one’s mine,” he mumbled when she stuck her head out into the hall.
“Unh,” she replied and went back to bed.
On Wednesday, a week and a half into the endless string of illnesses the twins had been suffering, Daniel had a timber owner he had to go meet with. It was a small grove of Douglas firs ready to harvest, and Daniel would walk the grove with the landowner, explaining how Valentine Logging would maximize each tree to its full potential. The landowner wanted to meet at eight in the morning and Daniel wanted the contract, so at a quarter after seven he staggered out of the house, bleary-eyed, armed with a giant travel mug of coffee.
Keely spent the morning alone trying to keep her eye on Jake while doing what she could to ease poor Frannie’s misery. She dosed the little girl with over-the-counter meds, kept the humidifier running and gave Frannie cold-water sponge baths at regular intervals.
The day never seemed to end.
Finally, at around two in the afternoon, she got both kids down for a nap. To the soft hissing of the humidifier, she tiptoed from their room with Maisey at her heels. Across the hall, both of her doors were open. She cast a despairing glance toward her studio room. As if.
Right now, her beloved Bernina was the last thing she wanted to cuddle up with. The bed in the other room, though...
Nothing had ever looked so beautiful.
She dragged her tired body in there and fell gratefully across the mattress as Maisey flopped down on the rug right beside her. Blessed sleep settled over her.
She dreamed of walking the foggy beach not far from her back door—with Daniel of all people. They didn’t talk, just strolled along the wet sand, side by side but not touching, the waves sliding in, foaming around their bare feet.
“Keewee! Da-Da!”
“Wha—huh?” Keely shuddered, instantly wide-awake.
“Da-Da!” Frannie cried from the other room, followed by a long wail of sheer misery.
Keely shoved herself backward off the bed, raked her hair out of her eyes and hustled for the other room. Frannie was standing up in her crib, sobbing and coughing, snot running down her flushed little face.
“Oh, honey...”
“Keewee! Ow!”
Keely ran over and lifted the poor sweetheart into her arms. “Frannie. Oh, now. It’s okay...” She settled her on her shoulder.
At which point, Frannie threw up. It went down Keely’s back. That caused Frannie to wail all the louder.
“It’s okay. It’s all right,” Keely promised, though clearly it was anything but. Gently, she peeled the little girl off her shoulder. “Shh. Shh. Let me...”
It was as far as she got. Frannie hurled again, this time down Keely’s front. “Oh, bad!” Frannie wailed.
“No, no,” Keely promised her. “It’s not bad, honey. It’s okay.”
That was when Frannie threw up again, all over herself. She wailed even louder, “Keewee, I sowwy. I sowwy, sowwy, sowwy.”
From his crib, Jake cried, “Fa-Fa? Fa-Fa, oh, no!”
“She’s okay,” Keely promised and wished it were true. “Jakey, she’s going to be fine.”
Maisey appeared in the doorway to the hall. She moaned in sympathetic doggy distress.
Keely carried Frannie to the changing table and quickly got her out of her soiled clothes. “Jakey, we’ll be right back,” she promised the increasingly agitated little boy as she grabbed the little girl and a clean diaper. Holding both out and away from her vomit-soaked body, she stepped over Maisey and carried baby and diaper across the hall to her room, moving straight through to her bathroom, which had a traditional tub-and-shower combination.
Shoving the shower curtain aside, Keely lowered the little girl into the tub. “Here. We’ll get you all cleaned up.”
“’Kay.” Frannie sniffed.
Keely turned on the water. Once she had it lukewarm, she grabbed a washcloth and rinsed Frannie off.
Frannie was quiet, sniffling a little, watching her through wide eyes, as Keely dried her off and carried her—held out and dangling—to her own bed, where she put on the diaper.
“You feel better now, honey?”
Frannie solemnly nodded, eyes wide and wet. Keely scooped her up again and put her in the playpen she kept set up in the corner for any time she needed to corral the kids in her room.
“Fa-Fa? Keewee?” Jake cried from the other room.
“Coming, Jakey. Just a minute!” Keely called back.
A plush pink squeaky kitten lay waiting in the playpen. Keely squeezed it and it meowed. Frannie took it and hugged it close.
“I’m just going to go into the bathroom to clean up. I’ll be right back. Okay, honey?”
For that, she got another somber nod from Frannie. Though still flushed, her eyes red and her nose running, Frannie did seem much calmer at least.
Thank God, the vomiting bout seemed to be through.
Jake called again, “Keewee?”
“Just another minute, Jakey. I’ll be there. I promise!” Peeling off her smelly shirt as she went, Keely darted for the bathroom. Standing on the bathroom rug by the tub, she wiggled free of her bra, kicked out of her shoes and shoved down both her jeans and panties at once.
“Keewee!” Jake shouted.
“Jakey, I’m right here! Just a minute!” she called, as she hopped around in a ridiculous circle, whipping off one sock and then the other. Flipping on the taps, switching the flow to the showerhead, she got in under the still-cold spray and yanked the curtain closed.
Three minutes, tops, she was in there. Jake called her name repeatedly. Once or twice, Frannie did, too. Keely got the mess off, rinsed in record time, flipped off the tap and shoved the shower curtain wide.
She’d stepped, dripping wet to the bath mat, and reached for her towel before she happened to glance through the open bathroom door to the bedroom.
Jake in his arms and Maisey at his feet, Daniel stood by the playpen staring at her with his mouth hanging open.
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