The Halloween party was the second event where she was truly at risk, around a large number of children with only a mask. I’d been a wreck. Not helped by the fucking rush of hormones I’d experienced every time I looked at Hannah in that goddamn dress.
I’d assumed that Clara would be nervous being at the party, that she’d feel exposed, self-conscious.
But my girl was none of those things. My girl was brave and strong and resilient and ready to conquer the world.
But she was not bulletproof. Even now. Even with clearances from doctors, even with the remarkable rebuilding of her immune system. She was still at risk.
Hannah did the right thing. But it left me not knowing what choice to make.
Calliope was watching me carefully.
My daughter had been my priority, her health my only priority from the second she was diagnosed, the second she was born. And Hannah had made every sacrifice for Clara without question, without hesitation. Hannah would not expect anyone to come to her hotel room. She didn’t have any true friends here but Lori, who was pregnant, and I knew Hannah would refuse to expose her to any germs.
“Wait here,” I told Calliope, moving before I could hear her spout a remark about not being ordered around.
I went to Clara’s room, grabbing the digital thermometer from where it rested on her dresser. A reminder, an artifact of a time that I couldn’t let myself believe was gone. All of the reminders of her illness lingered. Masks. Sanitizers, pill bottles in my medicine cabinet. Because I thought if I threw them away it would be tempting the fates, the universe or whatever, to think I was confident. That I was complacent.
Clara didn’t stir when I brushed my palm over her forehead. It didn’t feel warm. Her breathing was even. Unlabored. I took her temperature.
Normal.
No signs of her being ill. Not yet at least. I leaned down to lay a kiss to her forehead, inhaling the magical scent that was my daughter, reminding myself she was healthy.
I walked out of the room with the thermometer.
“Could you stay for a little while longer?” I asked Calliope, the words paining me as they came out. “I’ll call my dad; he can stay for the night. I’ll go to the hotel. Check on Hannah. I’ll clear it with the doctor before I’m around Clara to be sure. But I’ll take proper precautions, and I’m assuming that Clara has already been exposed to whatever Hannah has anyway. You’re contagious before you start exhibiting symptoms.”
I spouted all the knowledge I’d memorized since Clara’s procedure. Calliope knew it too, since she was immediate family who’d had to follow strict precautions after her transplant.
“No need to call your dad, I’ll stay,” she quickly replied.
It didn’t surprise me. Calliope, upon first impression, did not seem like the kind of person who would drop everything to help you. But that was exactly the kind of person she was. She’d likely just do it while drinking and wearing her patented RBF.
Even still, I hadn’t forgotten the harrowing ordeal she’d just gone through. Calliope would disembowel me for even alluding to her being weak, though. “You sure?”
She nodded. “I’ll call Elliot, get him to bring me my skincare routine and PJs. Plus, more booze. And better booze.” She winked at me. “He’ll be the sober caregiver, obviously. And he’ll bring Fluffy. I know Clara misses her.”
Though the thought of Clara waking up without me or Hannah grated my insides, I knew she’d be delighted to find Calliope, Elliot, and the fuckingcatin our places.
I also knew Clara would be more upset knowing that Hannah was in a hotel alone, sick.
I put the thermometer on the coffee table. “I’ll need you to go in to check Clara’s temperature in a few hours. Call me if it’s even adegreeabove average. If she wakes in pain, coughing….” My palms started sweating at the mere thought of Clara being sick. I already had countless images of her in a hospital bed tattooed into my brain.
Calliope nodded, a more somber expression on her face. “You know I’ll call, and that Elliot and I will watch over her. Now go take care of Hannah.” She shooed me away.
And I didn’t protest.
HANNAH
I was dying.
Logically, I knew I wasn’t.
I had the flu. A bad strain, maybe. But I was young, healthy, and I’d recover with rest, fluids, and medication.
Which I had none of.
I’d been in such a rush to get out of the house and away from Clara that I’d grabbed little more than the essentials.
