“Okay,” she whispers.
And now I’m at a loss for what to talk about. There areso many things I could say to Melissa, but this isn’t the time for a serious conversation.
My gaze moves to the books under the coffee table. “I found a book in the call room.A Dream of a Duke.It looks like a literary classic.”
I hear a muffled laugh, which is all the encouragement I need. I flip to the first chapter and begin. “After four unsuccessful Seasons, Miss Prudence Leadbottom?—”
Melissa interrupts me with a snort. “That’s not really her name,” she whispers.
“Shh,” I tease. “You’re not supposed to talk, remember? Claire’s asleep.” The heroine’s name is actually Ledbury, but I like my version better.
“Miss Prudence Leadbottom was resigned to the fact that she was unlikely to receive an offer of marriage,” I continue. “She wasn’t troubled by the prospect of life as a spinster, since, in her opinion, men were far more trouble than they were worth.”
I skip a few pages until I find the scene where the heroine meets the duke.
“One afternoon, Miss Leadbottom was walking in the park when she nearly collided with a stranger. The gentleman was tall and dark, with muscular thighs that were displayed to advantage in tightly fitting buckskin breeches.”
Melissa giggles softly and I keep reading, enjoying her muffled laughter and whispered commentary. After about ten minutes, she goes quiet, and I suspect she’s fallen asleep. I keep reading until the sleep timer kicks in and the call disconnects.
NINE
MELISSA
I didn’t expect to fall asleep last night, but evidently I did. Daylight’s streaming through the window, and I have a kink in my neck from sleeping in a chair. Claire’s still asleep, and she looks comfortable. Her breathing’s slow and even, and there’s a healthy color in her cheeks. If it weren’t for the beeping of the monitor, I’d hardly know she was sick.
I glance at the clock on the wall and am surprised to see it’s almost eight-thirty. I don’t think I’ve slept this late since Claire was born.
My earbuds are still in my ears, and my memory skips back to last night, when Luke read me a ridiculous story about a girl and a duke. Part of me wonders if I dreamed it—maybe it was a strange sort of stress reaction—but the memory is too clear for that.
Even after ten years, Luke’s voice was familiar and soothing, and it took me out of myself. He even tried to do a falsetto voice for the heroine’s spinster aunt. Sometimes when I can’t sleep I listen to audiobooks, but this was farmore intimate; this was Luke, and he was reading just for me.
Claire’s eyes flutter open, and I rush to her bedside. I want to be the first thing she sees when she comes fully awake.
“Good morning, sweetheart.” She blinks at me with the adorable confusion of a child just waking up. “How are you feeling?”
Claire yawns. “Good, I think.”
There’s a knock at the door, and Luke comes in with the pediatrician, Dr. Markland. He’s changed into scrubs, and there are dark shadows under his hazel eyes. I must have gotten more sleep than he did last night, since he was still reading to me when I passed out.
“Good morning,” Dr. Markland says cheerfully to Claire. “Feeling better? Your vital signs look perfect.”
Claire gives her a drowsy nod. “Yeah. I’m hungry though.”
“Always good news,” Dr. Markland says, as she listens to Claire’s chest. “The rash looks a lot better, too.” She steps aside so Luke can look at the surgical incisions, which he says are healing well.
“I think we can get you out of the ICU today,” Dr. Markland says cheerfully. “And if there’s no more excitement today, probably home tomorrow, if Dr. Carlton agrees.”
Luke nods quickly. “Fine by me. We’ll start a new antibiotic today. It’s from a totally different class than the one you got yesterday, so I don’t expect another reaction.”
When they file out of the room, I follow, hoping for a chance to talk to Luke without Dr. Markland listening in. Sure enough, she heads back to the nursing station and he hangs back.
“I talked to my mom this morning, and she said Liamhad a good night,” he tells me quietly, pulling my car key from the pocket of his scrubs. “There’s no rush to pick him up, she can keep him as long as you need. Your car’s on the third floor of the lot, near the elevator.”
“Thanks, Luke. Troy should be here soon, so I can go get Liam.”
Saying thank you seems inadequate after all Luke’s done for me, and I meet his eye, trying to convey the depth of my gratitude. But he seems to be back to professional mode today, as though he’s just a surgeon and I’m just the mother of his patient. Gone is the thoughtful, playful man who read me a romance novel until I fell asleep.
“Okay,” Luke says brusquely, before turning to walk away.
