Shelter from the Storm
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Chapter 31 ~ Kids Get Sick - or do they?
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Ranger
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"Ranger, can you stop at CVS and get some Pedialyte?"
''What?''
''I just got a call from Zoë's school, she's sick.''
Zoë is our four year old daughter.
"I can pick her up, babe, I'm close to her school right now."
"Um..." Steph sounded distracted. And worried.
"And I'll send one of the guys for the Pedialyte...She's throwing up?"
"I guess so. It could just be something she ate but the nurse said a lot of the kids are getting chicken pox. She hasn't had the vaccination for it yet, so..."
"Babe, I'll pick her up and call you. Maybe go right to Dr. Salem?" Jason Salem was Zoë's pediatrician, a fine if somewhat baffled-by-Zoë young man.
"Just call me."
... ... ...
I hung up and made the turn into the circular drive in front of Zoë's excruciatingly "Ivy" ivy covered old brick school. I double parked the Porsche and realized I had no car seat. I sighed, called Tank to bring the designated for family use only Cayenne and stowed my guns under the seat of the 911 Turbo. The security guard greeted me pleasantly, a retired cop who knew me from Rangeman. I signed in anyway, as per The Rules and went to the headmistress's office. She greeted me pleasantly but with a harried, distracted air about her. Guess she had a lot of puking kids on her hands.
She said, "I hope it's not the flu going around!"
"Probably not," I reassured. Zoë and I don't get the flu. Or chicken pox for that matter.
"Right. Kids don't get the flu, do they? They just get sick...and barf! Men get the flu...and we women just get on with it."
I kept my face blank. Like I said, I don't get the flu. And much as I love her no one would ever accuse Steph of just getting on with it. Whatever It is.
The headmistress ushered me down the halls to the nursing station. I said hello and the nurse opened a door to an inner room with a small cot. Zoë was huddled under a blanket looking miserable. Pretty verging on beautiful but miserable.
I stopped myself from wondering how many germ-infested children had rested under that blanket in its lifetime. And how often it got cleaned. I said, "Hi, baby."
"Daddy," her little voice rasped.
Poor baby. What hurts?
"Joey Morelli gots spots on his tummy! And his mommy took him home." Joey was the cop's second or third kid, I forget. He's in second grade and my daughter has a huge crush on the child. A ladykiller just like his dad? Joe Morelli's wife was a kindergarten teacher here; otherwise his kids would be in public schools.
"Do you have spots?"
"I don't know, daddy. Look!"
She hiked up her tee-shirt and undershirt and showed me her smooth pale cafe au lait tummy. It was marred by a smattering of bright red dots. Hmmm. I leaned over to look closer and she whipped her t-shirt down covering the—evidence.
"Can I go home now?"
"Yeah. Uncle Tank is bringing the car, we'll wait out front."
I hefted her up into my arms. "You need anything before we get in the car, sweetie? Bathroom? Bucket?"
A little sad giggle. "No! I didn't barf, daddy. I just feel icky."
Hmmm. I leaned my cheek against her forehead. She felt warm because like me, her metabolism runs hot. No fever, I thought.
We got in the car and speaking to the windshield in that annoying but necessary manner of all parents with the kid in the backseat car seat, I said, "We're going right to Dr. Salem's, chica. He'll make you all better."
"But, daddy!"
"You have spots, gotta go.''
''Uh. Maybe they aren't real spots?''
''Looked like chicken pox to me, chica, sorry.''
''Um.''
''Yes?''
''Well, maybe they are just, um, polka dots?''
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''Magic dots? Magic marker dots?''
I pulled into the parking lot of the Seven Eleven and undid my seatbelt so I could turn and look at Zoë while we talked.
''Why are we stopping, daddy?''
I unhooked the car seat restraints and said, ''Show me the spots again.''
In the bright February sunlight the dots were even more obviously fake.
"Why did you put dots on your tummy, Zoë? Mommy and I were worried that you were really sick." I kept my voice soft and neutral.
"Because Joey had spots! He has chicken pox, he really does! You can ask his mom! And, and, and, I wanted to be just like Joey! I wanted him to like me, daddy.'' Her voice wobbled.
Oh great, now she's gonna cry over a Morelli kid?
I said, "Probably you don't want to go down that road, Zoë."
Hiccup. "W-w-what?"
"Boys have to like you as you are...you're okay just being Zoë. You don't need to change."
"Oh. So...no spots?"
"No. And no fibs."
"Mommy wears make up! To look pretty for you."
"Yes but she doesn't lie about it."
"I'm sorry, daddy. Are you mad at me?"
"No. I'm a little sad though."
"Why? I'm fine."
"You say that now but even the chance of chicken pox is gonna keep you home from the class skating party tomorrow afternoon. Sorry."
"But..."
"No buts, Zoë. Next time plan ahead."
the end of the story, series tbc