by Linda Turner
Before she could even begin to come up with an answer, there was a soft knock at her back door and Clara's sweet, familiar voice called out,
"Yoo-hoo Becca? Are you up, dear?"
"No," she called back with a weak laugh, "but come on in anyway. The door's open."
That was all the invitation Clara needed. The screen door squeaked open and she rushed in like a ball of energy, completely unmindful of the fact that it was barely eight o'clock in the morning. Already decked out in her favorite pearls and a dove gray dress that draped her plump figure becomingly, she looked as neat as a bandbox, her cheeks softly colored with rouge and every one of her white curls in place.
With a smile as bright as the sunshine that streamed in through the east windows, she said, "I'm so glad you're an early bird like I am, dear."
Making herself at home, she took her favorite mug from the cabinet and poured a cup of coffee.
"I've been dying to talk to you ever since the competition last night, but I knew you were busy with people afterward and I didn't want to disturb you.
And then you didn't get home until late—I wasn't spying," she quickly assured her, "but I would have sworn I heard something outside. You know, I really think one of us should get a dog. I don't know why I haven’t thought of it sooner, but we are very isolated out here.
She was wound up and excited and in the mood to talk.
Becca's head was starting to throb, and she knew that if she didn't stop her, it would take another thirty minutes to get around to the main subject of conversation' whatever that was. As soon as Clara paused for a breath, she quickly cut in.
"What did you want to talk to me about?"
"Why, the cards, dear," Clara replied, as if it should have been perfectly obvious.
Pulling them from the pocket of her dress, she sank into a chair across the table from Becca and grinned at her, all but beaming' "I've been reading your fortune, and you'll never believe what's in store for you!"
Becca barely swallowed a groan. Oh, God, not the cards. Not now.
Sweet, grandmotherly Clara put great stock in the information she got from her tarot cards, and
Beeca usually got a kick out of watching her read them.
But she was in no shape for it this morning.
"Right now, I'd just be happy with a little sleep," she” said lightly, hoping to discourage her.
"I'm beat and the day hasn't even started."
But Clara, once started on the subject of her beloved cards, wasn't easily derailed.
"Well, I don't know about that dear," she said with a chuckle.
"You see, there's this man..."
"Isn't there always?" Becca said dryly. Knowing it would be pointless to remind Clam that she wasn't holding out for a prince, she went along with the game, teasing, "So where is this paragon of virtue? If he's going to ride to my rescue, he'd better do it with a pocketful of cash because that's what it's going to take to rescue me. All others need not apply."
So excited she could hardly sit still, the older woman's softly lined face crinkled into a delighted smile.
"That's just it, dear. I know you've said you're not interested in anyone, but some things are just meant to be. And you already know this man. It's Riley! According to the cards, you two were made for each other!"
The indulgent amusement in her eyes abruptly dimming, Becca told herself this was just another matchmaking stunt, and the wisest thing she could do was shrug it off. But her voice wasn't as light as she'd hoped when she said, "This time I think you screwed up, Clara. The sheriff and I aren't exactly friends, you know."
The older woman dismissed that rationalization' with a careless wave of her hand.
"Oh, but that's just temporary. The cards don't lie."
Not the least discouraged by Becca's negative response to her news, she sighed, "Isn't it wonderful? I knew you were too young to spend the rest of your life alone, and Riley's just perfect for you.
Of course, there's this thing with the election to get around, but fate will take care of that. And Riley's not an unreasonable man. Once he realizes that the two of you are meant to be together, he'll come around. Just give him a little time and everything will work out fine."
Feeling as if she had just stepped into a nightmare, Becca had a horrifying image of Clara flagging Riley down in town somewhere and having this same conversation with him.
Dear God, she'd never be able to look the man in the eyes again!
"Clara, please," she begged, "let's just keep this between us, okay? Riley doesn't need to know about this."
"But why not? He's got his future all spelled out for him. Wouldn't life be a lot simpler for both of you if he knew what to expect?"
Becca almost laughed, but there was nothing the least bit humorous about the hysteria bubbling up inside her, threatening to choke her.
"No!" she nearly shouted, startling them both. Her cheeks fiery with color, she struggled for control.
"No," she said more calmly.
"That wouldn't make things simpler at all. I don't think Riley's the type of man who likes this kind of surprise. If he's interested in me, I'm sure he'd like it to be his own idea."
Unperturbed, Clara laughed warmly.
"Well, of course he's interested. Haven't you noticed? It sticks out all over him, just like a rash. Isn't love wonderful?"
"But this isn't love, Clara," she said stubbornly, desperately.
"It isn't anything. Promise you won't mention this to Riley. What you saw in my cards is none of his business."
She wanted to argue—Becca could see in her blue eyes the struggle going on—but some of her panic must have finally struck a nerve.
Reaching across the table to pat her hand, Clara smiled sweetly.
"Well, of course, dear, if that's the way you want it. I won't say a word. It is, after all, your future, not mine. And I know how to keep my when I have to. Your secret's safe with me."
"But there isn't a secret!" she protested.
Gazing off into space, Clara hardly heard her.
"Men can be so stubborn about these things," she said, half to herself.
Cradling her coffee cup between her hands, she smiled fondly.
"Even my Alfred needed a push—and he knew he loved me from the moment he first laid eyes on me. He just wouldn't admit it until he was good and ready." When she glanced up, her blue eyes were twinkling.
"There was no way I was going to let him get away, of course. He just didn't know that."
Alfred had been the love of her life, her husband for forty-three years, and even though he'd been dead for ten, she still missed him terribly. Becca envied her that, but there was no way she was going to make the mistake of taking her predictions about Riley seriously. A dyed-in the-wool romantic, Clara hummed love songs like mantras and cried over old Doris Day movies. She thought everyone should be blessed with the kind of love she'd found with her Alfred, so she saw in the cards what she wanted to see. Anyone who took her seriously was just asking for trouble.
"But Riley's not Alfred," she began, only to frown in surprise at the sound of a car suddenly honking from the drive.
"Now, who could that be?" Stepping over to the window over the sink, she glanced out just in time to see Chloe step out of the Jacobs's car, her pillow clutched to her chest and her freckled face ashen.
"Chloe's home early," she told Clara, already starting toward the front door.
"Something must be wrong."
With Clara right behind her, she reached the front porch just as Chloe struggled up the steps.
"What are you doing home so early, sweetie?" she asked in concern.
"I thought you were going to stay at Karen's until after lunch. It's barely eight-thirty."
"I don't feel so good," the little girl mumbled. Her eyes huge in her pale face, she walked straight to Becca and buried her face against her waist, her pillow squashed between them as she clung to her.
"My stomach hurts."
; "Oh, dear," Clara clucked, frowning worriedly.
"Why don't I go upstairs and pull back the covers on her bed?" she asked Becca.
"And maybe run a warm bath? That might help."
"Thanks, Clara," she said, and turned to Karen's more, Laura, carrying Chloe's overnight bag up the steps.
"It looks like somebody had too much pizza."
"Not to mention ice cream, popcorn and peanut-butte rand-jelly sandwiches," the woman said with a sympathetic smile.
"Chloe wasn't the only one who was green around the gills this morning.
Karen's miserable. I tried to warn them last night that they were going to be sick if they kept stuffing themselves with everything they could get their hands on, but they wouldn't listen."
Becca bit back a grin.
"Sometimes we have to learn the hard way. Thanks for bringing her home, Laura. I'm sure she'll be fine once the pepperoni and peanut butter quit fighting each other in her tummy."
But after the other woman left and Becca urged Chloe upstairs for the tepid bath Clara had run for her, she soon discovered that there was more to her daughter's upset stomach than what she'd eaten. Heat radiated from her small body in waves.
"My God, you're burning up!" she exclaimed, frowning.
"Why didn't you tell me you were sick?"
"I told you I didn't feel good," Chloe muttered, only to gulp as she suddenly turned a funny shade of green. Mama!"
Becca got her over to the toilet just in time.
"Easy, sweetheart," she soothed, wiping at her tears when she collapsed weakly against her at last.
"It's okay. You're going to be fine now. Look, Clara's got your favorite jam as for you," she coaxed, pulling back so the five-year old could see the older woman, who hovered nearby like an anxious mother hen.
"Let's get you changed and into bed, and I'll bet you'll feel a whole lot better."
But she didn't. Not that morning or that afternoon. Everything she put in her stomach, even the smallest sip of juice, came right back up again.
Worried, Becca changed her sheets and sponged her down, and then, when nothing else seemed to help, just held her daughter and rocked her for hours.
Thankfully, Clara stayed to help and proved to be a godsend. Ignoring Becca's admonition to leave the soiled bedding and towels for her to take care of later, she washed and dried everything, then puttered around in the kitchen to see if she could come up with something Chloe could keep in her stomach. She cooked a pot of chicken soup, stirred up two kinds of jell-o, and even vanilla pudding, which in the end stayed down.
After only a few bites, an exhausted Chloe was out like a light.
Relieved, Becca and Clara collapsed at the kitchen table. It had been nearly twelve hours since Laura had brought her home.
Pressing a hand to her lower back, Becca sighed tiredly.
"Thank God her fever broke. I was beginning to get worried."
"If the poor little thing can just manage to sleep for four or five hours, she might have this thing kicked," Clara said, rubbing at her temples.
"She's got to be exhausted."
Suddenly noticing the pain in the older woman's eyes, Becca sat up straighter, the beginnings of a frown knitting her brow.
"You're looking a little pale yourself. Are you all right?"
Never one to complain, Clam immediately dropped her hand from her temple and forced a smile.
"You've got enough to worry about without bothering about me. I'm fine. Just a little tired."
But Chloe had complained of tiredness, too. And a headache. Alarmed, Beeca stepped around the table to press her hand to the older woman's forehead, which was more than a little warm.
"Okay, that does it," she said.
"You're spending the night. Tell me what you need from your house and I'll get it for you."
"Oh, no! That's not necessary"
"Yes, it is," Becca insisted firmly.
"Chloe's been in and out of your house a half dozen times this week, and she probably infected you with this darn bug days ago. If I let you go home now, I wouldn't sleep a wink for worrying about you. So it's settled. You're staying. What do you want me to get you for the night?"
She used her mother's voice, that no-nonsense tone that warned little girls and sick old ladies not to mess with her.
Too old not to know when she was beaten, Clara gave in graciously.
"Just the gown and robe lying across the foot of my bed. And my heating pad, so my feet won't get cold. during the night."
"Good girl," Becca said, grinning.
"Pick out a bedroom upstairs and I'll be right back."
After checking on Chloe to make sure she was still sleeping and would be okay for the few minutes she'd be gone, Becca went out, finding Clara's things right where she'd told her they'd be in her bedroom.
Gathering them up, she only took time to make sure the house was locked before hurrying back across the shadowy yards to her own house.
She'd barely reached her own property line when Margaret and Lucille stepped out of the darkness. Startled, Becca pressed her hand to her suddenly galloping heart.
"Lord, you scared me! What are you two doing outside in the dark?"
"Is something wrong with Clara?" Lucille demanded bluntly.
"I haven't seen her all day and she's not answering her phone."
"When we saw all the lights on in your house and you heading over to Clara's, we thought there might be a problem," Margaret added.
"What's going on?"
"It's nothing serious," Becca said quickly.
"She and Chloe just seem to have picked up some kind of flu"
"Oh, dear. What can we do to help?" -"You should have called us. Both of us could have come right over."
"No! I appreciate the offer, but I think it would be better if you stayed home. This thing seems to be pretty contagious, and I wouldn't want you two to get sick, too." Lucille, knowing she was right, gave in reluctantly.
"I just hate for you to go through this alone. You will call if you think of any way we can help, won't you? "
"Even if it's just to run to the store," Margaret added earnestly.
"All you have to do is call."
"I will," Becca said.
"But right now I've got to get back before Chloe wakes up or Clara starts feeling worse." Promising to keep them posted on the condition of her two patients, she hurried inside and upstairs.
Stopping at the open doorway to Chloe's room, she sighed in relief when she saw her daughter hadn't moved so much as a muscle since she'd left her. Two steps across the hall, however, she discovered that Clara hadn't fared nearly as well. In fact, a single glance was all it took for Becca to see that in the short time she'd been gone, all the color seemed to have drained from Clara's face. Pale but for the two spots of rouge on her cheeks, she was shaking with a chill.
"I'm so s-sorry about this, d-dear," she said through chattering teeth when Becca took a quick step into the room.
"You've got e-enough to worry about without having to m-mess with a sick old w-woman."
Hiding her concern, Becca forced a teasing smile.
"Are you kidding? I can handle you and Chloe with one hand tied behind my back. Here, let's get you into bed before you freeze to death. With a little rest, you're going to be just fine."
Clara's chills, however, turned out to be the calm before the storm.
Nausea hit her twenty minutes later, along with a fever. Chloe's own temperature started to spike again, at one point shooting up to a hundred and four, and Clara's wasn't far behind.
Worried, Becca rushed back and forth between the two patients' rooms, urging fluids on them even when they didn't want them so they wouldn't become so dehydrated.
They couldn't keep anything down, though, and by eleven o'clock, Becca was frantic and called the Rawlings Clinic.
"I know it's probably just the flu," she told Tate Rawlings when she came on the line.
"But their fevers are so hig
h, I'm really starting to get concerned.
Chloe's so little, I just don't see how she can afford to lose any more body fluids, and I know how dangerous the flu can be for the elderly.
Clara doesn't like to think of herself as old, she's eighty-one, and this has just about wiped her out. "
"I know what you're going through," Tate assured her.
"We've been getting calls since last night, and right now, the clinic is packed. I'm holding down the fort here, while Josey is out checking on those who can't come in. I'll give her a call on her car phone and tell her to stop by your place when she gets a chance. It could be awhile, though," she warned.
"The whole county's been hit hard by this, and we're short-handed. Just hang in there."
Becca tried, but it wasn't easy. Chloe, hotter than ever to the touch, couldn't do anything but cry, and poor Clara was too weak to make it to the bathroom without assistance. By the time the doorbell rang an hour later, Becca was more than a little frazzled.
"Thank God you're here!" she exclaimed when she opened the front door to find Josey Rawlings standing on the porch with her medical bag in hand. Dragging her inside, she almost fell on her in relief.
"I've tried everything, but nothing seems to be working. I don't know what else to do."
Well used to frantic parents and caretakers, Josey said calmly, "its okay, Becca. This garbage is going all around the county, and there's not much anyone can do but hang on and last out the storm. By this time tomorrow, you'll wonder what you were so worried about. Now where're my patients? Upstairs? Good. While I'm checking them out, why don't you take a minute to sit down and put your feet up? You look like you could use a break."
She didn't give her a chance to object, but simply started up the stairs like a woman who was used to having her orders obeyed.
Smiling for what seemed like the first time in hours, Becca dropped onto the couch and stretched her legs out, suddenly so weary she found it impossible to keep her eyes open.
Ten minutes or an hour could have passed. The next thing Becca knew, Josey was bending over her, gently shaking her awake. Horrified that she'd actually fallen asleep, she scrambled up, pushing her hair from her eyes.
