12. Ivy
— ? —
Ivy
The fever hits at three, right when Kurt’s handing Maddie back to me after his Wednesday hour.
One second she’s babbling happily about ducks, the next she’s burning up in my arms, her little body radiating heat like a furnace. I press my lips to her forehead and my stomach drops.
“She’s hot.”
“What?” Kurt’s halfway to the door, already reaching for his keys.
“She’s really hot. Feel her.”
He crosses back and puts his hand on her cheek, and I watch the color drain from his face.
“That’s not normal.”
“No. It’s not.”
Outside, the sky has gone the color of a bruise. Thunder rumbles in the distance, and the first fat drops of rain splatter against the windows. The storm they’ve been predicting all week has finally decided to show up, and the timing couldn’t be worse.
“I need the thermometer. It’s in the bathroom cabinet.”
He’s gone before I finish the sentence. I carry Maddie to the couch, bouncing her gently, murmuring nonsense while my heart hammers against my ribs. She’s crying now, that pitiful whimpering cry that means she feels terrible and doesn’t understand why.
“103.4.” Kurt appears with the thermometer, his face grim.
“Okay. Okay, that’s high but not emergency high. Get the infant acetaminophen from the medicine cabinet. Top shelf, purple box.”
He leaves without asking questions or second-guessing the decision, simply moving forward with absolute purpose.
The rain intensifies outside, sheets of water slamming against the cottage like the sky is trying to get in. Lightning flashes, and the thunder that follows shakes the windows.
“County road’s going to flood,” I say when he returns with the medicine. “It always does when it rains like this.”
“Then I’ll wait it out.”
“Kurt…”
“Ivy, I’m not leaving you alone with a sick baby in a storm. Give me the medicine. I’ll measure the dose.”
“You’re doing the wrong dilution.”
“Then show me.”
I show him. He adjusts without ego, without argument, without any of the defensiveness I’ve come to expect from men who are used to being right. We work together to get the medicine into Maddie, who fights it and then cries harder, and I hold her while Kurt runs a lukewarm bath.
“Not too cold,” I call after him. “Just barely below body temperature.”
“Got it.”
The bath helps. She stops crying and starts whimpering instead, her eyes heavy, her body finally relaxing in the tepid water. Kurt kneels beside the tub with a washcloth, dabbing her forehead while I hold her steady.
“Should we call someone?” he asks.
“I have the pediatric nurse line in my phone. Can you get it?”
He finds my phone on the kitchen counter and brings it back, already dialing. When the nurse answers, he puts it on speaker without being asked.
We spend the next twenty minutes following instructions. Check for rash. Monitor breathing. Keep her hydrated. Watch for signs of distress. The nurse is calm and professional, and by the end of the call, Maddie’s fever has dropped to 101 and she’s drowsing in my arms, exhausted from the ordeal.
“Keep monitoring,” the nurse says. “If it spikes again or she shows any concerning symptoms, go to the ER. Otherwise, fluids, rest, and acetaminophen every four hours.”
“Thank you.”
I hang up and lean back against the bathroom wall, Maddie heavy and warm against my chest. The storm rages outside, rain hammering the roof, lightning turning the windows white at irregular intervals.
Kurt is still kneeling by the tub, washcloth in hand, looking at me.
“What?”
“Nothing. You just… you knew exactly what to do.”
“I’m her mother. This isn’t my first fever.”
“Right.” He looks away. “Of course.”
I carry Maddie to her room and settle her in the crib, tucking her favorite blanket around her, adjusting the monitor so I can see her from anywhere in the house. She’s already asleep, breathing steady, cheeks still flushed but no longer burning.
When I come back downstairs, Kurt is standing by the window watching the storm. His phone is pressed to his ear, and his voice is low, tense.
“I understand the numbers, Oliver. I’m looking at them right now.”
I freeze at the bottom of the stairs.
“The projections are down because I haven’t been there to manage the situation personally. Yes, I’m aware of how much we’ve lost. I’m also aware that my daughter just had a fever of 103 and I’m not leaving.”
A pause. Then, harder.
“Then let it bleed. I don’t care if it costs us the whole division. I’m not getting on a plane tonight.”
He hangs up and shoves the phone in his pocket, and I watch him stare at the rain for a long moment before he turns around.
His face shifts when he sees me. Something guilty flickers across his expression and then vanishes.
“She okay?”
“Sleeping.” I don’t mention the call. I don’t ask about the money. “Fever’s down.”
“Good. That’s good.”
He moves past me to the kitchen, starts opening cabinets. “You should eat something. I’ll make dinner.”
“You can cook now?”
“I can heat up soup. That counts.”
I watch him rummage through my pantry, this man whose company is apparently hemorrhaging money because he’s been here folding boxes and botching orders instead of managing billion-dollar deals. He finds a can of tomato soup and holds it up with a triumphant expression.
“Soup.”
“Congratulations.”
He heats it up while I sit at the kitchen table, exhausted and wired at the same time. The divorce papers are still on the counter, exactly where they’ve been for days. Neither of us has touched them. Neither of us has mentioned them.
We eat in silence while the storm rages outside. Maddie’s monitor sits between us, her steady breathing filling the quiet spaces in the conversation we’re not having.
By midnight, the storm has settled into a steady downpour. The roads won’t be passable until morning, maybe later. Kurt is stuck here whether either of us likes it or not.
“You should get some sleep,” he says. “I’ll watch the monitor.”
“I’m not sleeping while she’s sick.”
“Then we’ll both watch.”
We end up on the couch, side by side, the monitor propped on the coffee table in front of us. Maddie stirs occasionally but doesn’t wake. Her fever holds steady at 101, then drops to 100 by one in the morning.
At two, she’s cool to the touch and sleeping deeply, and the adrenaline that’s been holding me together finally starts to crack.
“You should have called me.”
Kurt’s voice comes out of nowhere, quiet in the dark.
“What?”
“That night. The ER. When you were sick and alone.” He’s staring at the monitor, not at me. “You should have called me.”
The rage that flares through me is instant and white-hot.
“I’d have come.”
“Would you? Or would you ask Millie to arrange something for me. Maybe a fruit basket with a Get Well card.”
“Ivy…”
I’m on my feet now, pacing, because if I sit still I’ll either scream or cry and I refuse to do either. “You want to know what the last year of our marriage felt like? Really felt like? Because I’ve got the itemized list, Kurt. I’ve been carrying it around since before I left.”
“Tell me.”
“You don’t want to hear it.”
“Yes, I do.”
“You’ll make excuses. You always make excuses.”
“I won’t.” He stands up, facing me across the dark living room. “I won’t defend myself. I won’t explain. I’ll just listen.”
“You can’t just listen. You don’t know how.”
“Then teach me.” His voice cracks. “Please, Ivy. I need to hear it. I need to know exactly what I did.”
The words start coming before I can stop them.
“You want to know what the last year felt like? Really felt like?”
“Tell me.”
“Millie saw me, Kurt. Your assistant saw me more clearly than my own husband. She knew exactly what would make me cry, and you just paid the invoice. I don’t know if I should be thankful to Millie for exposing you or hate her for making me feel like you love her more.”
“You’re right to feel that way. I messed up. I-”
“I spent a year wondering what was wrong with me. Why I couldn’t hold your attention. Why I was never enough.” I wipe my face with the back of my hand. “It wasn’t me, Kurt. It was never me. You just stopped looking.”
“I know.”
“Stop saying that!”
“What do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know!” I’m shouting now, and I don’t care, because Maddie’s room is upstairs and the monitor shows her still sleeping and I need to get this out before it destroys me.
“I want you to fix it! I want you to go back in time and show up to my pop-up and hold my hand in the ER and pick out my own goddamn birthday present!”
“I can’t.”
“I know you can’t.”
“But I can stay.”
“What?”
“I can stay.” He takes a step toward me, and I don’t retreat. “I can show up tomorrow, and the next day, and the next. I can learn your bakery and drop your trays and let my company bleed money because I’d rather be here than anywhere else.”
“You heard me on the stairs.”
“What?”
“The phone call. Oliver. The quarterly projections.” I laugh bitterly. “The whole division, Kurt. That’s what you said. Let it bleed.”
“You weren’t supposed to hear that.”
“Why not? Because it proves you’re an idiot? Because you’re destroying everything you built just to fold boxes in a bakery that doesn’t need you?”
“Because it’s not about you.”
The words stop me cold.
“What?”
“The money. The company. The quarterly projections.” He moves closer, close enough to touch, though he doesn’t.
“None of it matters. I built that company because I thought it would make me happy, and it didn’t.
I thought if I was successful enough, important enough, rich enough, eventually I’d feel like I was enough. And I never did.”
“Kurt…”
“You made me feel enough. Just by looking at me, just by being in the room. And I was so terrified of that feeling that I ran from it. I buried myself in work and deals and Millie’s efficiency because it was easier than being seen by someone who actually knew me.”
“That’s not an excuse.”
“No. It’s not.” He reaches up, slowly, and brushes a tear from my cheek. “It’s just the truth. And I’m sorry. For all of it. For every anniversary I phoned in and every gift I outsourced and every moment I made you feel like you weren’t worth my attention.”