After I brush and change into my duck pajamas, I walk to the bed. Eli is on top of the covers reading a book. I turn down my side of the bed. “Is it okay if I sleep in here tonight?” I ask him.
“Of course.” He sets his book aside and gets under the covers.
“The couch makes my neck hurt,” I explain. “This doesn’t mean that anything has changed,” I clarify.
He freezes. “Okay, Bess,” he replies.
He turns off the bedside lamp and I lie there staring at the ceiling.
“What took you so long coming back?” Eli asks.
“I was talking to Mr. Jacobson.”
He chuckles. “I’m afraid to ask what he had to say.”
“He said I’ve been feeding the wrong fucking wolf.” I roll away and pull the covers up under my chin.
“What does that mean?” Eli asks me very quietly from his side of the bed.
“I have no idea.” I don’t know yet what it means. But it does give me something more to think about.
25
Bess
The next morning, I wake up and Eli is already gone. I reach over and find that his side of the bed is cold. He has pulled the covers up, though, and straightened the side of the bed he sleeps on. I roll over and find Kerry-Anne standing in the doorway of my bedroom. She has a stuffed bunny dangling from her fist.
“Kerry-Anne?” I scrub the sleep from my eyes with my fingertips. “Did you need something, sweetie?”
“My daddy’s sick,” she says softly.
A frisson of shock hits my nervous system. “You mean right now?” I ask carefully.
She nods. “He’s throwing up.”
“Okay,” I say and toss off the covers. I haul myself to my feet. “I’m coming.” I blink hard, trying to wake up. “Do you know where Eli is, honey?”
She doesn’t answer me. Instead, she gnaws on her lower lip and her gaze dances around the cabin. I turn her with a gentle hand on her shoulder and follow her out the front door, across the grass, and I walk right into Aaron’s cabin like I live there. My bare feet are damp from the grass, so I wipe them on the mat. Immediately I hear the sound of Miles crying from his portable crib. But then I hear Aaron heaving in the bathroom. I don’t know which way to go.
“Aaron,” I call out.
The only sound I get in response is more heaving. I find him in the bathroom hunched over the toilet, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers. His cheeks are ruddy, his eyes are watering and bloodshot, and every time he moves he wretches again.
“Have you taken any meds?” I ask him.
“Can’t keep them down,” he says on a moan, his voice cracking. He lays his face on top of his hand, which rests flat on the toilet seat. At least his face isn’t directly on the porcelain. I get a washcloth from the cabinet, fold it, and place it between his hand and the seat.
“Did you try the suppository?”
He lifts his head. “The what?” But moving his head makes him sick again.
“I picked it up yesterday. It was supposed to be for emergencies.” I go to his medicine cabinet and retrieve all the bottles, looking for the ones that I picked up after chemo. “This one,” I say and show him.
“I can’t keep them down, Bess,” he croaks.
“This one goes up your butt, dummy.”
His eyebrows raise, but nothing more. He doesn’t move his head. “Up where?”
“Up your butt.” I mime sticking it up my rear end. Then I peel the wrapper off and hold it up. “Do you want to do it, or do you want me to?”
He holds out his palm. “I love you dearly, but I’m not letting you shove anything up my ass, Bess.”
I place it in his palm, usher Kerry-Anne out of the room, close the bathroom door, and then I walk toward the source of all the noise in the house. Miles is wailing his guts out. I look into his crib to find him red-faced and squalling, his little arms and legs kicking in frustration. “What does your dad do when this happens?” I ask Kerry-Anne.
“He picks him up,” she says.
“Oh.” I reach into the crib and lift his squirmy little body into my arms. The wailing doesn’t stop, though. “What next?” I ask Kerry-Anne as I gently bounce him from side to side.
She points to the dresser, where a makeshift changing station has been set up.
“Okay. We got this,” I say, more to myself than to her.
“It doesn’t look like you got this,” she replies.
That’s because I don’t. I lay Miles down and remove his sodden diaper, wipe him gently, and put on a new one. I wash my hands with an extra wipe. I don’t even bother to put his pants back on. I pick him up and look at Kerry-Anne. “Now what?”
“Feed him,” she says. I can barely hear her over his crying.
“Does he eat real food yet?”
She shakes her head.
“Just a bottle?”
She nods and sticks her fingers in her ears. I’m with her. If this sound was muffled, it would be a lot more tolerable.
“Do you know how much of this stuff to mix?” I ask her, looking at the bottle of water on the counter and the can of baby formula next to it. I say it loudly so she can hear me over the screaming. Miles is even pushing away from me with his arms and legs, he’s so mad.
She shakes her head.
I very quickly read the back of the can, and then mix it up, give it a good shake, tilt him back, and stick the bottle into his mouth. He immediately latches on to it, whimpering around the nipple as he calms himself down. Tiny little sobs leak out every few breaths, but now I can at least hear myself think. “I thought he never cries,” I say dryly to Kerry-Anne.
“He does sometimes,” she says softly.
“How long has your dad been throwing up?”
“A while.”
“Did you just wake up?”
“No.”
“How long has the screaming been going on?”
“Long time,” she says.
“And your dad’s been throwing up for a while?”
She nods.
I wish she’d come and got me hours ago. But what’s done is done.
With Miles cradled in my arms, I go and knock on the bathroom door. I hear a grunt from the other side, so I turn the knob and crack the door. “I hope you’re decent,” I say, and I step into the room. I find Aaron lying on his side on the linoleum floor, curled into a ball. “How’s your butt?”
“Shut up, Bess,” he says quietly, his voice hoarse. His throat is no doubt raw from all the heaving.
I look down and find that Miles is now quietly sucking down his breakfast. “I see that Miles got his impatience from you,” I remark.
“Nope. That’s all Lynda,” he says.
“No way. That temper tantrum was all you.” I walk to the sink and soap up a hand towel. “Wash your face,” I say as I lean down next to Aaron. Miles rests on my knee, his shoulders in the crook of my arm.
“Give me a minute,” he says. He pushes the hand towel back toward me.
So I very gently wash around his mouth and his cheeks with the cloth, flip it over and wipe the soap off, and I cushion his face on a clean towel on the floor. Then I wash his hands, soaping each finger up, because he did just shove something up his butt.
“Feeling any better?”
He nods.
“Good.” I look around. “What do you need for me to do?”
“You’re doing it,” he says as he buries his face deeper into the towel.
“Why didn’t you call me?” I ask as I pick up his meds and read them one by one. I make a little pile of pills he needs to take as soon as he’s well enough to keep them down.
He burps weakly. “I was a little busy.”
Kerry-Anne has retreated to the living room. I hear cartoons begin to play on the TV. I sit down on the toilet seat and hold Miles while I try to figure out what happens next. “Do we need to make an emergency trip to the doctor?”
He shakes his head almost imperceptibly. “No. This is normal.�
��
“This has happened before?”
“It’s better now than it was.” He very slowly pushes up to where he can sit up. Even his hair is damp and gross. “I didn’t know there were suppositories. It may be helping. Thanks.” He looks at Miles. “He was getting pretty worked up.”
“Are you kidding?” I say. “He was spitting mad!” I look down at his angelic little face. “I didn’t know something so small could make such a ruckus.”
“Oh, that’s nothing. Just wait until all three of them get a stomach bug at the same time. That’ll really test your mettle.” He motions for the damp towel I left on the counter. I take out a fresh one instead and hand it to him.
“Where’s Gabby? Isn’t she supposed to be babysitting today?”
“She’s not supposed to get here until noon today. She wanted to go somewhere with Katie.”
“Where’s Sam?” Sam is twelve. Surely, she could have helped, or at least called for help.
“She went to the store with Eli!” Kerry-Anne calls from the living room.
“Oh.” So that’s where Eli was.
“I heard Eli when he came to get Sam to go to the store. I was still in bed. I was nauseated, but not puking yet. Then I lifted my head, and it was downhill from there.” Aaron shrugs in a self-deprecating manner. “I’m feeling a little better.”
“As is evidenced by the fact that you can hold your head up now.”
He groans. “That was miserable.”
“Do you think you can keep down some meds now?”
“Maybe.” I hand them to him, and he takes them completely dry before I can even go and get him a drink. He looks down at his naked chest. “I feel gross.”
“Do you want to take a shower?”
He nods. “I sure do.”
“Do you need some help?” I have no idea what to do for him.
“You don’t have to. I can take my shower later.”
“I can help you, Eli.” I stand up, holding Miles securely in one arm, and go to the shower, turn it on, and adjust the water temperature. I jerk my thumb toward the tub. “Hop in.”
He climbs in, boxers and all, and sits down under the spray. Water fills his mouth and he spits it out. Then he does it again. And I realize that he’s just washing his mouth out.
“Here.” I hand him a clean washcloth and a bar of soap. He washes off really quickly. “Do you need help with your hair?” His hair was soaked with sweat when I got here.
He stares at me through one slightly open eye. The other is tightly closed. “Would you mind?”
Miles is calm now, so I go and get his bouncy chair, set it on the bathroom floor, and put him in it. He bats at the plastic toys that hang down in front of him.
I rest on my knees next to the tub and reach for the bottle of shampoo. As I squirt some into my palm, Eli says, “Still loving the duck jammies.” His gaze narrows in on my chest. “Are you wearing a bra?”
“No, so stop looking at my tits,” I snap. He jerks his gaze upward.
“Sorry,” he says sheepishly. But he’s grinning with mischief.
“I’m glad you’re feeling better, you jerk.” I scrub his hair a little too hard and shove him back under the shower stream so he can rinse. He laughs lightly.
I turn off the water and sit back. “There,” I say, and I reach into the cabinet and retrieve a towel. These are the same monogrammed towels his mom used when we were kids. They’re threadbare now, but they bring up so much nostalgia that I still love them. I lift it to my nose and sniff. It smells like his mom’s linen sachets. “Can you get out by yourself?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
I pick Miles up and take him and the bouncy chair into the bedroom with me. I listen at the bathroom door as Aaron gets out of the tub. I find some clean boxers and a t-shirt in a drawer and toss them into the bathroom. He grunts out a thank you.
When he’s done, he stumbles to the bed and falls on to it, where he stares up at the ceiling. “I need your help, Bess,” he says.
“Well, that’s obvious.”
“No, I mean…” He rolls over and pulls the covers up to his chin. “I don’t feel well.”
I walk over and place my hand on his forehead, even though I know he doesn’t have a fever. I press a kiss to his brow, which is already shiny with sweat. “Go back to sleep,” I say softly. “I’ll take care of the kids.”
“You won’t hold it against me later?” he mumbles.
“Mmm…maybe a little.” I grin at him, though his eyes are closed. Then I kiss his forehead again, lingering there. “Sleep. It’ll all still be here when you wake up.”
His eyes immediately open and I see they are filled with tears even as he blinks them back. “Thanks, Bess,” he says softly, and he closes his eyes again.
I sit with him long enough to count ten breaths, and then I walk out and close the door.
Kerry-Anne is on the couch watching TV, so I sit down in the rocking chair that used to belong to Aaron’s mom. I set Miles on my lap and hold him tightly under the arms so he can sit up. He smiles at me. “You’re all giggles now, huh?” I say, and he tries to eat his fist. “Are you still hungry?”
I go and make another bottle, and I take him back out into the living room. I sit down in the rocker again, and I hold him in the crook of my arm. He greedily takes the bottle and drinks it until his eyes fall closed and the bottle falls from his slack lips.
“When he cries really hard like that, it makes him tired,” Kerry-Anne informs me.
“It made me tired too.” I let out a laugh, but Kerry-Anne ignores my attempt at humor.
I don’t want to wake Aaron to put Miles in his portable crib, so I just hold him, and we rock together as he sleeps.
“When my daddy feels better, we’re going to ride bikes,” Kerry-Anne says. I don’t think she expects a response from me. She doesn’t look away from the TV, but her words still make me wonder.
What would Aaron have done if Kerry-Anne hadn’t come to get me?
26
Eli
When Sam and I get back from the store, we unload all the things we just bought. I very quietly open the bedroom door and peek inside, surprised to find our bed empty and the covers jumbled. Bess doesn’t like a messy bed; she always makes it up. So I go and straighten the covers and rearrange the pillows the way she likes them.
When we first moved in together, we actually fought about making the bed. I refused to do it, because I couldn’t figure out why anyone would feel the need to make up a bed that you’re just going to get right back into a few hours later. But Bess argued that there was something very soothing about getting into a bed with fresh, crisp linens. I didn’t agree, but over the years I learned that I could avoid the argument with her if I just made the damn bed.
For me, one of my sticking points was the kitchen. Bess didn’t like to cook and then have to clean the kitchen. She preferred to do it the next morning. After a meal, Bess wanted to lie on the couch and cuddle, stretch her feet across my lap, or have a conversation. Cleaning was the last thing on her mind. But for me, I couldn’t rest if the kitchen wasn’t clean after a meal. I couldn’t mentally leave it until the next morning, so Bess slowly learned that cleaning up after a meal was important to me so that there was no left-over mess the next day.
We learned to compromise, as happily married couples do. But at some point, we stopped listening to one another, stopped compromising, stopped caring entirely. Bess wasn’t the only one at fault. I had to accept my share of the blame.
So when I make the bed, I recognize that I’m still trying to fulfill her needs, even without realizing it. I put the few groceries I picked up away in the kitchen, and I notice that there are no dishes in the sink. Not a single one.
“I guess we should go see where everybody is,” I say absently to Sam.
She’s out the front door before I can blink, and I just walk in her wake over to the cabin next door. But I stop short when I see Bess still in her jammies, rocking a sleepin
g baby in her arms. She looks so calm and so peaceful as she rubs the top of his little head, and I stop in the doorway to stare at her, taken aback by how natural motherhood looks on her.
“You’re back,” she says. She doesn’t get up. She just rocks slowly, and then she does something that is almost surreal.
She smiles at me.
My guts do that roiling motion down toward my toes, the feeling that I used to confuse with seasickness when I was a teenager. Bess is happy and I am happy about it.
“What are you doing?” I ask quietly, trying not to wake the sleeping baby.
“Rocking,” she says. Then her lips tip up in a grin again, and this time it’s more than my guts that pay attention. Bess’s hair is a rat’s nest around her face, and she looks like she just rolled out of bed—which seems at odds with the fact that she’s at Aaron’s cabin.
“You’re still in your jammies.”
She laughs out loud. “I know. Crazy, right?” She doesn’t make a move to get up. She just sits there and rocks. “Aaron was really sick, so Kerry-Anne came to get me.” She shoots me a pointed glance.
“My dad’s sick?” Sam says. She walks toward the bedroom door, but Bess calls her name before she can turn the door knob.
“Let’s let him sleep, Sam,” she says.
Sam hesitantly lowers her hand from the knob. “Was he throwing up?”
“He was puking his guts out when I got here. And he had been for a while.”
One thing I’ve always appreciated about Bess is her forthrightness. But in this situation, I’m not sure how much she should tell Sam.
“It’s okay,” Bess continues. “I gave him some medicine for it and he’s taking a nap now.”
“The last time he did that…” Her gaze rolls over to Kerry-Anne, who is one hundred percent focused on the TV. “The last time my dad did…what he’s doing…my mom took care of him.” Her brow furrows. “He gets really sick.”
“I think a lot of people get really sick…doing what your dad is doing,” Bess says patiently and calmly. Her voice is quiet but sure. “But we are here to help.” Her eyes meet mine. “Eli and I are here.”
Feels like Home (Lake Fisher Book 2) Page 13
