Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
DANI
“ I ’m gonna need a dumpster brought in for all of this junk.” I blow out a breath, eyeing my kitchen. Almost everything I have is old, second or third hand-me-downs, and Bridger has nicer stuff than I do, so I don’t really have to take any of this over there.
In fact, it’ll mostly just be the rest of my clothes and bathroom stuff, a few personal things, and that’s about it. I’ll donate the furniture.
I glance over to where Birdie’s sitting on the couch, with my makeup bag in her lap, but she doesn’t look terribly enthused about looking through it.
“How are you doing, pumpkin?”
She looks up at me, and I set the old dishes on the counter and hurry over to her. Something’s not right.
“I don’t feel so good.” She shakes her head mournfully, and I kneel in front of her and brush my hand down her long hair.
“Okay, what do you need? Should we go home? ”
“Yeah, I wanna go home. Okay?”
“You got it.”
I don’t even bother to turn off any lights or anything. I just lock the door behind me and, carrying my sweet girl, hurry across the street and get us inside and to the couch, where she immediately relaxes and snuggles into a blanket.
“Does that feel better?”
“Yeah.” She looks a little pale, so I check her temperature, but she doesn’t feel hot.
“Baby, does your tummy hurt?”
“No.”
“Does it feel like you want to throw up?”
“I don’t know.” She starts to cry big, sad tears, and my heart aches for her, so I sit with her and stroke her hair softly. “Why do I always feel bad?”
“I wish with my whole heart that we knew.” I kiss her head and murmur to her how special she is. “You’re so sweet, pumpkin. I’m so sorry.”
She takes a long, deep breath. “Maybe we could make cookies?”
My eyebrows climb. “You’re feeling better?”
“A little. Maybe if we make cookies, I won’t think about feeling bad.”
Ah, distraction. I’ve used it myself often.
“We can do that. But, why don’t you lie here while I make the dough, and then you can help me get it in the oven if you’re feeling well enough?”
She nods, and I get her settled by herself on the couch, tucked in with the TV remote, and then I get to work in the kitchen, assembling the dough for simple snickerdoodles.
Birdie likes to roll the balls of dough in the cinnamon sugar before they go on the cookie sheets.
When I glance up to ask Birdie to come help me, I see that she’s fallen asleep, so I leave her be and continue with the cookies. When the third tray is in the oven, Birdie wakes up and moans.
“Hey, baby.” I hurry over to her, and when I touch her hair, it’s wet with sweat, but she still doesn’t feel hot. “Honey, how do you feel?”
“Icky.” She swallows hard, like she’s trying not to throw up, so I run and get a big bowl, just in case. “Why is the room moving?”
“Are you dizzy?”
“Yeah.”
I take a deep breath. She’s never been this bad when I’ve been alone with her. I can’t call Bridger because he’s in the middle of a huge fire, so I grab my phone and call the only other person I know who can help me.
“Hello?” Blake says.
“Hey, it’s Dani. Blake, I’m sorry to bother you, but Birdie isn’t okay. Bridger’s still gone, and?—”
“I’m on my way,” he says. “Be there in less than ten, okay?”
“Thank you so much.” Relief washes through me as he hangs up the phone, and I turn to my little girl. “Uncle Blake is gonna come help us out. I don’t like that you’re so sick. ”
“I don’t like it either,” she says, her voice so achingly small. “Will you hold me?”
“Of course, honey.” I sit next to her, and she scrambles into my lap and rests her little head against my chest.
Birdie’s five, but she’s small for her age. I know that she was a preemie and that she’s still catching up to other kids her age, and that makes her feel all the more fragile.
I hear Blake’s vehicle pull up, and he knocks once before opening the unlocked door, and he smiles at us as he steps inside, carrying a black case.
“You have an old-fashioned doctor’s bag.” I grin at him. “That’s so cool.”
Blake laughs and kneels in front of us. “Hey, cupcake. Did you miss me?”
“I always miss you,” she says to him. “But I don’t feel good.”
Blake’s brown eyes sober, and he sighs, watching her. “I can see that. Let’s have a look.”
He reaches into his bag and pulls out his stethoscope, a blood pressure cuff, and the many other tools that are usually in an exam room, and he gets to work. She stays on my lap, but he has her lean forward.
“You’re breathing fast,” he murmurs, his eyes closed as he listens to her lungs. “But you sound clear. Does it hurt to breathe?”
“No.”
He looks in her mouth and her ears, and he takes her temperature several times.
“No fever. ”
The timer on the oven goes off, and I move Birdie off my lap so I can go take the cookies out of the oven.
After pulling that batch out, I put another pan in, set the timer, and then return to my baby.
“She sweated out during her nap,” I tell him. “She said she doesn’t have to throw up, but she’s been dizzy.”
He frowns, looking at her. “Why can’t I figure you out, cupcake?”
“I have a question.” He turns to me, listening, and I clear my throat. “I know I’m not a doctor?—”
“I want to hear what you have to say. You live with her, Dani. Ask.”
“Could she have celiac disease? I had a roommate in college who did, and her symptoms were mostly different, but I’ve been wondering about it.”
Blake chews on his lip and looks back to Birdie.
“We haven’t tested her for it, but we should. I didn’t consider that it could be a gastrointestinal thing. I was thinking endocrine. We even considered cystic fibrosis and a primary immunodeficiency. We screened her for cancers right away, and thank fuck those were all negative. Celiac is not typical in kids, but our girl likes to be unique.”
I smile at Birdie, who’s dozing against the couch.
“Thanks for the idea.” Blake stands and, to my surprise, pulls me into a hug. “Thank you for being so good to them, by the way.”
“I love them.” I snuggle against him, accepting the comfort he’s offering, just for a moment. “And I want her to feel better. ”
“I do, too.” He steps back and sighs, and then, to our horror, Birdie wakes up, leans over, and tosses her Thanksgiving dinner onto the floor.
“So much for using the bowl,” I mutter, as Birdie starts to cry, and Blake and I spur into action, cleaning up and stripping Birdie down, because she managed to get it all over herself, the blankets, everywhere. “I love that you never do anything halfway,” I say to her.
“If you’re gonna do it,” Blake agrees, “do it big.”
Blake puts the blankets in the laundry as I get Birdie in the shower, and when I’m drying her off and putting her in clean pajamas, I can hear the carpet-cleaning machine going in the living room.
“Wow, Doctor Blake cleans carpets.” I kiss her on the forehead, and Birdie finally smiles at me. “Are you starting to feel better, my love?”
“I’m tired.” She yawns. “But I feel a little better.”
“Good. Maybe you ate something bad, and you just had to get it out of there.”
Screech.
Oh, God, the smoke alarm. Birdie and I run out to find smoke coming out of the oven.
“Oh, crap!”
Blake is already pulling the burned cookies out of the oven, and I hurry to open windows to help get the smoke out.
“We were a little distracted,” Blake says with a laugh. “Oops.”
“I shouldn’t have put that last pan in there. This really stinks. It’s just some cookies; it shouldn’t smell this bad.” As annoyed as I feel about them, I’m thankful Blake was here to help with Birdie. I’d still be cleaning up vomit from the carpets and furniture if he wasn’t here.
I hope Bridger is doing okay up on the mountain. It must be terrible if Chase was called at the same time?—
“Why are there lights outside?” Birdie asks, pointing to the front window, and Blake and I turn to see what she’s looking at.
“You two stay here,” Blake says as he marches for the front door, but when he opens it, there’s no mistaking what’s going on out there.
My rental is on fire.
“What the hell?” I reply as I march outside and down to the sidewalk. There’s a lone police car, and Rod’s standing nearby, speaking into his radio.
“The blaze has enveloped the whole house,” he says, and all I can do is stare, zoning him out.
Everything I own is in that house.
Sure, I was going to donate most of it, but it was mine. My photos, my books, the dress I wore when Millie and Holden got married. I hadn’t pulled out the sentimental things yet.
Feeling a hand on my shoulder, I turn and find Blake standing behind me, Birdie in his arms.
“I’m sorry, honey,” he says.
“I guess we didn’t just smell the cookies.” I shake my head, taking it in. “Blake, I didn’t leave anything on. Just the lights, but not the oven or anything over there.”
“It’s not your fault,” he replies.
“Oh, God. Everyone’s up at the resort, fighting the fire up there.” Frantically, I turn to Rod. “No one can come fight this.”
“They’re on their way down,” he says grimly. “But it’s going to take a little time. This house is a loss, but I hope they’re down in time to make sure the other houses around it don’t ignite.”
I cover my mouth and shake my head.
What if Birdie and I had still been inside it? What happens if it spreads before they get here?