CHAPTER NINETEEN
Amelia
I blame Deacon for the way I can’t stop smiling all afternoon. It should be great for my plan of being more friendly to clients, but smiling when someone tells me about the stray dog that’s been scaring their children kind of makes me seem like a dick.
Still, I manage to salvage the situation by solving everyone’s problems and, other than an odd sort of burbling in my stomach I’m blaming on eating my lunch too fast, I’m feeling like a superhero or a rockstar. Or both. A superhero rock star.
Why hasn’t anyone made that movie yet?
I’m in the middle of transporting a stray cat to the vet when I get the call every parent in the world dreads.
I have to pick Harper up from preschool because she vomited. And little kids never make it to the toilet. She vomited on her best friend’s afternoon snack.
It sounds like absolute chaos in the background of that phone call, and the teacher doesn’t sound too happy. Probably because every kid in the place is also going to be vomiting over the next week, and she’s highly likely to contract the devil stomach rot herself.
My midsection burbles again, and I groan. There’s no doubt now that the burbling has nothing to do with my lunch and everything to do with the toxic germs Harper’s been harboring in her little body.
As I park at Jared’s large animal vet clinic, I close my eyes and say a little prayer that my parents haven’t contracted it. And then my stomach growls audibly as I contemplate the possibility that I’ve given it to Deacon.
He is never going to want to see me again.
“He can never know,” I say aloud, sounding to my own ears like a movie villain.
But seriously. He can never know. I’ll just lie low until this passes.
I call my boss before I get out of the truck.
“I have to pick up Harper,” I say. “Stomach bug.”
She gasps. She’s a mother. She knows. “I’ll take over for you. Drop the truck off and I’ll disinfect it.”
She doesn’t often take over for us. She really doesn’t have the time. But there’s only an hour left in my shift, and there’s no point in calling anyone in.
“Thank you. I’m pretty sure I’ve got it, too. I’m probably not going to make it into work tomorrow.”
“I’ve already scheduled heavy for tomorrow. I’ve got a recruit starting and I want Summers to train him.”
I sigh. “We don’t know that I’m getting the scholarship.”
“You will,” she says. “I’ve been getting glowing reviews of your work lately.” She hesitates. “For the most part. Did you laugh at someone who told you a stray dog was scaring their children?”
“I didn’t laugh.” People are so critical. “I was just having a good day, and I smiled a teensy bit more than necessary.”
“Uh-huh,” she says. “Don’t even think about stepping foot in this office. Tell me what you need from your locker and I’ll—”
“I don’t need anything. I’ll call you tomorrow with an update.”
“Call me when you feel up to it,” she says. “No rush.”
I hang up, strap on a mask, because no way am I passing this on to Jared’s staff, and head inside.
“Hey, Amelia,” Jared’s receptionist, Cassandra, says. “Do you have a sick one for us?” Typically, I only wear a mask if I’ve got an animal with an illness or anything that looks like a fungus or parasite. In my opinion, there’s no such thing as being too careful.
“I’m the sick one,” I say. “Or I think I will be. I just got a call from Harper’s school. Stomach bug.”
Cassandra winces. “Oof. That’s rough. Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”
I’m pretty sure she’s just saying that to be nice. She seems like someone I could be friends with, even if she is twenty years older than me, but she’s non-stop busy working for Jared. She doesn’t have time to drop off fluids and crackers.
I set the cat carrier on her desk. “This is a stray who needs to be neutered. Just call the office when he’s ready for pickup and someone will drop by to get him.”
She nods and starts filling out the paperwork. “I doubt Jared or Liz will be able to see him before Wednesday, but we’ll let you know. I hope you’ve applied for the scholarship for the vet program. We desperately need a small-animal vet.”
I’ve told Cassandra many times about my dream of becoming a vet. “I have. I won’t find out for another couple of weeks, though.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if you find out sooner,” she says. “The town council wants to move fast on this and, from what I hear, they didn’t get many applications.”
“Really? I figured a bunch of college kids would have applied for it.”
She nods as she continues filling out paperwork, moving quickly and competently. “A few did, but there aren’t that many of them ready to commit to staying in Catalpa Creek permanently. You’re a shoo - in.”
My heart flips and my stomach rumbles again. “I hope you’re right.”
She chuckles. “I’m a mom, sweetie. I’m always right.”
I laugh with her. “How long until I reach the always-right status?”
“Any day now.” She smiles as she waves me off. “Go take care of your baby. I’ve got this.”
I return the truck to the lot next to the animal control headquarters and get into my car. In a perfect world, I’d run by the house and grab a bucket for Harper in case she vomits on the way, but I don’t have time for that. I’ve already kept the preschool waiting too long.
Instead, I dig out a plastic shopping bag from my center console stash and set it next to Harper’s car seat.
It’s the best I can do.
Her preschool is housed in an old Victorian house and is painted to look like a magical wonderland, with cushions and toys and quiet spaces throughout, which is before I even reach the classrooms. There’s no wonder that Harper loves it here.
Or that Jared Reynolds’ wife, a kind, energetic, and compassionate person, who is amazing with kids and families, built it.
Harper’s pre-school teacher leads me to a quiet, tiny room, where Harper is curled up on a beanbag chair with the school receptionist.
“Our nurse is out today,” Mandy, the receptionist who’s just out of high school and has all the energy I never remember having and perfect, straightened hair, says. “Harper hasn’t thrown up again, but she’s not feeling much better.”
“Momma, my tummy hurts,” Harper says in a weak voice as she slowly sits up. She’s pale, her sweaty curls are plastered to her head, and she’s wearing different clothes from this morning. Which means these wonderful women changed her out of her puked-on clothes and put her in clean clothes.
“I know, sweetie. We’re going to go home now, okay?”
She sniffled, her eyes filling with tears. “I puked on Carly’s cupcake. She said I’m disgusting.”
Mandy kneels in front of Harper. “She didn’t say you’re disgusting, Harper. She said the cupcake is disgusting. She doesn’t blame you. In fact, before I came in here she asked me to tell you she hopes you feel better soon.”
Harper’s lips curve up in the tiniest of smiles. “She did?”
“She did. You go home and rest, okay? We’ll have lots of fun when you feel well enough to come back to school.”
“Okay,” Harper says. Her eyelids are already drifting downward.
“Want to walk, Harper? Or do you want me to carry you?”
She wordlessly holds her little arms up, and I lift her. She wraps herself around me and bursts into tears. My heart breaks, and my own eyes get teary. “It’s okay, sweetie. We’re going home now.”
Luckily, Harper doesn’t need the barf bag in the car. She falls asleep on the ride home and barely wakes up long enough for me to give her some acetaminophen for her low-grade fever.
I tuck her into bed and leave her door open so I can hear her if she wakes up. Then I hurry to the bathroom and vomit up everything I’ve eaten in the last twenty-four hours.
Around four in the morning, just as I’m sure I’ve got nothing left in me and am falling asleep, Harper yells for me.
Head aching, stomach roiling unhappily, I drag myself back out of bed and into her room to find that she hasn’t, as I expected, vomited all over her bed, but is sitting up and smiling.
“I’m thirsty,” she says cheerfully, looking fully awake.
I almost never wish for a partner to help me with Harper, but right now, I’d give my left arm for someone to step in and tell me to go back to bed while they care for her.
No one talks about how hard it is to care for a sick child while sick yourself.
I can’t ask my parents for help. Their health is too fragile to risk them getting sick.
Asher and Clover are still working long hours at their gym.
They can’t afford to lose a day or three to the stomach bug.
And there’s no way I’d inflict this on any of my friends.
I’m in this alone, and I’m not at all sure I’m up for the task.
Harper gulps the water down, clearly dehydrated, and I take the cup from her. “You have to drink slowly, baby.”
She scowls at me, her face scrunched up in the way it gets when she’s on the verge of a tantrum. “But I’m thirsty.”
“I know, but remember what happened the last time you had the stomach bug, and you ate and drank too much too soon?” That was a lesson I’m never going to forget.
“I throwed up again,” she says. Her face twists. “My tummy hurts.”
I shift into action, like a spotter at a gymnastics meet. “Do you need to throw up?”
“I don’t know.” A tear streaks down her cheek. “I don’t want to throw up again.”
“I know, sweetie, but maybe we should go to the bathroom, anyway.”
She screws up her face. “I don’t want to throw up.” As she yells at me, a little toot puffs out of her.
She laughs, and I laugh. “I feel better now,” she says.
I sink back into my seat on the floor, relieved. Not only because I won’t be cleaning up vomit, and probably vomiting again in the process, but because her little fart is a good sign her body’s on its way to digesting normally again.
“I’m hungry, Momma.”
And because there’s no one to take over for me, I get up and fix her dry toast. Then, I turn on the TV to distract her while I hurry back to the bathroom.