Chapter 11 #2
The nurse smiles knowingly. “That’s awesome. But here’s a hint—get used to the mom and dad names. It’s okay to call yourselves that now.”
Another look passes between me and Maddie, and I can see she’s wondering if that’s appropriate. I grin at her. “Hi, Mom.”
Maddie’s eyes sparkle. “Hi, Dad.”
The nurse gets us back on track. “Okay, so what’s wrong with the little dumpling?”
We’re asked a series of questions and we answer in a rhythm that surprises me both in its ease and in how much there is to say.
“Fevers?”
“No.”
“Cough? Congestion?”
“Not really. Fussy, ear pulling,” Maddie supplies.
“Eating?”
“Down a bit,” I say, because this morning she pushed the bottle away after a few minutes and then cried because she wanted it back.
“Any allergies?”
“None,” Maddie says, eyes on Grayce like she’s seeing her for the first time. If we’re mom and dad, then that makes her our daughter.
The nurse makes notes, leaves, and almost instantaneously the doctor is there.
She’s probably in her early forties, sharp but kind eyes, and the kind of smile that looks like she knows how to talk to grown-ups and babies without losing the attention of either.
“I’m Dr. Klemmer. Brienne called this morning to ask me to see you.
So sorry Grayce isn’t feeling well.” She moves to the sink to wash her hands.
“I understand Grayce might have a sore ear.”
“Her right,” Maddie murmurs.
Dr. Klemmer takes the otoscope and approaches with confidence. “I’m going to take a look, but she’s not going to like it. Just hold her steady.”
Grayce does not appreciate any of this. The second that light comes near her ear she shrieks, limbs windmilling, little heels drumming against Maddie’s stomach.
Maddie murmurs, “It’s okay, Graycie.”
“Do you want me to—” I start.
“I’ve got her,” Maddie says, which I expected. Then, after a beat, she says, “Maybe you can put a hand on her legs.”
“Copy that.” I slot my palm over Grayce’s shins, feel the tiny muscles tense and stutter under my skin. “Hey, Graycie,” I murmur. “We got this. Five seconds, tops. Six if you’re tough.”
“Mmm,” the doctor hums, peering. “Right ear looks angry. Left is slightly inflamed. Classic otitis media.”
My stomach bottoms out. “That sounds serious.”
The doctor shoots me a reassuring smile. “That’s a fancy way of saying she has an ear infection. How long has she had the symptoms?”
“Just since last night,” Maddie provides.
Dr. Klemmer flips the scope off, nodding. “I think for now, we just observe and give her over-the-counter pain relievers. If she’s not better in the next forty-eight hours, I want you to call my personal cell phone, and I’ll write her a prescription for antibiotics.”
Maddie’s eyebrows shoot sky high at the generous offer from this doctor. “That’s… very kind of you.”
Dr. Klemmer smiles. “Any friend of Brienne’s is a friend of mine. Give Grayce lots of fluids. She might be extra clingy or wake a bit more at night.” The doctor eyes both of us over her chart as she scribbles notes.
“Both of you are on cuddle duty,” she says lightly. “Good for ears, good for hearts.”
We leave with Dr. Klemmer’s cell number scrawled on the back of a business card and a cartoon sticker stuck onto Grayce’s onesie by the nurse—an orange tiger giving a thumbs-up.
The parking lot air is softer than the exam room’s hum, but it’s still cold enough that Grayce’s nose pinks as I settle her car seat into place. She’s exhausted from combatting the otoscope and the indignity of strangers, and by the time I shut the back door she’s dozing off.
Maddie stands there with the diaper bag strap digging into her shoulder, staring at the closed door like she can see through it. “Thank you,” she says, louder this time, clearer. “For calling Brienne.”
“Anytime,” I say lightly, because I don’t want her to think that was a big deal. That was just a perk of the job.
Her jaw works, like there’s a bigger thank-you stuck under her tongue, but she swallows it and nods toward the street. “Let’s stop by the pharmacy. I want to get a humidifier.”
“Let’s do it,” I say. My obligations to the team don’t start until this afternoon with nothing more than a team meeting and video review.
The pharmacy is bathed in harsh fluorescent lighting, and I hold Grayce as Maddie paces down the baby aisle, fingertip trailing over thermometers and nasal aspirators like she’s taking inventory in a language only she speaks.
She picks up a small humidifier and turns it in her hands, checking the back, the side, the back again before putting it in the basket.
At the register, Maddie starts to dig into her wallet, but I thrust Grayce at her. She has no choice but to take her, enabling me to pull out my own wallet and credit card to pay.
“You don’t have to—”
“Don’t, Maddie,” I say quietly. “I know we haven’t discussed finances yet, and we will, but for now, let me pay. I’m rich, after all.”
She grumbles under her breath, most of which I can’t understand, but there’s a thank-you in there.
By the time we get home, Maddie looks as whipped as Grayce and I’m guessing that’s from worry. It’s not that I wasn’t worried, but I was confident that we got her the proper treatment.
I carry the pharmacy bag in one hand, the car seat in the other, bump the door with my hip, and try not to wake Grayce snoozing under her tiger sticker.
Maddie exhales like a diver breaking the surface.
“You okay?” I ask, because she looks like she’s about to shatter or sleep on her feet.
She leans her hip against the counter and rubs the bridge of her nose.
For a second, she doesn’t fight herself.
“I hate feeling powerless,” she admits, voice raw.
“I know exactly how the system works. I know how to make a plan and follow it. Then she gets sick and none of my rules matter.” Her mouth twists. “I don’t ask for help.”
“I noticed,” I say, and somehow it comes out warm.
Her eyes flick up to mine, blue and careful. I expect the snark, the shove away. What she says instead is, “I’m trying.”
“I know,” I say. “Me too.”
Something loosens in my chest and I glance at my watch. “I’ve got to head to the arena in about forty minutes,” I say, careful, like I’m testing the ice.
She nods, no heat in it. “Okay.”
Grayce squirms and I look down to find her eyes open, inquisitive and locked on me. I lift her out of the car carrier, noting that she tugs on her ear before putting a hand to my scruffy face.
I offer her a knuckle and she latches on to it, solemn and fierce. “Hey,” I tell her, as if she can understand me. “You were a warrior princess this morning. Ten out of ten for bravery. Eleven out of ten for screaming.”
Maddie snorts. “She gets that from you.”
“The screaming?” I feign offense.
“The warrior princess thing,” she says, and the corner of her mouth lifts.
Drawing my attention to just how full her lips are and the peek of straight teeth beyond.
It strikes me that I’d like to kiss that mouth, and then it hits me a hundred times harder that it’s a ridiculous thought. I set it aside so fast I get mental whiplash. The last thing we need is me complicating a situation that’s already a minefield.
Luckily, Maddie doesn’t seem to notice and heads into the living room.
She settles onto the couch, and I set Grayce’s playmat on the rug and lower her onto it.
She immediately flips to her belly, commits to the most perfect plank in the history of babies and then her butt raises up in the air.
She wobbles and then flops back down to the mat with a little grunt of distress.
“She’s frustrated,” I murmur.
“She wants to walk,” Maddie says, watching with a kind of helpless adoration. “She’s not satisfied with pulling up anymore. She wants to move.”
“Dangerous combination,” I say. “Takes after her mother.”
“Excuse me?” She arches an eyebrow. “You saying I’m a danger to myself?”
“I’m saying you’re relentless,” I correct. “And you don’t like being told to wait.”
She thinks about denying it. Then she sighs. “Fair.”
?
Later, as I’m pulling into the players’ parking lot, I receive a text from an unknown number. This is Dr. Klemmer’s office—checking in. Call if Grayce’s pain worsens.
Then another text from a number I don’t recognize and clearly a contact Brienne must have reached out to. Pediatric ENT if you need a follow-up. Happy to help—Dr. Rao.
I stare at the screen, at the quiet power of a village spinning up around a baby who didn’t ask for any of this and deserves it all. I forward both texts to Maddie and then add a note of my own. Text me if you need me to pick up anything for you or Grayce on the way home.
A bubble appears. Disappears. She’s probably figuring out how to politely decline the offer, at least for herself.
The bubble appears again and I wait.
Okay.
It’s only one word, but it’s a big one for someone who doesn’t like depending on anyone.
I rest my head back against the seat and for the first time in a week, I have a renewed sense of energy.
I’m still terrified. Exhausted in a way I don’t truly understand. And yet, everything seems to be very right in my world.