“Sergeant Kingston?”
“Yes, this is Luke Kingston.”
“I’m sorry to say that we have Gilly in the nurs
e’s office today. She’s running a low-grade fever.”
“How low?”
“Ninety-nine point three.”
“That’s barely a fever,” I note.
“I’m under obligation to call you,” she answers, her tone a little frostier. “Her cheeks are red, and her eyes are glassy. I believe she’s coming down with something.”
I sigh. This also explains her outburst in the kitchen this morning. Gilly’s always more sensitive when she’s getting a cold.
Here’s the thing about being a single parent, though: in moments like this, you are truly alone. My parents have passed away. Wendy’s parents are great, and take the kids for two weeks every summer, but they live down in San Francisco. Although I occasionally employ a babysitter, I can’t really afford the expense of a full-time care-giver; besides, one of my kids is old enough to look after the other two, so it hasn’t been a necessity.
In situations like these, I only have one option: Bonnie.
“I’ll call my sister to come pick up Gillian.”
“Very good,” says the nurse, and hangs up.
I sigh, annoyed that I’m spread so thin, and dial my sister’s number.
“Luke?”
“Hey, Bonnie,” I say. “Can you do me a favor?”
“Sure. What’s up?”
I am blessed when it comes to Bonnie. My parents, God rest their souls, were good, decent people, but my little sister is the best. She never says no if it’s even remotely possible for her to say yes. I am endlessly grateful to her.
“Just got a call from Gilly’s school. She’s in the nurses’ office. Low-grade fever.”
“I’m on it,” says Bonnie, shuffling papers in the background. “I’ll keep her here until you can get her after work.”
“Sounds like you’re working yourself.”
Bonnie has an at-home accounting business and manages to fit her workday in around the twins’ napping and sleeping schedule.
“Nothing that can’t keep until the kids are asleep later.”
I wince because picking up my daughter and caring for her this afternoon means my sister will be working tonight when she should be relaxing.
“Sorry, Bonnie. I wouldn’t ask if—”
“I know,” she says. “And by the way, I’m not complaining, Luke. I’m glad to help...”
I feel a but coming in three, two, one—
“But can I ask you something?”
Here we go…
“Of course.”