Chapter Nine #2
Leah returns at the same time Nick’s cell rings. He picks it up from the counter and takes the call.
“Here.” Leah hands me the thermometer and brushes her hair away from her ear, waiting for her temperature to be taken .
“What? Jesus. Not again,” Nick says, obviously exasperated.
I glance over. He is running his hand through his hair as he paces the length of the kitchen. In the end, he steps out of the room.
I put the thermometer in Leah’s ear and wait for the beep before checking it. “Ninety-nine. There’s definitely something brewing. Okay, monkey. I’m going to give you some Tylenol, a short bath, and we’re going to rest today. How does a movie sound?”
“Good.” Leah’s normal enthusiasm is waning. She doesn’t even ask for a movie with a prince.
Nick walks back into the room, tension radiating from his stiff body and annoyed expression.
“What’s wrong?”
“You first. How is she?” he asks.
Leah walks over and throws herself against his legs in dramatic fashion. “I have a fever.”
I laugh and roll my eyes. “Leah, go get your stuff ready for your bath. Don’t forget pajamas and underwear this time.” I ruffle my daughter’s hair, and Leah drags herself out of the room.
“Is it just a cold?” Nick asks, his concern obvious.
I nod. “The fever is low grade. A little Children’s Tylenol will help. As long as it doesn’t turn into croup, we’re good.”
“Croup? ”
“That’s when they get a cough that sounds more like a bark.”
Nick nods. “I think my younger brothers have had it before.”
“She’s had it a few times already. It’s more of a winter illness and the doctor says she should outgrow it soon.
But you never know. Occasionally it can happen in spring, though that’s more unusual.
” Thinking back to those past episodes, I cringe.
“The noise she makes with every cough is scary as hell. It’s like a bark from her chest.” I place my hands over my sternum.
“When she was a baby, I had nights where I’d sit up in the rocker in her room because I felt better knowing I was there as she slept. ”
“Jesus.” He runs a hand through his hair, an obvious habit when he’s stressed. “I really wish I’d been with you then.”
“It’s fine, Nick. You’re here now. I’ll give her a fast bath, and she can relax for the day.” I glance at the phone clenched in his hand. I’ve forgotten about his call. “Is everything okay?” I point to the cell.
He frowns. “It’s the Miami hotel. We had a major flood and had to shut down the dining room. I need to go down there and handle things.”
Disappointment rushes through me, but I push it away. “No problem.”
It isn’t like Nick lives with us. I don’t expect him to be around all the time. Besides, this is his job—even though his comings and goings bring out the worst of my insecurities.
Whatever our relationship is, I need to get a hold of myself, and not immediately equate his traveling with abandonment.
If only it can be that easy.
***
Nick
Although I need to leave, I push work aside and stay, giving myself another hour with my girls.
Leah seems to wilt as time goes on. She didn’t even ask for the Unicorn Poo in her bath, which tells me how badly she’s feeling.
Aurora knows enough not to bring up Zach’s gift, obviously sensing Leah is too tired to notice.
And that reminds me how much I still have to learn.
I sit through some of Cinderella , Leah’s head in Aurora’s lap, watching them more than the movie, until the little girl falls asleep. I nod at Aurora, and she slides out from beneath our daughter, leaving her conked out on the sofa.
Aurora walks me to the door .
“Do you promise she’s okay? I can go without worrying?” I ask.
She nods. “She’s sleeping and barely coughing. I’ll see how she does overnight. Maybe I’ll keep her home from school tomorrow. And if she starts that bark, I’ll make an appointment with the pediatrician. Sometimes they give her steroids to reduce the swelling in her airways.”
I flinch at the description. “Maybe I should stay.” Of course, then no one will be available for the Florida debacle.
Aurora sounds calm and confident. She’s definitely pulled back since last night, but I’ll just have to see how she handles me being away again.
“What about you? Are you okay?” I ask.
Aurora treats me to a practiced smile. “I’ve handled Leah being sick before. No worries,” she says too easily.
“Yes, you have. But you’re not alone anymore. I’m here, too.” I reach for her hands and hold them tight, needing her to feel our connection. To remember what we shared last night.
“And Leah’s lucky to have you,” she says.
My gut starts churning. “I’m also here for you,” I remind her. And I’ll keep reminding her until she believes me. “You’ll keep in touch?”
She nods. “Of course. I’ll let you know how she’s doing. ”
I do my best not to grind my teeth at her obvious withdrawal. “I’ll check in at the usual times.” We’ve come up with a routine during my travels, and I know how much Aurora likes her schedules.
“Thank you. That’s great. What time are you leaving?”
She tugs her hands, and I release her. “As soon as I pack and get to Teterboro Airport.” Where the company jet hangar is located.
“Okay, well, fly safe,” she says, as she opens the door.
I’ve had enough of this bullshit. I wraps my hands around her waist and pull her against me. “Goodbye, Aurora. I’ll be back,” I say, then leave her with a long, deep kiss to keep with her while I’m gone.
Finally, I turn and walk away, heading to my car.
The sooner I leave, the sooner I’ll return.
***
Aurora
Nick has just left when Leah wakes up. And now, I have no doubt that my daughter is sick.
It is as if a switch has been turned on.
Leah’s gone from being slightly feverish, to having a full-blown cold with a cough that makes me nervous.
I do my best to keep Leah calm, because I’ve learned that panic and anxiety will only make the cough worse.
From Cinderella to Frozen to Beauty and the Beast , we watch Disney princesses all day and into the night. The first night is manageable, and we speak to Nick as planned. I’m too worried about the rumble in Leah’s chest to focus on Nick’s absence, which I suppose is a good thing.
When Leah wakes up in the morning, she still has a fever and a cough, but she seems calmer, and the cough is under control. I call school and explain Leah won’t be in and once again, we watch movies or I read her stories. When she naps, I check in at work, but Billie has things under control.
Nick calls while we’re eating breakfast, and I have Leah answer, to assure him she’s okay. Or so I tell myself, knowing I don’t buy my own bullshit. I’m keeping Nick at a distance for my own emotional safety again. The man told me he loves me. What more do I need?
“Mommy, I’m hungry,” Leah says, followed by a barking cough that I know isn’t good.
“Let’s go into your room so you’re close to the humidifier, and I’ll make you some chicken soup for dinner.” I kiss Leah’s forehead. Still warm. She’s due for more Tylenol after she eats. It is only four o’clock, but I’ll feed Leah twice if need be .
After setting up Leah in her room with a picture book and a stuffed animal, I walk into the kitchen. While I heat the soup, I call the doctor’s office, and we talk about the usual remedies. The nurse says they will fit Leah in tomorrow if the fever doesn’t break or her cough gets any worse.
After dinner, I give Leah more Tylenol and field calls from Nick.
One thing I can say about Nick—he obviously loves his daughter, if all his calls checking in on her are any indication.
I downplay how bad Leah’s cough and fever are because as frustrated as I am by Nick being away, I don’t want him to worry when there is nothing he can do from where he is.
I spend the early part of the evening bringing Leah in and out of the steam-filled shower and my heart breaks with every whine, bark-like cough, and cry.
I pray we’ll soon turn a corner, but later that night, Leah’s cough morphs into something that terrifies me. Her breathing isn’t strong, even when she isn’t coughing, and high-pitched wheezes come from her chest. Then Leah panics and starts to cry, which sets off more coughing.
Around ten, Leah is having trouble breathing, and I know I have to take her to the hospital.
I call Melly, but she doesn’t answer her phone.
Everyone else is too far away. So I’m left with two choices—either call for an ambulance, or take Leah to the hospital myself.
With no desire to traumatize Leah even more, I decide to drive.
I walk over to Leah, who has glassy eyes and a red, runny nose. She looks miserable and when she coughs harder, she starts to cry. “Mommy, it hurts.” She presses her hands to her chest, the tears breaking my heart.
“I know, baby. We’re going to go see the doctor.” I don’t say hospital. No need to scare her.
I bundle her up against the cool spring air and walk into the garage. When I open the door for Leah to get in, my normally easygoing daughter shakes her head.
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t want to be alone in the back.” She folds her arms and leans against the wall, refusing to move. Then, as if on cue, she begins to cough and cry.
I close my eyes and try not to cry myself. I reached into my bag and call Mark. He is next door, and I am out of options.
Once Mark hears Leah’s cough, he puts aside any lingering hard feelings and goes into action. I call Samantha, who rushes over to stay with a sleeping Mimi, and as soon as she arrives, Mark pulls his car into my driveaway.
The hospital isn’t far, though with Leah crying, barking and wheezing, I feel every moment. My priority is to get Leah settled and then I’ll call Nick .
Mark drops me at the ER while he goes to find a parking spot. Normally, there would be a check-in and triage, but the woman behind the desk is kind and realizes Leah can’t breathe well.