“Did you just wake up?”
“No.”
“How long has the screaming been going on?”
“Long time,” she says.
“And your dad’s been throwing up for a while?”
She nods.
I wish she’d come and got me hours ago. But what’s done is done.
With Miles cradled in my arms, I go and knock on the bathroom door. I hear a grunt from the other side, so I turn the knob and crack the door. “I hope you’re decent,” I say, and I step into the room. I find Aaron lying on his side on the linoleum floor, curled into a ball. “How’s your butt?”
“Shut up, Bess,” he says quietly, his voice hoarse. His throat is no doubt raw from all the heaving.
I look down and find that Miles is now quietly sucking down his breakfast. “I see that Miles got his impatience from you,” I remark.
“Nope. That’s all Lynda,” he says.
“No way. That temper tantrum was all you.” I walk to the sink and soap up a hand towel. “Wash your face,” I say as I lean down next to Aaron. Miles rests on my knee, his shoulders in the crook of my arm.
“Give me a minute,” he says. He pushes the hand towel back toward me.
So I very gently wash around his mouth and his cheeks with the cloth, flip it over and wipe the soap off, and I cushion his face on a clean towel on the floor. Then I wash his hands, soaping each finger up, because he did just shove something up his butt.
“Feeling any better?”
He nods.
“Good.” I look around. “What do you need for me to do?”
“You’re doing it,” he says as he buries his face deeper into the towel.
“Why didn’t you call me?” I ask as I pick up his meds and read them one by one. I make a little pile of pills he needs to take as soon as he’s well enough to keep them down.
He burps weakly. “I was a little busy.”
Kerry-Anne has retreated to the living room. I hear cartoons begin to play on the TV. I sit down on the toilet seat and hold Miles while I try to figure out what happens next. “Do we need to make an emergency trip to the doctor?”
He shakes his head almost imperceptibly. “No. This is normal.?
??
“This has happened before?”
“It’s better now than it was.” He very slowly pushes up to where he can sit up. Even his hair is damp and gross. “I didn’t know there were suppositories. It may be helping. Thanks.” He looks at Miles. “He was getting pretty worked up.”
“Are you kidding?” I say. “He was spitting mad!” I look down at his angelic little face. “I didn’t know something so small could make such a ruckus.”
“Oh, that’s nothing. Just wait until all three of them get a stomach bug at the same time. That’ll really test your mettle.” He motions for the damp towel I left on the counter. I take out a fresh one instead and hand it to him.
“Where’s Gabby? Isn’t she supposed to be babysitting today?”
“She’s not supposed to get here until noon today. She wanted to go somewhere with Katie.”
“Where’s Sam?” Sam is twelve. Surely, she could have helped, or at least called for help.