by Gina Wilkins
She bit her lip as she tried to decide how to reply. This was one of the very things she worried about in getting involved with Nathan. She didn’t want to become too much a part of Isabelle’s life and risk hurting her later. Isabelle had already lost too many people she cared about. “I really should do some work tomorrow.”
“Bring your files with you. It will be a good time for us to catch up on our consultations. Everything has been so hectic at the office lately that we haven’t had much time to talk.”
He had, of course, chosen the one argument she couldn’t easily counter. They did need to spend some time discussing business, especially the malpractice case, which was starting to get expensive. And it was difficult to find uninterrupted time at the office.
“I suppose I could come by for a little while. Do you think we’ll be able to talk about work with Isabelle here?”
“Sure. Give her a drawing pad and some markers and she’s happy for hours. Why don’t you plan to have lunch with us? I make a better-than-decent spaghetti sauce.”
It was a big step from an impromptu business meeting to a cozy family lunch. But the look on Nathan’s face told her he was prepared to charm her into accepting if she tried to decline. Just to save time and trouble, she said, “Fine. Thank you, I would be delighted to join you for lunch.”
His smile let her know he suspected her reason for conceding so easily, but he merely nodded. “About twelve-thirty, then?”
“I’ll be here. Good night, Nathan.”
He leaned over to give her one last, lingering kiss. “Good night, Caitlin.”
She didn’t sleep well that night, though she should have been exhausted. Her bed seemed too empty and her head too full of second thoughts and self-recriminations. And memories she knew would stay with her for the rest of her life.
Looking disarrayed in a frayed gray sweatshirt and faded jeans, Nathan jerked opened his front door almost before Caitlin took her finger off the doorbell. She hadn’t exactly dressed up for the casual visit, having selected a forest-green sweater and a pair of loose khakis, but he looked as though he had just crawled out of bed.
She had expected to be greeted with a warm smile, perhaps a kiss, but she was totally unprepared for him to reach out, grab her wrist and tug her inside so roughly she thought he might pull her arm out of its socket. “What in the—”
“Something’s wrong with Isabelle,” he broke in urgently, slamming the door closed behind her. “I don’t know what to do.”
“What are you talking about? What’s wrong with Isabelle?”
He took the heavy briefcase and tossed it aside. Though she gave a fleeting thought to the computer inside it, she was more concerned about Isabelle. Nathan almost dragged her to the den, where Isabelle was lying on the couch. “I think she’s sick,” he told Caitlin in a low, tense voice.
Extricating herself from his grip, Caitlin knelt beside the couch. Still wearing wrinkled yellow cotton pajamas, Isabelle seemed to be dozing, though fitfully. Her little face was flushed, her hair damp and limp. Her breathing seemed to be a bit wheezy.
Though she hadn’t the foggiest clue what she was doing, Caitlin reached out to rest a hand lightly on Isabelle’s forehead. Her skin felt as hot as it looked. “I think she has a fever.”
“Yeah, I think so, too. Does it feel very high to you?”
“I have no idea. Don’t you have a thermometer?”
“No.”
Isabelle gave a soft little moan and shifted restlessly on the couch cushions.
Caitlin looked anxiously up at Nathan, who hovered behind her, his face taut. “Maybe you should take her to a doctor.”
“She won’t—”
“No,” Isabelle whimpered, proving she wasn’t sleeping, after all. “No doctor.”
“She gets practically hysterical every time I even suggest seeing a doctor,” Nathan muttered, spreading his hands in a helpless gesture. “I don’t even know if she’s sick enough to call a—well, you know.”
Caitlin looked doubtfully at the little girl. What constituted “sick enough” to call a doctor?
“I don’t know, Nathan. Isn’t there someone else you can call? What about Mrs. T.? Surely she would know what to do. She seems to know pretty much everything.”
“I tried calling her just before you got here. When I didn’t get an answer, I remembered she said something about visiting some friends out of town with Irene after church. I don’t know how to reach her.”
“Surely you know someone with children you can ask. If not, you’re simply going to have to call a…you know.”
Isabelle twisted her head petulantly, her lower lip protruding. “I don’t want a doctor. I don’t like doctors.”
Sitting on the edge of the couch, Caitlin smoothed a strand of limp hair away from Isabelle’s hot little face. “Why don’t you like doctors, sweetie? Some doctors are very nice.”
Isabelle climbed onto Caitlin’s lap and burrowed into her throat. “Aunt Barb went to a doctor and he made her sick and she couldn’t come home. She had to stay in the hospital.”
Caitlin wrapped her arms around the small trembling body, her throat going tight. “No, baby, the doctor didn’t make your aunt sick. She was already sick when she went to the hospital.”
Isabelle was crying now, huge tears rolling copiously down her face and dampening Caitlin’s sweater. “I’m sick. If you take me to a doctor, he’ll make me stay at the hospital. I don’t want to stay at the hospital, I want to stay with Nate.”
Caitlin looked over Isabelle’s head at Nathan. It was going to take some time to straighten this out, and in the meantime, Isabelle wasn’t getting any better. “Call someone,” she mouthed.
He shoved a hand through his hair. And then he snatched a cordless phone from a table, pushed a speed-dial button and held the phone to his ear.
Caitlin’s eyebrows rose in surprise when he spoke. “Mom?” she heard him say. “I’m sorry, but I really need your advice.”
Chapter Thirteen
Nathan opened the door when his mother rang the bell. Nerves that were already frayed from a morning of worrying about Isabelle were pulled tighter by the scowl on his mother’s face.
“Thank you for coming.”
Still dressed for church in a starkly tailored navy dress with a white lace collar, she moved brusquely past him, carrying a tapestry tote bag in her white-knuckled right hand. She didn’t bother with greetings but asked flatly, “Where’s the child?”
“She’s in the den with Caitlin. I don’t know what’s wrong with her, Mom. She’s running a fever, and she said her head hurts and her throat hurts….”
Lenore was already making her way toward the den. “There’s a flu-like virus going around in the preschools. Didn’t you get a notice about it?”
“A virus? I don’t think so.”
“All the parents were supposed to be notified. You should complain to Miss Thelma if you didn’t receive a note about what symptoms to watch for.”
Though he was aware that she had just indirectly referred to him as a parent, he was more concerned about Isabelle. “This virus—how bad is it? What does it do?”
“It makes little children feel lousy. Adults, too, if they’re unlucky enough to get it.” She moved straight to the couch where Caitlin still sat with Isabelle in her lap. “Let me see her.”
Caitlin sat Isabelle on the couch and moved aside. Isabelle blinked blearily up at Lenore. “Hi, Nate’s mom.”
“Hello, Isabelle.” Her voice more gentle now, Lenore rummaged in her tote and pulled out a digital thermometer. “Would you mind if I put this in your mouth for a couple of minutes?”
Isabelle looked from the thermometer to Lenore’s face. “Are you a doctor?”
“No, dear, I’m a mother.”
Nathan noticed that Isabelle seemed to find the answer satisfactory. She promptly opened her mouth, and Lenore slipped the thermometer inside. “How long has she been ill?”
Still trying to read her ex
pression, he replied, “She complained of feeling badly when she woke up. She’s been getting worse all morning.”
“Have you given her anything?”
“Like what?”
“A pain reliever or fever reducer? Children’s acetaminophen, perhaps. Not aspirin—never give a young child aspirin, especially for flu-like symptoms.”
“I, uh, don’t have anything except aspirin. No children’s medicines.”
She sighed. “Of course you don’t. She’s only lived with you for a month now. Why should I think you would have stocked necessities for her?”
Wincing, he watched her dig into the tote bag again and pull out a new bottle of bright pink liquid with a measured dispenser cup attached to the lid. When had his mother turned into Mary Poppins? he wondered with a glance at the bulging bag.
He still couldn’t believe she was actually here.
The thermometer beeped and Lenore removed it from Isabelle’s mouth. “A hundred and two. Not dangerously high for a child. Nathan, read the directions on that bottle and measure out the appropriate amount for a three-year-old. I believe it’s a teaspoon.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Isabelle, have you had anything to eat or drink today?”
Watching her caretaker with trusting, heavy-lidded eyes, Isabelle shook her head. “A little juice this morning, but not much. I wasn’t hungry.”
Lenore gave Nathan another chiding look before turning to his partner. “Caitlin, dear, perhaps you could see if there’s a can of soup in Nathan’s pantry? Chicken noodle would be good, anything thin and brothy. And she needs liquids or she’ll dehydrate. Water, first, and then perhaps some fruit juice or Kool-Aid.”
Looking as if she, too, were tempted to say, “Yes, ma’am,” Caitlin merely nodded and headed for the kitchen.
Nathan handed his mother the dispenser cup of children’s medicine. She offered it to Isabelle. “This will make you feel better.”
Isabelle looked doubtfully at the concoction. “Does it taste yucky?”
“I believe it’s cherry flavored. Drink it up, Isabelle, so you can start to feel better.”
Nathan wasn’t surprised when his little sister obediently swallowed the medicine, though she made a face at the taste. When Lenore McCloud spoke in that tone, children and adults tended to respond.
Lenore took the empty cup with satisfaction. “Very good. You should feel better soon. I want you to eat some soup when Miss Caitlin has it ready, all right?”
“’Kay.” Isabelle yawned and laid her head on the couch again, looking as if she had used up all her energy.
Nathan frowned, worried about Isabelle’s uncharacteristic listlessness. “You don’t think we need to call a doctor?” he asked in mother in a stage whisper.
“No doctor!” Isabelle insisted. Though Nathan had seen his little sister pout and be cross, he’d never seen her as close to a tantrum as she seemed to be at that moment.
“No doctor for now,” Lenore agreed, resting a calming hand on the child’s back. “I think you’ll feel better once the medicine starts to work.”
Isabelle subsided into the cushions. Her lower lip still protruded, but she looked somewhat appeased.
Lenore motioned toward the hallway. “We’ll be right outside the door if you need us, Isabelle. I have to tell Nathan a few things. You can rest here until your lunch is ready.”
Her eyes closed, Isabelle nodded.
Nathan followed his mother into the hallway, keeping his voice low so Isabelle wouldn’t hear them. “You really think she’s going to be okay?”
“I think she’ll be fine. It’s just a bug. Nothing serious. I heard at church this morning that quite a few local school-children are down with it. Frankly, I’m surprised that you and Caitlin both overreacted this much. Two professional adults should be able to handle a case of childhood sniffles without panicking.”
Resisting an impulse to hang his head, Nathan cleared his throat. “It’s not as if either of us has had any experience with this sort of thing. She seemed so sick that we got scared. I really wanted to take her to the doctor, but she got so upset, I wasn’t sure how to handle it. She got it in her head somehow that doctors were responsible for taking her aunt Barbara away from her, and she’s afraid a doctor will take her away from me.”
“For heaven’s sake, Nathan, she’s a three-year-old who has been uprooted too many times. It’s no wonder she’s afraid it will happen again or try to find someone to blame. Did you think she would be completely unscathed by losing both her parents and her aunt in such a short time?”
He pushed his hands into his pockets, digesting her words. “I thought she was doing fine, settling in great. She always seems happy enough. Hasn’t caused any trouble here or at school. I didn’t even know about this doctor phobia until today.”
Lenore shook her head. “You still don’t completely understand what you’ve taken on, do you? Children don’t express their fears and feelings the same way adults do. And they don’t necessarily act out when they have problems. Sometimes the best behaved small children become the most rebellious teenagers. I’m not saying that will happen to Isabelle—not if she receives the support and guidance she will require until then—but there’s a great deal more to raising a child than playing with her and making sure her physical needs are met.”
Stung by the implied criticism, Nathan lifted his chin. “I know that, but she didn’t exactly come with parenting advice. I’ve been doing the best I can and I still think she’s better off with me than she would have been with strangers.”
“Perhaps you’re right,” his mother surprised him by conceding. “She’s obviously very attached to you, and I’m sure that gives her more of a sense of security in this new home. Still, it probably wouldn’t hurt her to see a counselor for a few sessions to work through her feelings about the changes in her life. And perhaps to talk about this fear of doctors before it turns into a full-fledged phobia. I’m on the advisory board of the Sunshine Children’s Counseling Center, you know. There are several excellent counselors on staff there.”
“I’ll, uh, look into it. Thanks.”
Caitlin appeared at the end of the hallway, looking uncertainly from Nathan to his mother. “The soup is ready. Do you think I should prepare a tray for Isabelle?”
“I’m sure she would be more comfortable at the table,” Lenore replied before turning back to Nathan. “She’ll need plenty of liquids today, and she can have another dose of the medicine in four hours. If her fever climbs too high, or she starts acting disoriented or having convulsions, you should, of course, seek immediate medical attention, even if you have to be quite firm with her about seeing a doctor. You can be firm with Isabelle when necessary, can’t you, Nathan?”
Aware that Caitlin was watching him with a sudden smile, Nathan scowled and muttered, “Of course I can. I am the adult around here, Mom, and I’ve made it clear to Isabelle that I make the rules.”
“Good. Every child needs rules and boundaries in addition to unconditional love and support.” Lenore paused a moment, then met Nathan’s eyes squarely. “I’m afraid I’ve neglected the latter part of that advice myself. I haven’t been available to you, Nathan, and I apologize for that. I let my own selfish feelings come between us at a time when you needed me, and I’m not proud of that. I am, however, proud of you.”
He melted, of course, as he always did when his family was involved. “Mom, I—”
Clearly uncomfortable at being a spectator to this emotional moment, Caitlin moved toward the den door. “I’ll take Isabelle to eat her soup.”
“There’s no need for you to discreetly exit, Caitlin. I’ve said what I needed to say.” Lenore touched a fingertip to the corner of each of her eyes before saying to Nathan, “Isabelle does look remarkably like Deborah, doesn’t she?”
Swallowing a sizable lump in his throat, Nathan nodded. “Very much.”
“Have you had lunch, Mrs. McCloud?” Caitlin asked, seemingly on impulse.
“No, I had just returned home from church when Nathan called.”
“Then would you join us?” Caitlin suggested, darting a glance at Nathan, who nodded approvingly. “Nathan promised to make spaghetti sauce.”
“Nathan makes horrendous spaghetti sauce,” Lenore said flatly. “I’ll stay, but I’ll do the cooking.”
“Gee, thanks a lot, Mom,” Nathan murmured, too pleased that their relationship seemed to be on the mend to take offense at the slur to his spaghetti sauce. Which, he thought, was pretty darned good, if he did say so himself.
Isabelle ate her lunch at the kitchen table under Caitlin’s supervision while Nathan and Lenore prepared the meal for the adults. Isabelle seemed much more interested in watching Nathan and his mother arguing over the best way to prepare spaghetti sauce than she was in eating.
Caitlin finally took the spoon and scooped chicken noodle soup into Isabelle’s mouth. The child ate without much enthusiasm, but did manage to finish about half the soup before stubbornly shaking her head and refusing more.
“Nathan, would you please sit down and get out of my way?” Lenore finally asked in exasperation. “Tear some lettuce for a salad or something.”
“I still say you need to add more garlic and oregano to the sauce,” he grumbled, opening the refrigerator.
Her prim navy dress hidden behind a big barbecue apron, his mother shook a wooden spoon warningly at him. “I was cooking spaghetti sauce long before you were born. Now watch your manners or you’ll stand in the corner until lunch is ready.”
Isabelle giggled. “Nate’s mom is funny,” she confided to Caitlin. “I like her.”
“Yes, so do I,” Caitlin replied, aware that Lenore had gone still for a moment.
Lenore gave the child a somewhat stilted smile. “Thank you, Isabelle. Drink your juice now, you need the liquid.”
“’Kay.” Isabelle obligingly raised her plastic tumbler to her lips.
Lenore turned back to the cooking. “Nathan, where do you keep your…never mind, I found it.”
Having washed a head of lettuce, Nathan sat at the table to tear it into a bowl for salad. “Are you feeling better, poppet?”