Mark had left reluctantly after dosing Holly with ibuprofen. He had left her resting on the sofa, watching a movie. She looked small and fragile, her cheeks colorless. It bothered him to leave her, even though Sam had assured him everything would be all right. “I’ll have my cell phone with me,” he had told her. “If you want to talk to me, if you need me, you call whenever you want. Okay, sweetheart?”
“Okay.” And Holly had given him the toothy little grin that never failed to melt his heart. Leaning over her, he kissed her forehead, and they rubbed noses.
It felt wrong to walk out of the house and go to the airport. Every instinct prompted him to stay. But Mark knew how much the weekend meant to Shelby, and he had no desire to hurt or embarrass her by not showing up to a family event.
In Seattle, Shelby picked him up at the airport in her sleek BMW Z4. She wore a sexy black dress and high-heeled pumps, her blond hair styled loose and straight. A beautiful, classy woman. Any guy would be lucky to have her, he thought. He liked Shelby. He admired her. He enjoyed her company. But the lack of turbulence and intensity between them, which had always seemed so right before, had begun to seem vaguely wrong.
“We’re meeting Bill and Allison for dinner before the party,” Shelby said. Allison had been her best friend since college, and was now the mother of three children.
“Great.” Mark hoped he would be able to get his mind off Holly long enough to enjoy dinner. Pulling out his phone, he checked to see if there were any messages from Sam.
Nothing.
Noticing his frown, Shelby asked, “How’s Holly? Still under the weather?”
Mark nodded. “She’s never been sick before. At least, not since she’s been with me. She had a fever when I left.”
“She’ll be fine,” came Shelby’s soothing reply. A smile curved her lightly glossed lips. “I think you’re sweet to be so concerned about her.”
They went to a casually sophisticated restaurant in downtown Seattle, the main room dominated by a twenty-foot central tower of wine bottles. They ordered an excellent pinot noir for the table, and Mark drained his glass quickly, hoping it would help him to relax.
It had begun to rain outside, water glittering on the windows. The rain was slow but steady, the clouds piled like unfolded laundry. Buildings crouched patiently beneath the elements, letting the storm water run through paved cascades and across vegetated swales, and into roadside rain gardens. Seattle was a city that knew what to do with water.
As Mark watched the oblique patterns of rivulets sliding along building exteriors of stone and glass, he couldn’t help thinking of the rainy night, less than a year ago, that had changed everything. He realized that before Holly, he had measured out his emotions as if they were some finite substance. Now there was no hope of stopping or containing them. Was parenting ever going to get easier? Did you ever reach a point where you could stop worrying?
“This is a new side of you,” Shelby said with a quizzical smile as she saw Mark checking his phone for the twentieth time during dinner. “Sweetie, if Sam hasn’t called, that means everything’s okay.”
“It could mean something’s wrong and he hasn’t had a chance to call,” Mark said.
Allison and Bill, the other couple, exchanged the smiling, slightly superior glances of experienced parents. “It’s hardest with the first one,” Allison said. “You’re scared every time they get a fever…by the time you have the second or third, you stop worrying so much.”
“Kids are pretty resilient,” Bill added.
Knowing that all of this was intended to ease Mark’s worry didn’t help one bit.
“He’ll be a good father someday,” Shelby told Allison in a smiling aside.
The praise, which probably should have pleased Mark, elicited a flare of irritation. Someday? He was a father now. There was more to being a parent than a biological contribution…in fact, that was the least part of it.
“I need to leave for just a minute to call Sam,” he told Shelby. “I just want to find out if the fever’s gone.”
“Okay, if it will help you to stop worrying,” Shelby said. “Then we can enjoy the rest of the evening.” She gave him a meaningful glance. “Right?”
“Right.” Mark leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Excuse me.” He stood from the table, went to the restaurant lobby, and pulled out his cell phone. He knew that Shelby and the other couple thought he was overreacting, but he didn’t give a damn. He needed to know that Holly was okay.
The call was picked up. He heard his brother’s voice. “Mark?”
“Yeah. How is she?”
A nerve-wracking pause followed. “Not great, actually.”
Mark felt his blood turn to ice water. “What do you mean, ‘Not great’?”
“She started throwing up not long after you left. She’s been puking her guts out. I never would’ve believed one little body could produce so much evil stuff.”
“What are you doing for her? Have you called the doctor?”
“Of course I did.”
“What did he say?”
“That it’s probably flu, and to give her sips of an oral rehydration fluid. And he said the ibuprofen may have made her sick to her stomach, so we’re going to go with just Tylenol now.”
“Does she still have a fever?”
“One hundred two, last time I checked. Unfortunately she can’t keep the medicine down long enough for it to do much good.”
Mark gripped the phone tightly. He’d never wanted anything as much as he wanted to be back on the island, right then, taking care of Holly. “Do you have everything you need?”
“Actually, I have to pick up some stuff at the grocery store, like Jell-O and clear broth, so I’m going to get someone to babysit for a little while.”
“I’m coming back.”
“No, don’t. I’ve got a whole list of people I can call. And I…oh, Jesus, she’s throwing up again. Gotta go.”
The connection went dead. Mark tried to think above the rush of panic. He called the airline for a reservation on the next flight to Friday Harbor, called for a cab, and strode back to the table.
“Thank goodness,” Shelby exclaimed with a taut smile. “I wondered what was taking you so long.”
“I’m sorry. But Holly’s very sick. I have to go back.”
“To night?” Shelby asked, frowning. “Now?”
Mark nodded and described the situation. Allison and Bill looked sympathetic, while Shelby appeared increasingly distressed. This sign of concern for Holly gave Mark a new sense of partnership with her, a feeling of connection. He wondered if she would consider going back with him. He wouldn’t ask her to, but if she offered…
Standing from the table, Shelby touched his arm gently. “Let’s talk about this in private.” She sent a somewhat weary smile in Allison’s direction. “Back in a sec.”
“Absolutely.” And the two women exchanged one of those unfathomable female something-is-brewing glances.
Shelby went with Mark to the entrance of the restaurant, to a corner where they could talk undisturbed.
“Shelby—” Mark began.
“Listen,” she interrupted gently, “I’m not trying to frame this as a choose-between-Holly-or-me thing…but she’ll be fine without you. And I won’t be. I want you to come to this party tonight, and meet my family. There’s nothing you can do for Holly that Sam’s not already doing.”
By the time she had finished speaking, Mark’s feelings of warmth and connection had vanished. No matter what she said, she was making him choose between her and Holly. “I know that,” he said. “But I want to be the one doing it for her. And there’s no way I could have a good time tonight, knowing my kid is sick. I’d be in a corner with my cell phone the whole time.”
“But Holly’s not yours. Not your own kid.”
Mark looked at Shelby as if he’d never seen her before. What was the implication? That his concern for Holly wasn’t valid because she wasn’t his biological child? That he wasn’t entitled to worry about her to this extent?
It was often in small moments that significant things were revealed. And with that spare handful of words, his and Shelby’s relationship had undergone a sea change. Was he being unreasonable? Was he overreacting? He didn’t give a damn. His first concern was for Holly.
When Shelby saw Mark’s expression, she lifted her impatient gaze heavenward. “I didn’t mean it to sound like that.”
His brain methodically rearranged the words into a more precise truth. She had meant it, despite how it had sounded.
“It’s okay.” Mark paused, feeling the supportive trusses of their relationship being dismantled in this conversation, every word a hatchet-strike. “But she is mine, Shelby. My responsibility.”
“Sam’s, too.”
He shook his head. “Sam is helping. But I’m her only legal guardian.”