“I’m okay, Ben.”
But apparently not. Because when she rose to help Ben climb out of the tub, she must’ve gotten up way too fast. The whole world went topsy-turvy.
Cora fell, just catching herself against the toilet, before going down to the floor again.
“Cora!” Ben yelled, scrambling out after her. “Sam, it’s Cora!”
Dazed, Cora blinked and tried to right herself, but she couldn’t seem to make herself move.
The door burst open, and Sam was there above her. “What happened?”
“I don’t know,” Ben said. “I think she’s sick. Look how red her face is.”
Crouching over her, Sam put his hand to her head. “Jesus.”
“That’s a bad word,” Ben said, his voice wobbly.
Sam rose, opened the medicine cabinet, and returned to her again.
“I’m okay,” she said, her teeth chattering. Why was she so cold? “Just help me up.”
“Did you hit your head?” Sam asked. “I took a first aid class in school, and I think you’re supposed to ask that when someone falls.”
“No,” she managed. The boys helped her sit up until her back was against the tub.
“I think you should take this,” Sam said, holding out a thermometer.
“I’m supposed to be taking care of you,” she said, but she did as he directed.
Kneeling in front of her, both boys watched her like she might fall again at any second. When the thermometer beeped, they both leaned in.
Ugh. 103.7. Not good.
“That’s bad, isn’t it?” Ben asked.
“That’s real bad,” Sam said, brow cranked down. “Should we call an ambulance, Cora?”
“No,” she said. She didn’t have insurance, so no way did she want to go that route. “Let’s just try to get it down.”
So while she gave orders, the boys fetched her what she asked for—ibuprofen, a couple of wet, cold washcloths, her cell phone. Just in case.
But she was kind of stuck on the bathroom floor, because every time she tried to get up, the world spun on her again. “I’m just gonna rest here,” she said, curling over on the little rug in front of the tub.
“Okay, Cora. I’ll be right back,” Sam said, adjusting the cold cloth on her forehead again. “Stay here, Ben.”
She wanted to reassure them, to take away their worries, but them talking over her was the last thing she knew.
“Dad, Cora’s sick. Real sick.”
Sam’s panicked voice echoed in Slider’s ears the whole way home. He didn’t care that he was midshift. Or that he hadn’t been able to find a replacement. He’d bailed and gone immediately home.
Because Cora and his boys needed him.
“Sam?” he called the minute he walked in the door.
“Up here, Dad.”
Damnit, he hated the fear he heard in the kid’s voice, and as he skidded into the hall bathroom, he saw why.
Cora lay in a ball on the bathroom floor, face splotchy red, body shivering.
“She has a real bad fever, Dad,” Ben said, his eyes wide, his little forehead furrowed.
Slider’s gut went on a Tilt-A-Whirl. He’d been here before. Taking care of someone he lo—well, someone he cared about. “Let me in there, guys.” He crouched beside her. “Cora, can you hear me?”
Her eyes eked open. “Aw, no. You’re home. I’m sorry.”
Slider put his hand on her forehead. “Jesus.” He grabbed the thermometer. “Can you take this for me?”
She managed something like a smile. “You remind me of Sam.”
103.2.
“It’s gone down a little,” Sam said.
“But not enough. Sam, turn on the tub. Make the water cool, but not cold.” It was a good plan with one major problem: getting her jeans off, because they’d be hell to remove once they were wet. “Okay, boys, why don’t you give Cora a little privacy here, because I’m going to put her in the tub and let the cool water help her.” Neither wanted to go, that much was clear. Slider grabbed each of their hands. “Hey, she’s gonna be fine. It’s just a fever.” He hoped.
When the door closed behind them, Slider brushed Cora’s hair back from her face. “I’m going to sit you up on the toilet and take off your jeans, okay?”
“Okay,” she whispered. “Sweet talker.”
Why did he suspect that her humor here was more for his benefit than an attempt to play down the situation? Sliding his arms under her shoulders and knees, he lifted her up to the toilet seat, where he undid the button and zipper on her pants. “Now put your arms around my neck. I’m going to stand you up and push your jeans down.”
With eyebrows raised, she gave a smile that looked like she really wanted to offer some more smart-ass commentary, but she was too sick to do it. And damn, that slayed him, it really did. “Okay, then.”
“Here we go,” he said, supporting her back with one hand as he worked the denim down over her hips. He returned her to the toilet seat and tugged the jeans the rest of the way off.