by Freya Barker
“Nah, I’m good. You sit down before you fall down with the tyke in your arms. I just came by hoping to catch you alone. I saw Beth at the diner earlier, dealing with the Sunday crowd, so I figured it was a safe bet. Didn’t know you were babysitting, though.” Gus takes a seat in the La-Z-boy beside the couch. “I thought Katie was looking after him?”
“He got sick last night, eating Blue’s dog food,” I try to explain, raising a chuckle from Gus. “But now I think it may have been something else that’s had him sick all night; he’s spiking a fever.”
Gus leans forward and touches the backs of his fingers to Max’s forehead, who doesn’t even register it.
“Damn, he’s burning up, man.”
“I know, I was just about to call Katie for some advice.”
Gus already has his phone out and is calling.
“Hey, Peach, are you busy? I stopped at Clint’s and he’s got Beth’s grandbaby, sicker than a dog—what?—yeah, he’s burning up—you sure?—Okay, see you in a few.” He sits back and gestures with his phone. “Emma’s on her way. She says she’ll bring some stuff. Figured I’d call her instead of Katie. Don’t need my woman pissed for not giving her a chance to help. You know Emma, she’s mother hen incarnate.”
I chuckle at that because he’s not wrong. His wife Emma takes nurturing to stratospheric levels, if not with food, with loving, which she does plenty of. Feeling a little better to know someone with some experience is on the way, since I know dick about kids, let alone sick kids, I settle Max a little better in my arms and turn to Gus.
“So what brought you here in the first place?”
His face instantly turns serious.
“This little guy’s dad. Neil managed to get some data off the computer Mal dropped by yesterday.”
I’m surprised, since Neil was there last night, at the clinic’s open house and had some odd stare down going with Mal.
“Already? Does the kid sleep?”
Gus chuckles. “Hardly ever and if he does, it’s not long. Besides, he’s hardly a kid anymore—he’ll be twenty-nine in a month or two.”
“Pffff, anyone with the number ‘twenty’ in their age is a kid to me.”
“Got a point,” Gus concedes. “Anyway, from what he could see, Beth’s boy has been into some heavy online gambling. Started with sports and over time ended up in online casinos.”
“Really? From what I understand from Beth, he’s making a reasonable income, but not nearly enough to be able to afford that.”
“Neil says he appears to have won a bit in the sports betting, had some kind of football fantasy league he was part of that he won after the Superbowl this year, but then he turned to the casinos and hasn’t been that lucky.”
Worry for the possible implications starts sinking in.
“So what are you saying? Reckon he’s gone to Vegas or something? Try his luck there?” I shake my head. “I don’t get it. For all intents and purposes, he finally started getting his feet under him. Makes no sense.”
Gus gives me a flat look.
“It does when you see the kind of spending his wife was into.”
“No shit?”
“Woman had a hole in her hand the size of the Grand Canyon. A spending habit no average guy would be able to keep up with. And that’s just what we can glean from the online Visa bills that were stored on the computer. Spa treatments every few weeks, purchase-accounts at Macy’s online and at local boutiques. Not to mention the restaurant charges on there. The woman must’ve taken everyone in Durango out for lunch at least once. Living a bit above her standards to put it mildly. My guess is, he may have started gambling in hopes of staying on top of his financial situation, but I’m pretty sure addiction set in quickly.”
“Dayum. That’s gonna wreck Beth. That why you’re talking to me, not her?”
Gus nods in response. “That—and the fact that I don’t think he’s headed for Vegas. I think he’s in deep with some lenders. Four months ago he put a decent chunk of money down on the credit card, but he never stopped his online habits. Unfortunately, neither did his wife, so between the two of them they managed to blow fifteen-thousand dollars.”
I whistle at that number, stirring Max in the process who’d fallen asleep in my arms.
“That ain’t no chicken feed.”
“Got that right. I’m pretty sure Beth doesn’t have that kind of money lying around, and I’m equally sure she has no idea what her boy’s been up to. I’d say he hit someone up for money he should’ve steered clear of.”
Tilting my head back, I let the information sink in before reacting.
“Makes sense now. Why the wife took off kinda sudden, and why he dropped his son off at the crack of dawn and disappeared. One thing that bothers me some, though,” I say, as I feel a tingle of unease settle in my stomach. “Yesterday morning Beth answered a call on her cell phone. The guy called from Dylan’s phone, which he claimed to have found in some park. Tried to get her address from her, which the damn woman was about to give him if I’d not stopped her. Moment I got on the phone, he hung up. Don’t think she gave him much more than her name and the town, but still.”
“Actually, Mal told me about the phone thing. I didn’t realize she’d already given out some details. Don’t go jumping to conclusions, though,” he says as he takes in the worry I’m sure is showing on my face. “My guess is you weren’t your friendliest when you got the phone off her, and you may have just pissed off the guy enough to hang up on you. It’s possible he really did just find the phone somewhere.”
At my raised eyebrow he chuckles and raises his hands defensively. “I’m just saying, keep an eye on that woman and give me and the guys some time to get to the bottom of it.”
Before I get a chance to say anything there’s a knock at the door.
“That’s probably Emma,” Gus says standing up to get the door.
“Where is that baby?” I hear her behind me before she lets out a little squeal. “Gus!”
“Don’t be walking by me without a proper hello, darlin’.”
“I just saw you at lunch.”
“Don’t care.”
After some smooching sounds I’d rather not have been witness to, later Emma comes into view, her one hand leaning on her cane and the other out with her fingers waggling.
“Gimmie that sick little baby.”
“Sit yourself down first, then you can have him. He’s been sluggish and feels like a little oven.”
Once she’s settled in the recliner her husband just vacated, I put Max on her lap. He barely reacts.
“Gus? Can you grab that bag I have hanging on my walker on the front step for me?”
In seconds Gus stands beside her handing her the bag.
“Got my hands full, honey. Can you dig out the little zippered pouch? It has an ear thermometer.”
Smiling indulgently, Gus produces the thing and with some impressively swift movements, Emma has that thing shoved in Max’s ear without him hardly noticing.”
“A hundred and three. That’s borderline, Clint. When’s the last time he drank something?”
I struggle to remember if he has, when I see the half full bottle sitting on the kitchen counter. “Before Beth left, and that was at about ten this morning. Nothing since though.”
“Okay, let’s get some fluids into him. He’s probably dehydrated, which could be why he’s so lethargic. We’ll see how he does, but you still better call Beth.”
-
-
“Beth, phone!” Arlene yells, just as I’m finishing up with the last of my lunch tables.
Hard to believe three hours have gone by since I got here. From the moment I walked into an already packed diner and Arlene tossed my apron over the counter, I haven’t even had time to go to the bathroom. Not that I’d notice the discomfort of a full bladder now; my feet are demanding all the attention. Christ, I’m getting old.
Handing the customers their bill and telling them they can settle up at the c
ash, I make my way over to the counter where Arlene is holding out the phone.
“You okay?” she asks as I limp up to take the call.
“Just feel fucking ancient today,” I admit.
“Just today?”
“Kiss my ass, Arlene.” I smile, glad to be back, despite the beating my body is getting.
“Gladly, but first talk to Clint. He’s on the phone.”
First thing through my mind is that something’s wrong with Max, and I snatch the phone from Arlene’s hand.
“Hello?”
“Beth, it’s—“
“Is Max okay?” I blurt out, not letting him finish.
“Jesus, woman, give me a chance. He’s spiking a fever. Emma’s here and thinks he may be dehydrated.”
“You called Emma before you called me?” I have a slightly hysterical pitch to my voice as I’m pulling off my apron one-handedly.
“What? No. Just bear with me, sugar. Gus was here. He’s the one who called Emma ‘cause Max was burning up. I just—“
“Burning up?” I can’t help cutting him off again, but bits of information get stuck, and I can’t hear a damn thing after. “How high?”
“Hundred and three.” Clint’s resorted to only answering questions now.
“On my way and call Naomi, see if she can see us at the clinic right away.”
“Yes, but—“ he tries.
“Be there in a few. Gotta go.”
Slamming the phone down on the counter and dropping my apron next to it, I grab my purse that a worried-looking Arlene is holding out for me already. Smart woman, she doesn’t hold me back with questions, but simply says, “Go”.
It doesn’t even take five minutes to get to Clint’s house from the diner, but it’s long enough for me to imagine the worst possible scenarios. By the time I get there, I’m almost in tears. I don’t have time to question why someone who’s never been prone to panic when Dylan was young, would find it so hard to breathe now?
When I run up to the door it’s opened by Gus.
“Saw you coming,” he says by way of greeting, but my focus is further in the room where Clint is standing behind the couch with the phone to his ear, and Emma is holding Max. I drop down on the couch beside her and she immediately hands Max over.
He’s so hot. Like a little Coleman stove. His eyes are closed and his face is unnaturally pale, despite his obvious temperature.
Emma holds out a baby bottle of water and I take it, teasing it along the seam of his lips, but the only result is that he squeezes them together tighter.
“I know,” Emma says. “I’ve been trying to get him to take it for the past ten minutes, but I haven’t been able to get anything down. He’s likely dehydrated.”
“Right,” I mumble, and then again, “right. I need to take him in.”
Barely thinking straight for worry, I stand up and walk to the door with Max in my arms.
“Hold up, Beth. Where do you think you’re going?” Clint’s voice stops me in my tracks. I swing around, anger suddenly roaring up.
“A doctor, Clint. I should’ve known it wasn’t a good idea to leave him behind with you.”
I regret my words the moment they leave my mouth. The pained recoil I see on Clint’s face only confirms I’m way out of line, but I’m sick with worry: for my grandson, for his father. Things are slipping out of my control and it leaves me shaky and mean.
“Naomi’s waiting at the clinic,” Clint’s voice is flat as his eyes hold mine.
“I’ll drive,” Gus offers, and I’m not about to argue when he puts his hand in my back, leading me to his truck. He settles me in the backseat with Max, gets in and starts the truck. Just as we start backing out of the drive I see Clint and Emma making their way to my car. Clint is carrying a diaper bag.
“Emma’s driving your car, so regardless what happens, you’ll have some wheels. I’ll bring Emma back here to pick up hers.”
When I look at him in the rearview mirror, my confusion must be evident.
“Clint already sorted all of that before you walked in, Beth. He’d just finished packing a bag with a few things Naomi was suggesting. The different cars was his idea, too.”
He doesn’t have to say anything else. His point is made. I’m a total bitch, but the little shudder coming from Max has me shake it off and focus on the little guy.
Naomi steps off the porch when we pull up and starts opening the door on my side before Gus has even turned the engine off. With a quick smile at me, she reaches for Max.
“Let me take him.”
I reluctantly hand him over and slip out of the car to follow behind her into the clinic, which is attached to her house.
“Burning up is right. Huh, baby?” she coos at Max, as she puts him down on the examining table in one of the treatment rooms. She undresses him expertly and carefully runs her hands over his body, pressing here and there. Then she listens to his heart and lungs and all the while, the little guy barely blinks his eyes.
“Not sure what caused the fever, but he’s severely dehydrated.” She points out as she slightly pinches the skin on his hands together and it takes a while to regain its shape. “I’m gonna see if I can get an IV in him and hopefully get him a little more responsive. You may want to sit down.” She turns to me. “You look about ready to fall down.”
I know it’s Clint when I feel an arm come around my shoulders, guiding me to a row of chairs. Exhausted, scared, and running low on resistance I turn in his arms and plant my face in his chest.
“I’m so, so sorry,” I mumble through the unfamiliar tears dripping from my eyes and clogging my nose. “I didn’t mean—“
His big hand covers the back of my head as he whispers close to my ear.
“It’s okay. I think I get it.” Which only serves to make me cry harder. Yup, I’m a bitch.
-
After ensuring Gus and Emma they didn’t have to wait, and Naomi’s promise Max would be fine once she gets his fluid levels up, they take off in Gus’s truck with a vow to call them with updates. Clint isn’t moving from my side, despite my attempts at sending him home with them.
“Forget it,” he says again. “Not leaving without you and Max.”
-
Four hours later, with a much cooler and more alert Max and with assurances he hadn’t suffered anything major, Naomi lets us go with a sample pack of liquid antibiotics, just in case he has an infection that caused the spike. Although she thinks it’s the loss of fluids from when he was tossing the dog food all through the night. Poor kid, that’s a hard lesson learned.
Once home I head straight to Max’s bedroom to drag his cot into mine, so I can put him down for the night. Been a long-ass day, the little one has some recharging to do and I want him close to me for the night. By the time I leave him asleep in his cot, I find Clint puttering about in the kitchen, cleaning some dishes and putting them away. A strong smell of melted cheese draws my eyes to the oven, which is on.
“What’s that?”
“What? Oh, in the oven? Frittata.” He shrugs his shoulders, turning back to the sink.
“I had no idea you could cook.”
This time when he turns back around a slightly embarrassed smile lifts his mouth.
“I get by. I like it better when I’m cooked for, but I can handle basic stuff when I need to.”
“Well, you can color me pleasantly surprised.” I smile at him. Seeing the tightness in his responding one reminds me of the elephant in the room.
“I should—“
“I’d like to—“
“Let me go first,” I ask. “I have no excuse for what I said. Well, I do, albeit a weak one, but I’ve learned that when you apologize the only way to do it is without reservation. So I first want to tell you I’m so sorry for saying that to you. You’ve been so great with Max—helping me look after him—I really don’t know what I would’ve done without you, and you didn’t deserve that.”
Clint sees me hesitate and nods in encouragemen
t.
“Truth is, I’ve been worried sick about Dylan and what he may have gotten himself into. I’m hurting for my grandson, whose mom was able to just up and leave him, and to top it all off, I’m a little bit out of my depth with you.” My last words linger in the air as I look from under my eyebrows at the clench of his fists holding the kitchen towel.
“How so?”
For a minute I consider pretending I don’t know what he’s referring to, but the truth is I know exactly what he wants to know. With a deep breath in, I bite the bullet.
“I like my independence. Like having control of my life. But I can feel it slipping around you and I’m letting it. Letting you in with your—at times—overbearing personality, and take control. I find myself liking it, and I don’t know how to feel about that.”
Clint moves slowly closer as I’m talking, to where he can reach out and take my face in his hands.
“Maybe it’s more a question of how you feel about me?” His voice reverberates through me while his eyes seem to search mine for the answer. “Besides, the only time I’m interested in taking over control is the bedroom,” he adds with a tiny arrogant tilt of his mouth.
Oh boy, I’m in trouble.
CHAPTER TEN
Voicing her worry about her son convinces me to say nothing about the information Gus shared with me earlier, but that doesn’t absolve me from feeling guilt for keeping information from her. Still—after a day like today, I don’t want to add to the stress. I almost chuckle aloud when I realize every day seems to bring a new challenge, keeping me from opening up with her completely. Her admission that I affect her in such a way toys with my resolve though. Never been one to want to show the back of my tongue, but somehow Beth is different. Tough, resilient, and so damn stubborn, she’s lodged herself under my skin so deep, I just know there’s no way to get rid of her. Even if I’d want to.
“You’re staring at me,” she whispers, interrupting my musings. “Are you still mad?”
“Fuck no.”
She tilts her head, as if waiting for me to say more. When I don’t volunteer, she takes in a deep shaky breath and looks away.
“Okay. Good. I really am sorry.”