“I wouldn’t be surprised if you find out sooner,” she says. “The town council wants to move fast on this and, from what I hear, they didn’t get many applications.”
“Really? I figured a bunch of college kids would have applied for it.”
She nods as she continues filling out paperwork, moving quickly and competently. “A few did, but there aren’t that many of them ready to commit to staying in Catalpa Creek permanently. You’re a shoo - in.”
My heart flips and my stomach rumbles again. “I hope you’re right.”
She chuckles. “I’m a mom, sweetie. I’m always right.”
I laugh with her. “How long until I reach the always-right status?”
“Any day now.” She smiles as she waves me off. “Go take care of your baby. I’ve got this.”
I return the truck to the lot next to the animal control headquarters and get into my car. In a perfect world, I’d run by the house and grab a bucket for Harper in case she vomits on the way, but I don’t have time for that. I’ve already kept the preschool waiting too long.
Instead, I dig out a plastic shopping bag from my center console stash and set it next to Harper’s car seat.
It’s the best I can do.
Her preschool is housed in an old Victorian house and is painted to look like a magical wonderland, with cushions and toys and quiet spaces throughout, which is before I even reach the classrooms. There’s no wonder that Harper loves it here.
Or that Jared Reynolds’ wife, a kind, energetic, and compassionate person, who is amazing with kids and families, built it.
Harper’s pre-school teacher leads me to a quiet, tiny room, where Harper is curled up on a beanbag chair with the school receptionist.
“Our nurse is out today,” Mandy, the receptionist who’s just out of high school and has all the energy I never remember having and perfect, straightened hair, says. “Harper hasn’t thrown up again, but she’s not feeling much better.”
“Momma, my tummy hurts,” Harper says in a weak voice as she slowly sits up. She’s pale, her sweaty curls are plastered to her head, and she’s wearing different clothes from this morning. Which means these wonderful women changed her out of her puked-on clothes and put her in clean clothes.
“I know, sweetie. We’re going to go home now, okay?”
She sniffled, her eyes filling with tears. “I puked on Carly’s cupcake. She said I’m disgusting.”
Mandy kneels in front of Harper. “She didn’t say you’re disgusting, Harper. She said the cupcake is disgusting. She doesn’t blame you. In fact, before I came in here she asked me to tell you she hopes you feel better soon.”
Harper’s lips curve up in the tiniest of smiles. “She did?”
“She did. You go home and rest, okay? We’ll have lots of fun when you feel well enough to come back to school.”
“Okay,” Harper says. Her eyelids are already drifting downward.
“Want to walk, Harper? Or do you want me to carry you?”
She wordlessly holds her little arms up, and I lift her. She wraps herself around me and bursts into tears. My heart breaks, and my own eyes get teary. “It’s okay, sweetie. We’re going home now.”
Luckily, Harper doesn’t need the barf bag in the car. She falls asleep on the ride home and barely wakes up long enough for me to give her some acetaminophen for her low-grade fever.
I tuck her into bed and leave her door open so I can hear her if she wakes up. Then I hurry to the bathroom and vomit up everything I’ve eaten in the last twenty-four hours.
Around four in the morning, just as I’m sure I’ve got nothing left in me and am falling asleep, Harper yells for me. Head aching, stomach roiling unhappily, I drag myself back out of bed and into her room to find that she hasn’t, as I expected, vomited all over her bed, but is sitting up and smiling.
“I’m thirsty,” she says cheerfully, looking fully awake.
I almost never wish for a partner to help me with Harper, but right now, I’d give my left arm for someone to step in and tell me to go back to bed while they care for her.
No one talks about how hard it is to care for a sick child while sick yourself. I can’t ask my parents for help. Their health is too fragile to risk them getting sick. Asher and Clover are still working long hours at their gym. They can’t afford to lose a dayor three to the stomach bug. And there’s no way I’d inflict this on any of my friends.
I’m in this alone, and I’m not at all sure I’m up for the task.
