“Okay.” Opening the refrigerator, he contemplated what to make for dinner.
“Brandon is sick. I’m sorry we didn't know before the party, or we wouldn't have brought him.”
He shoved the door closed with a thud and leaned on it. “What does he have?”
“Stomach bug. Sorry, man.”
Devon thumped his head on the fridge. “Not your fault. I need to check on Hailey.”
“Sure. Bye.”
Dinner forgotten, Devon climbed the stairs to see how Hailey was doing. She’d been napping when he got home, which hadn't seemed like such a big deal at the time. Most six-year-olds didn't nap, but most of them hadn’t been through what Hailey had.
The door creaked just the slightest as he opened it. She appeared fine from where he stood. He went back down the hall to his father.
“Has Hailey said anything about not feeling well?”
Don zipped his suitcase as he answered. “No, just that she was tired. Why?”
“John called. Brandon has the stomach flu.”
“That’s not good. You need me to call your mother? I was going to pick her up so we could head straight to the airport, but we can probably work something out.”
Devon just shook his head. “No, you two go. I’m sure the medical conference will be tons of fun.”
Don chuckled and clapped Devon on the back as he passed him. “It’s not about the conference, Devon. It’s about the hotel room.”
“Oh, ew. I didn't need to know that.”
“Bye, son!” Don called from the staircase.
Mildly disgusted, Devon followed slowly. He made a sandwich and ate standing at the sink, feeling just like a bachelor. If Hailey woke up sick, he’d deal with it. Nothing else he could do.
“Daddy?”
He turned to find her in the doorway; her cheeks were flushed, her hair matted to her face with sweat.Fuck.
“How do you feel?”
“My belly hurts.” She sat at the table, laid her head on her arm.
He rested his palm on her forehead, knowing she would be burning up before he touched her. “Sorry, kiddo, but it looks like Brandon gave you the stomach flu.”
She moaned. “I want to go back to sleep.”
“Are you sure?”
Nodding, she stood. He trailed along behind her and waited for the other shoe to drop because he knew it would. He gave her something for the fever and hoped it would work before she threw it up.
If he thought they would make it through the night without too much trouble, he was sorely mistaken. By eleven, he ended up camped in the bathroom with Hailey, helping her each time she got sick. He’d pulled her hair back from her face up into a quick bun and he bathed her face with a cool washcloth. She slept fitfully with her head on his lap, only to startle awake and lean over the toilet. The fever he couldn't treat worried him. She would just throw up whatever he administered.
By the time the sun came up, they were both exhausted. Hoping for the best, he left her in the bathroom to find his sanity in the bottom of a cup of coffee. By the time he got back, she was throwing up again.
“Oh, sweetie, I’m sorry.”
“S’okay.”
They continued that way for the better part of the day. She dry heaved when there was nothing left in her, and each time he urged her to swallow a few drops of water, she’d lose that, too. He grew frustrated, bleary-eyed, and wished his daughter wasn't in pain. He spent time on the phone with his mother, who assured him it just needed to run its course unless her fever got too high, and to continue trying with the water.
