“I’ll grab you both fresh cups. Hydration is key,” I say softly, stepping back and easing the door nearly shut behind me.
In the hallway, Anneliese waits, arms crossed, the dish towel forgotten at her side. “She hates asking for help,” she remarks, her tone knowing.
“I know.”
“And even while sick, she won’t stop caring for Lucy.”
“I know.”
Anneliese studies my face, her expression shifting. “You look like you want to fight God.”
“More like beg,” I reply, the weight of the situation pressing down on me.
A faint smile tugs at her lips. “You’re invested.”
“I’m aware,” I say flatly.
Her head tilts slightly. “Her fever is mild. She thought you’d be angry.”
I blink, surprised. “She said that?”
“She did,” Anneliese confirms, and I exhale slowly, tension unwinding as I ponder why Hildy would worry about my anger.
“Thank you, Anna. You’ve really outdone yourself.”
She waves a hand dismissively. “I’m many things, but useless isn’t one of them. The soup is ready. Tea is steeping. And your immune boosters are non-negotiable.”
I huff a laugh despite myself.
“I’m going to shower,” she announces. “Then I’m not leaving my room.” She hands me the handheld monitor she’s been carrying. “Which means you’re on duty.”
“She set this up?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
“I did,” she boasts, a hint of pride in her voice. I can’t help but smile. She rolls her eyes playfully. “It wasn’t hard. Just plug it in. Keep that in mind when you move it.” As I turn to leave, her voice calls after me. “Oh, and she mumbled your name in her sleep.”
I stop, turning back. “What?”
Her smile widens. “Pretty sure she’s as smitten as you.”
“Thank you for coming, Dr. Kaplan,” I say, stepping aside to let her in.
“It’s not every day I get house call requests tied to bribes,” she replies, amusement creeping into her tone.
“Not a bribe, a donation,” I clarify, recalling how I shifted from offering her a couple grand for the visit to pledging it to her women’s health practice instead.
“If Hildy hadn’t called earlier about bringing Lucy in, I wouldn’t have agreed to come.”
“I’d love to promise it won’t happen again, but…” I let the sentence hang, a subtle warning. “Both are through the third door on the right.”
When Dr. Kaplan emerges from the room, she stands at the kitchen island, jotting down notes. “Fever management. Fluids. Rest. She did everything right. It should be fine.” She pauses as the doorbell rings, gesturing toward the door. “I’ll wait.”
I open the door to find a woman standing there, coat buttoned, posture neutral. She holds up an ID without stepping forward.
“My name is Marisol Reyes,” she states evenly. “Child Protective Services. I’m here for a routine post-placement home visit.”
The timing couldn’t be worse.
“Of course,” I say, stepping aside. “Please, come in.”
