The waiter brings our entrées, and she starts quizzing me about my family and growing up in Ohio. I end up talking far more than I intend to.
The waiter is clearing our dishes when Quinn’s cell phone vibrates. She checks it.
“It’s Sarah. She’s watching Lily, so I need to take this.”
“Sure,” I say. “Go right ahead.”
I watch her brows furrow after she answers. “Does she have a fever?” she asks.
Uh-oh. I signal for the waiter to bring the check. He hustles over.
“I’ll be right there,” Quinn says, then ends the call.
“What’s going on?” I pull out my credit card and hand it to the waiter.
“Lily’s sick.” She gathers up her purse. “I need to go.”
“Hang on a moment, and I’ll follow you over there.”
“You don’t need to,” she says.
“I want to. Maybe I can help.”
—
QUINN DRIVES LIKEDale Earnhardt Jr. after six double espressos. I have trouble keeping her in sight; I’m beginning to wish I’d asked for the address when I see her turn into the drive of a little house near River Road that’s nearly hidden from the street by trees and shrubbery. She’s out of her car and inside before I even make it up the porch steps.
Sarah smiles and opens the door wider. “Hi, Zack. Come on in.”
Two toddler boys in shorts and striped T-shirts are jumping up and down in the hallway. I find Lily lying on a brown sofa in the living room, looking limp and pale.
Quinn leans over her. “Hey, Lily.”
“Oh, Auntie Quinn—I’m so, so glad you’re here.” Lily’s voice sounds as wan as she looks.
“Poor baby girl.” Quinn perches on the edge of the sofa and strokes Lily’s cheek. “I hate it that you don’t feel well.”
“I hate it, too.”
Quinn lays a palm on her forehead. My heart gives a strange lurch at the familiar motherly gesture. Lily closes her eyes for a moment, then abruptly opens them. Her face has a weird expression.
“Uh-oh,” Sarah says. She surges forward, grabs a plastic bucket off the floor, and thrusts it under Lily’s chin, just in time.
“Good save,” I say as Sarah pulls back the bucket and takes it in the other room.
“Urpity urp!” says one toddler, peering over the back of the sofa.
“Big barf!” says the other. They collapse on the floor, laughing, then stand up and run around the sofa.
“Boys, leave Lily alone,” Sarah calls. She returns in a moment with a wet washcloth. She hands it to Quinn, who gently wipes Lily’s face.
Lily looks up, obviously feeling better, and notices me for the first time. Her face brightens. “Daddy!”
Delight pulses through me at the effusive greeting. “Hi, Lily.”
“I’m sick.”
“I see. I’m so very sorry.”
