20. Alana
ALANA
T he buzz of my phone jerks me into wakefulness. I reach my hand out to the side of the bed to feel around for my vibrating phone and grab it with my eyes half closed.
It's not unusual to be woken in the night with an emergency foster care call, and I assume that's what this is.
"Hello?" My voice is thick from sleep. But I jerk wide awake when I hear Amos on the end of the call.
"Sam's sick," he blurts out.
I flick on the light and sit upright, the last vestiges of sleep falling off me.
"What's happened?"
"He's burning up. I don't know what to do." The panic in Amos's voice is palpable.
It's been five weeks since Sam came to live with Amos, and he's settled into his role of caregiver. He only messages me a few times every day now, but I look forward to his texts. He's become surer of himself as the weeks have passed, but I've never heard him in a panic like this before.
"What are his symptoms? Is he throwing up? Has he got a rash?"
I run through all the childhood sicknesses in my mind, the ones we have to look out for.
"A rash..." His voice shoots up another octave. "I didn't check for a rash."
"Take some deep breaths, Amos. You're not going to help Sam if you're in a panic. I'm sure he's okay. Kids get sick all the time."
"He's got a temperature."
"How high is it?"
"It's 100.8. I looked it up online, and it says you shouldn't go to the doctor unless it's 102, but I'm freaking out here, Alana. He's really tired, and he's clinging on to me."
"If it makes you feel better, take him into the clinic. I'm sure it's nothing serious. But it will give you peace of mind."
"Too late."
"What do you mean too late?"
"I'm bringing him to you."
My eyes widen at the sound of a car pulling up outside.
"We're right outside. I'm bringing him in."
He hangs up, and I grab my glasses and swing my legs out of bed. I jog to the door so I can get there before Amos knocks and wakes Kyra.
I throw the chain back and open the door.
A gust of night air wraps around my legs, and it's only then I realize I've run out without putting pants on.
I've only got the oversized T-shirt I sleep in, and it just covers my underwear.
I tug it down my thighs and have a brief panic about Amos seeing my chunky legs.
But all worry about flashing Amos part of my body disappears as I watch Amos carry Sam in from the car.
Sam seems tiny in Amos's arms. His arms cling to his neck, and Amos holds him close to his chest as he carries him up the steps.
"I'm sorry to wake you, but I knew you'd know what to do."
"It's okay. Bring him in."
Amos carries Sam to the couch and sets him down among the cushions. His cheeks are pink, and his hair is plastered to his forehead.
I crouch down next to him while Amos paces behind me.
"How do you feel, Sam?"
He peers up at me with solemn round eyes. "Hot."
I put my hand to his forehead, and it radiates heat.
"I'm going to lift up your pajama top, okay honey? I just want to see what's happening under there."
I lift up the top and peer at his skin, looking for the telltale signs of a rash. There's nothing, and I pull his pajama top back down.
"There's no rash."
Amos has his hands in his hair, and he blows out a long breath. "There's no rash, so that rules out meningitis, right? Could it be whooping cough? Measles? I don't even know if he's been vaccinated."
I stand up and place a hand on Amos's shoulder. "Can I see you for a minute?"
He glances at Sam and then reluctantly follows me into the kitchen. I keep my voice low so Sam doesn't hear.
"It's not going to help Sam to see you freaking out. I know you're worried. But get yourself under control."
He stares at me hard, and I put on my best stern face. Amos might have led a team of Navy SEALs, but in my kitchen, I'm the boss.
He nods once and takes a deep breath. "You're right. I just feel so helpless."
I put a hand on his shoulder. "Welcome to parenthood."
I grab my first aid kit from the kitchen and we go back to the living room.
I crouch down next to Sam as I pull out my thermometer. It's one of those ones you point at the forehead, which is easier for younger kids. It comes back at 100.9.
"Make a note of the time and the temperature," I tell Amos. "We'll take his temperature every hour, and if it goes over 102, we'll take him into the medical center."
"Okay." Amos pulls his phone out and types in the details.
"When did you start to feel sick, honey?" I ask Sam.
Amos jumps in before Sam can answer.
"He said he was tired yesterday before school, but I made him go.
I shouldn't have made him go. Then he didn't want to go to soccer practice, so we stayed home.
Then I noticed how hot he was when he was going to bed, but I thought it was because he had come out of the bath.
But he woke up and he came in to see me, and he was all sweaty and hot and bothered.
And that's when I freaked out and came here. "
"Okay." I give Amos a pointed look to remind him to calm the fuck down, and I turn back to Sam.
"Does it hurt anywhere?"
Sam shakes his head.
"I think you might have picked up a virus, Sam. It's really normal, especially starting a new school."
I turn to Amos. "Have you given him anything?"
Amos shakes his head. "No. Should I?"
"We can give him Tylenol. Just a child's dose. It'll help bring the temperature down and ease his symptoms so he can sleep. What he needs most is sleep."
I measure out the dose, and Sam takes it without any fuss.
"Thank you."
His voice is feeble, and it breaks my heart.
I head to the kitchen to clean out the syringe and put the medicine away.
When I come back from the kitchen, Sam's eyes are closed and his chest rises and falls in the steady rhythm of sleep. His cheeks are red, and his breathing rattles as he sleeps.
"Let him sleep," I say to Amos. "You can stay here and keep an eye on him."
Amos runs a hand through his hair. "Are you sure it's only a virus? A virus sounds bad. Could it be bad?"
I put a hand on his shoulder.
"Amos, kids get viruses all the time, especially when they start new schools. To be honest, I'm surprised it's taken this long. All we can do is make him comfortable and keep an eye on his temperature to make sure nothing escalates."
"What could escalate?" The panic returns to Amos's voice.
"He could develop a cough, or his temperature could go higher, or he could get a rash. Those are the things to look out for. But it's probably just a regular virus, so stop panicking."
"Okay." He lets out a long sigh and rubs his temple. "I'm sorry to intrude. I panicked. I'll take him home now."
I feel for him. I know what it's like to have a sick kid, especially if this is his first time.
"No need to wake him up with a car ride. I'll make up the spare bed in Kyra's room, and we can transfer him there. Then you can stay here on the couch."
Amos frowns. "I'm sorry, Alana. I know you're trying to avoid having strange men in the house."
"You're hardly a stranger now, are you? Kyra's used to you. We're friends. She'll understand. It means Sam gets the sleep he needs. You can sneak in during the night to take his temperature and make sure it's not going up."
"Okay, let's do that."
Amos relaxes for the first time since he arrived. He's definitely a man who likes action, and having a plan in place seems to calm him.
I pull out the mattress from under Kyra's bed, and she stirs, turning her sleep-flushed face to me.
"What are you doing?"
I smooth her hair down and kiss her on the forehead.
"Sam is going to stay with us tonight. He's not feeling very well. I'm making up the bed for him."
Kyra creases her forehead. "Is he going to be okay?"
"Yes, sweetie. I promise. He's just a little bit sick. Amos is new at this, so he brought him over here. But Sam is fine. It's a bit like when you got sick last year. Do you remember?"
She scrunches up her face. "Poor Sam. He can have Bunny to make him feel better."
She relinquishes her favorite soft toy and holds it up for me.
"That's sweet, honey. Sam will like that. Now, you get back to sleep."
She snuggles into the bed and rolls over. By the time I've made up the mattress, she's fast asleep.
I pull back the covers of the spare bed, and Amos carries the sleeping Sam through. He lays him on the bed and tucks him in with the toy rabbit.
"I'm going to check his temperature again," he whispers.
It's only been twenty minutes since we last took it, but I don't point that out.
Amos gets the temperature reader and points it at Sam's forehead.
"100.6. It's dropped."
"That will be the Tylenol getting to work."
"Come on." I indicate the door. "Leave him to sleep."
Amos reluctantly follows me out of the room and back to the kitchen.
"I guess you're not going to sleep tonight, so we might as well have a hot drink."
"I'm sorry, Alana. You go back to bed if you want to."
I check my watch. It's just after midnight. But I'm awake now, and I don't want to leave Amos while he's still so agitated.
"I'll stay up with you for a bit."
Instead of coffee, we opt for chamomile tea. I put the kettle on to boil and lean against the kitchen counter. Amos's gaze slides down my body and widens when he gets to my bare legs. Only then do I realize I still haven't got pants on.
Amos goes still, and I tug my t-shirt down. "I'll be back in a minute."
I grab a pair of sweatpants from my room and tug them on. When I get back to the kitchen, Amos has poured the tea into two steaming mugs. We take them through to the living room and sit on the couch.
Amos sits down heavily and huffs out a long breath. "That was the scariest moment of my life. And I've seen some scary shit in my time."
"It's the worst when they're sick, especially when you can't do anything about it."
I sit down next to him, and our thighs brush. A tremor of heat shoots up my body, and I try to ignore it.
"I was just so scared," he says. "Six weeks ago, I didn't know Sam existed. Now..." He brings a fist to a spot on his chest above his heart. "It feels like a piece of my heart has been taken out, divided in half, and he's carrying the other part of it."
A smile forms on my lips. "That's what being a parent feels like. And it's the most terrifying and the most wonderful thing all at once."
He turns to me on the couch. "Is that how it feels with you and Kyra?"
I nod. "Exactly like that."
His eyes are solemn in the dim light from the living room lamp.
"I get it now, Alana. Now I understand."