was noonish . He had come in here on his own, to sleep next to his mommy. I wrapped my arms around his burning body and pulled him in close, feeling his forehead and was profoundly relieved that he didn’t seem as hot.
Then again, I was barely cognizant. I was hardly in a place to make any sort of expert mommy inspections. Still, he seemed cooler and he was sleeping contently next to me.
As I fell back into my dreamless sleep, I probably should have realized my son barely stirred, if at all.
* * *
My alarm went off at 2:00 p.m., my normal time to get up and get ready to pick up my kids.
As consciousness grudgingly returned, I listened to my son’s even breathing next to me. Even, yet shallow. I turned on my side and touched his cheek. Shit. He was burning up again. Not quite as hot as last night, but my little boy was clearly sick.
I lay there for as long as I dared, alternately running my fingers through his hair and lightly touching his cheeks. He had my dark hair and Danny’s broad- cheekboned looks. He had my long eyelashes, of which his sister was eternally jealous.
Finally I slipped out of bed and checked my email. Nothing of importance, although it did appear that I had been hand-picked to help a wealthy and desperate gentleman from Nigeria transfer his funds to the United States. His plan was genius: He would send me a whopper of a check, and I would send him a much smaller check in return. And get this: I get to keep the difference. Boy, what could go wrong with that idea?
I then spotted something blinking in the lower right-hand corner of my screen. An instant message from Fang. I squee’d and eagerly clicked on it. I might have gasped, too, and my heart definitely slammed hard against my third or fourth rib bone. Funny, I never reacted like this to Fang before.
His message was simple and to the point and it brought a big smile to my face:
I dreamed about you, Moon Dance. I always dream about you.
Smiling like a goofball, I quickly threw on a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. These days, I had quite the array of long-sleeved shirts. My day shirts, as I thought of them. My night attire was cuter. But my daytime wardrobe was all about survival...and staying out of the sun as much as possible.
Anyway, I slathered my hands and cheeks and neck with my heavy-duty sunblock, grabbed one of my many sunhats, carefully scooped my son up off my bed, and headed out the front door.
I dashed across the front yard, which never felt hotter. I threw open the garage door with a quick flick of my hand and plunged into the merciful shadows. Once there, I gasped and caught my breath.
My son barely stirred. He murmured “Mommy” and continued sleeping. I next buckled him into the back seat and wadded up the van’s emergency blanket for a pillow.
And with the window shades pulled down, I backed up into the sunlight, and a few minutes later I was picking up my daughter. A few minutes after that I was at the Urgent Care, with my son in my arms.
Chapter Fourteen
It was four hours later and I was sitting in Detective Sherbet’s office. Mary Lou, my sister, was watching the kids; in particular, keeping an eye on Anthony.
“Is everything okay?” asked Sherbet. He was sitting behind his desk and watching me curiously. He always watched me curiously.
I wanted to make a joke about how odd it was seeing Sherbet
Then again, I was barely cognizant. I was hardly in a place to make any sort of expert mommy inspections. Still, he seemed cooler and he was sleeping contently next to me.
As I fell back into my dreamless sleep, I probably should have realized my son barely stirred, if at all.
* * *
My alarm went off at 2:00 p.m., my normal time to get up and get ready to pick up my kids.
As consciousness grudgingly returned, I listened to my son’s even breathing next to me. Even, yet shallow. I turned on my side and touched his cheek. Shit. He was burning up again. Not quite as hot as last night, but my little boy was clearly sick.
I lay there for as long as I dared, alternately running my fingers through his hair and lightly touching his cheeks. He had my dark hair and Danny’s broad- cheekboned looks. He had my long eyelashes, of which his sister was eternally jealous.
Finally I slipped out of bed and checked my email. Nothing of importance, although it did appear that I had been hand-picked to help a wealthy and desperate gentleman from Nigeria transfer his funds to the United States. His plan was genius: He would send me a whopper of a check, and I would send him a much smaller check in return. And get this: I get to keep the difference. Boy, what could go wrong with that idea?
I then spotted something blinking in the lower right-hand corner of my screen. An instant message from Fang. I squee’d and eagerly clicked on it. I might have gasped, too, and my heart definitely slammed hard against my third or fourth rib bone. Funny, I never reacted like this to Fang before.
His message was simple and to the point and it brought a big smile to my face:
I dreamed about you, Moon Dance. I always dream about you.
Smiling like a goofball, I quickly threw on a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. These days, I had quite the array of long-sleeved shirts. My day shirts, as I thought of them. My night attire was cuter. But my daytime wardrobe was all about survival...and staying out of the sun as much as possible.
Anyway, I slathered my hands and cheeks and neck with my heavy-duty sunblock, grabbed one of my many sunhats, carefully scooped my son up off my bed, and headed out the front door.
I dashed across the front yard, which never felt hotter. I threw open the garage door with a quick flick of my hand and plunged into the merciful shadows. Once there, I gasped and caught my breath.
My son barely stirred. He murmured “Mommy” and continued sleeping. I next buckled him into the back seat and wadded up the van’s emergency blanket for a pillow.
And with the window shades pulled down, I backed up into the sunlight, and a few minutes later I was picking up my daughter. A few minutes after that I was at the Urgent Care, with my son in my arms.
Chapter Fourteen
It was four hours later and I was sitting in Detective Sherbet’s office. Mary Lou, my sister, was watching the kids; in particular, keeping an eye on Anthony.
“Is everything okay?” asked Sherbet. He was sitting behind his desk and watching me curiously. He always watched me curiously.
I wanted to make a joke about how odd it was seeing Sherbet
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