Chapter 19
Dane
Lenni drops my hand and scurries in mismatched socks across hardwood floors to plop down in front of a pink play castle on the floor.
She glances back at me with a look of censure because I’m still paused at the edge of the couch, wondering if I should check on Halle.
“I’m the pwincess,” she informs me without room for disagreement, and holds up a small yellow-haired plastic doll wearing a blue dress and a crown. “You be Olaf.”
She giggles at her own private joke that I’m clearly not in on.
I look off into the direction of the kitchen, which is also in a state of disarray.
If I had to guess—knowing Halle’s penchant for organization—this isn’t how it usually looks.
That means things have been bad for days.
There are open cereal boxes, a tub of animal crackers, empty juice boxes, and an array of bowls and utensils laying out across the table and countertops.
“Okay, Lenni,” I say, offering a placating smile. “I’ll come play with you in a little bit. But first I need to put these groceries away and then take care of your mommy. Do you want to help me with that?”
“No, I’m good.”
I can’t help but chuckle at her blunt and unfiltered response. But she seems appeased for the moment, so I kneel next to the couch and place a gentle hand on top of the blanket where I think Halle’s shoulder should be. The blankets rustle and Halle moans.
“Halle? It’s me. I’m here.”
Another muffled moan emits from under the blankets, and I pull the covers back to expose a small portion of her face.
Her eyes are closed, and her eyelids appear glued shut, eyelashes matted and crusty from sleep.
Her normally cherry red lips are dry and cracked.
Dark circles color underneath her eyes, and her hairline is dotted with sweat.
I do what my mom always did when I was sick and place the back of my hand against her forehead.
She’s fucking burning up.
“Halle, I’m going to get you something to drink and then put you to bed, okay?”
Another whimper and I rush off into the kitchen, rooting around in the cupboards for two clean glasses. Finding them, I fill one with cold water from the tap and the other with a small amount of the OJ I brought.
When I return to the living room, I find Lenni singing along with a song that’s playing on a tablet propped up on a sofa table. Thank God for electronics. The best babysitters in the world.
I set the glasses on the table and look down at Halle’s sleepy form.
“Can you sit up for me, Hal?”
“Mm-hmm.”
I wait for a second, but she makes no attempt to move. Taking matters into my own hands, I gently remove the blankets off her upper torso and lean down to wedge my hands behind her back. She makes a noise of protest as I try to get her to sit up.
Now that I have a good look at her, I realize just how sick and out of it she is. I’m pretty sure it’s the fever that’s gotten her so out of sorts, and while I’m not some miracle worker, at least I can make sure she gets some much-needed rest and fluids while I’m here.
Keeping a steadying hand on her shoulder to keep her upright and stable, I reach behind me for the glass of water and bring it to her parched lips. Her eyes are still closed and puffy, her nose a red, snotty mess.
“Can you take a sip of the water for me?”
She makes no attempt to lift her hands to the glass, so I hold it in place and tip it forward as she takes two, maybe three, tiny sips and then sputters in a coughing fit.
Damn, this isn’t going to be as easy as I thought.
I look around and, finding a box of tissues on the side table, grab a few sheets. I wipe away the water from her mouth just as her head flops back against the couch cushion like it weighs a hundred pounds.
“That’s good, baby. We’ll try again in a little while. Let’s get you to bed.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see that Lenni has stopped with her make-believe play for the moment and watches me with interest.
“My mama’s not a baby,” she says adamantly.
It takes me a second to understand what she means as I work to wrench the twisted covers away from Halle’s legs.
I give her a short reply. “Oh, right. Sorry.”
Slipping one arm behind her back and the other under her knees, I scoop Halle up and lift her from the couch. Her body is deadweight in my arms.
“Hey, Lenni? Can you show me where your mommy’s room is?” I ask, starting down the hallway toward where the bedrooms must be.
I’m sure I can figure it out on my own, but this way, Lenni can be involved.
Lenni jumps up from her spot and rushes ahead of me, giving me a play-by-play lay of the land as we make our way down the hall.
“This is my bedroom. It has a pwincess bed.” She points at the small room to the right that’s painted a bright bubblegum pink.
And sure enough, there is indeed a princess bed, fully accessorized with one of those sheer canopies covering the head of the bed frame.
It even has twinkle lights. Exactly how I’d picture a little girl’s room to be decorated.
A thought slams straight through my heart. Halle is a wonderful mom to Lenni.
It sparks a seed of doubt inside me. Would I have ever thought of doing something like this for Lenni? What if I’m not equipped to handle being a girl dad? I don’t know anything at all about little kids unless they play hockey. Maybe someday soon I can teach her to play, too.
I shake those thoughts away for now as we move past her room and the bathroom, then into the bedroom at the end of the hallway.
Other than a few baby photos of Lenni, a picture of Halle and Lenni together, and a family picture with Lenni wearing a red coat being held by one of her uncles as they pose in front of a giant outdoor Christmas tree, the room is sparsely decorated.
The Christmas scene looks vaguely familiar, however.
I think I went to that exact location once when I lived with my billet family.
It’s the annual tree-lighting ceremony at the local community township center.
Other than that, the room has a closet that sports a broken slatted door hanging off its hinges and unopened moving boxes stacked inside.
As I skirt around some scattered clothes on the floor, Halle sniffles and mutters something into my chest that sounds like “I’ve missed you.”
It could be wishful thinking on my part that she still has feelings for me too. Or it could be just some fever-dream nonsense said in a fog of illness and a fever, but I can’t help but preen under the weight of the statement.
“I’ve missed you, too, Cherry,” I whisper back, kissing the top of her head.
I gently lay her down and grab the edge of the blanket at her feet, dragging it up her legs and covering her torso.
As I try to tuck her arms inside, Halle’s hands spring up and loop around my head, catching me off guard.
With surprising strength for a woman half my size and under the effects of a virus, she tugs me down into a tight hug.
“Dane… the only one.” The words are spoken so softly, and without context, that I barely understand them.
The only one what?
Then her hands slip from my neck, and, exhausted from the energy it took to hold them there, she closes her eyes, rolling on her side and falling back to sleep almost instantly.
I brush the hair from her face and place another kiss on the top of her forehead before I leave the room.
A quick check on Lenni, who is still playing with her doll and castle, and I return to the bedroom a few moments later, glasses of juice and water in hand, and place them next to Halle on her bedside table.
When I set them down, I notice a painted jewelry box with its lid partially propped open. Only a few items are inside. A set of pearls that maybe belonged to her mom. A pair of gold hoop earrings. And a plastic hockey puck key ring.
I squint and pick it up, examining it in my hand.
Nah, it couldn’t be.
Flipping it around my finger, I study it further as memories resurface of a date when we played games at an arcade. Having won enough game tickets for a prize, this was the one she picked out, so I got it for her.
Why would she have kept this cheap trinket all these years?
Unless… it holds meaning.
A memento of some kind to remember me? I rub a palm over my stubbled jaw and consider the words she just spoke—even if she hadn’t been quite lucid—and try to piece together what it all could mean.
The only one… What, though?
It would make sense, I suppose, that she could’ve meant I’m the only one she could call tonight. I’m likely the only person she knows in Vancouver who could help her out in a pinch, so logically, that calculates.
But my gut needs a deeper meaning hidden in the words, one that connects our past with the present.
What if she meant I’m the only one she would trust to take care of her and Lenni?
I consider that as a plausible explanation, mulling it over in my head as I replace the keepsake back into the box where I found it.
Something niggles inside me, though, and I theorize one more explanation.
What if she meant that I’m the only one she’s ever loved?
I don’t have time to examine that theory, though, because a tiny hand reaches for my wrist and tugs me out the doorway.
“Come on, Ax. Time to play wiff me.”