasha surrendered to the wonder of it. Her breath left her in a rush and her heartbeat thundered in her ears. Just hearing his voice had made everything easier. Less terrifying somehow. Now all she needed was to hold him and be held.
He took one long step into the room and met her as she threw herself at him. Nick’s arms came around her and he buried his face in the curve of her neck. “How is he?”
She burrowed in closer to him, as if trying to climb inside his skin. “Not good. His fever’s still high. He doesn’t seem to be responding to the antibiotics.”
His hands stroked up and down her back, soothing, comforting. “Do we at least know what we’re dealing with?”
“No.” Tasha pulled her head back and looked up at him. Worry glittered in his eyes, and seeing it made Tasha come out of her own fears to try to help ease his. “I mean, we know it’s meningitis. We just don’t know if it’s viral or bacterial.”
He sighed and shot a look at Jonas. “When will we know?”
She shook her head. “The lab’s been backed up. Dr. Weston says we should know soon, though. They did a spinal tap, Nick.” She swallowed hard. “They stuck a needle in his spine. Jonas cried.”
“I know, baby.”
“I couldn’t help him.”
“You did that just by being here, Tasha.”
Nick shifted his grip on her, cupping her face in his palms, scraping the pads of his thumbs across her cheeks. His gaze moved over her and he took his first easy breath in hours. He knew no more than he had when he’d left Texas—but being here, with Tasha, made the uncertainty more bearable. He hadn’t felt whole until he’d stepped into this room and found her waiting. Now that they were together, he knew they could beat anything. “He’ll be okay.”
One corner of her mouth quirked briefly. “That’s what your mother said, too.”
“Well then,” Nick said, pulling her close for a hard hug as he swallowed back his own fear, “that settles it. Mama’s never wrong. Just ask her.”
Tasha held on to him, wrapping her arms around his middle and looking back over her shoulder at Jonas, so still and quiet. “I’m so scared, Nick.”
“Me, too, baby,” he said, keeping one arm around her shoulder as he moved her closer to the bed. Jonas looked pale and small and so damn young. Nick’s heart ached as an unseen fist gave it a squeeze. Spinal taps and hospital gowns. Some things no kid should have to know anything about. But he would be okay, Nick reassured himself. Jonas was tough.
He had to be all right, because Nick couldn’t imagine his life without the small boy who’d turned it upside down.
Seconds ticked into minutes and minutes into hours. Time crawled past, with Nick and Tasha sitting side by side in the darkness. Nick held her hand tightly and watched Jonas’s chest rise and fall with each shuddering breath. Nurses came and went with silent steps and glances filled with empathy.
Candellanos drifted in and out of the room in a show of solidarity—then leaving Tasha and Nick alone to stand guard.
The boy’s cheeks and forehead were flushed and dry. Machinery positioned on the other side of Jonas’s bed flickered with lights and readings that Nick couldn’t understand. All he heard, all he concentrated on, was the steady beep marking each of the child’s heartbeats.
He heard the music in those beeps and clung to the steady hope of them. Jonas would be fine. He had to be. It couldn’t all have been for nothing. Jonas had found Nick. He’d brought them all together. He couldn’t die. Not now. Not ever.
Loving You Page 27
