Sarah's Child Read online

  The third night Rome called. Marcie snatched up the telephone on the first ring, because the noise hurt Sarah’s head so much.

  “It’s about time you called, Rome Matthews!” she fumed, breathing fire. “Your wife is almost dead, and it’s three days before you check in!”

  Rome was silent for three full seconds, then barked, “What? What’s wrong with Sarah?”

  “She says it’s just the flu, but I’m afraid it’s turning into pneumonia. Her fever is high, it’s been three days since she’s had anything to eat, and she sounds like a hollow drum when she coughs. I can’t talk her into going to the doctor; she just lies there and says to give it time. Damn you, Rome, you get back here!”

  “I’ll be there on the earliest flight I can catch.”

  “I heard all that,” Sarah said weakly when Marcie entered her bedroom. “I do not have pneumonia. I have a dry cough.”

  “Protest all you want; when Rome gets home, then you’ll do what you should, instead of lying here getting worse.”

  “He’s coming back?” she asked, and even as badly as she felt, her eyes got brighter.

  “Of course he’s coming back. He said he’d take the next flight out.”

  Sarah felt conscience-stricken. “Oh, no! He can’t be half through all he had scheduled.”

  “It’ll wait,” Marcie said grimly.

  Rome wasn’t going to like being called back from a business trip, Sarah thought glumly. She was sick, but she wasn’t that sick. Still, it was more Rome’s place to tend to her than it was Marcie’s, and she knew that Marcie had other duties, as well as her freelance work to be done.

  “Marcie, if you have work you need to be doing, I’ll be all right by myself,” she offered.

  Marcie gave her an incredulous look. “Sure you will; you’re so weak, you can’t even get to the bathroom by yourself. Look, will you stop worrying about imposing on someone and just let yourself be taken care of? You’re not being a nuisance, and you’re really sick. No one’s going to think any less of you because you caught the flu.”

  Sarah didn’t feel like listening to any logic. Her fever was rising again, making her bones and muscles ache, and she twisted restlessly on the sheets. Recognizing the signs, Marcie began to sponge her down again.

  The fever made Sarah feel disoriented. Time became elastic, making a few minutes drag by like molasses in January; then all of a sudden several hours would telescope into nothing. She woke once to find Derek sitting by her bed reading, and she said, “Why aren’t you in school?”

  He looked up. “Because it’s three o’clock on Saturday morning. I’ve made some tea; would you like to try drinking some?”

  She groaned aloud, because for three days she’d been trying to drink tea, and for three days it had been coming back up. But she was so thirsty, she felt parched, and she said “Please.”

  He brought what looked like an ounce of tea in a cup, and Sarah drank it. “Is that all I’m allowed?”

  “For right now. If that stays down for half an hour, I’ll give you another swallow. I’ve been reading up on influenza,” he said.

  Well, that explained it. Because Derek tried it, it worked, even though Marcie had been unsuccessfully pouring tea down her for three days. Sarah’s stomach rolled several times but remained under control, and she drifted off to sleep again before Derek could dole out her second ounce of tea.

  She woke again several hours later to find Rome sitting on the side of her bed, his hand on her forehead and his dark face taut with worry. “You’re going to catch it too,” she said, feeling obliged to give her standard warning, though everyone else had ignored it and she didn’t see why Rome should pay any attention to it either.

  “I don’t get sick,” he murmured absently, and she made a disgusted sound.

  “Not you too! All you healthy people make me sick. Derek doesn’t get sick either. Marcie had her flu shot. I suppose I’m the only person in Dallas who gets sick!”

  “Actually there’s a flu epidemic,” he said, noting how fretful she was. Her skin was dry and hot, her hair dull and lifeless, and dark bruised-looking shadows lay under her dulled eyes. He lifted a cup to her lips. “Drink this.”

  She drank it, and the cool, fresh taste was delicious. “What is it?”

  “Peppermint tea. Derek made it.”

  Her back was hurting so badly, she turned on her side, wincing as she searched for a comfortable position. “I’m sorry Marcie told you to come home. It’s really just the flu, instead of pneumonia like she said, and I think I’m getting over it.”

  “You’re still pretty sick, and I’d rather be here.” He rubbed her back, knowing without being told that she was aching. She was soon asleep again.

  She slept a great deal, and she was listless and cranky when she was awake. Her fever yo-yoed up and down, and when it was at its highest point, she sank into a stupor. Rome stripped her and bathed her in cool water, and when she’d roused a little, he risked giving her aspirin to bring the fever down. For an hour or so she seemed to feel better, and she sat in a chair while he put fresh sheets on the bed. He fed her a soda cracker and more peppermint tea, and she went to sleep.

  He sat up until he felt he couldn’t keep his eyes open a moment longer. He didn’t dare leave her, but he was afraid that if he slept on the floor, he might not awaken when she became restless with fever again. Without hesitating, he took off his clothes and got into bed beside her, lying on his side with one hand touching her, so he’d know if she started tossing around.

  She woke him up twice during the night, twisting around trying to ease the aching of her body. Once she went into a paroxysm of coughing, and he winced at the deep, harsh sound. No wonder Marcie had been alarmed!

  “I’m all right!” she said aggressively, her thin colorless face set in mutinous lines. He put his hand on her cheek, feeling for a rise in fever, because he’d said nothing to set her off. She glared at him. “I hate being sick.”

  “I know,” he soothed.

  “You’re sleeping in my bed,” she accused. “You lied. You told me you couldn’t sleep with a woman. I’ve always wanted you to sleep with me, but you never would. Why are you here now, when I don’t feel like fooling around?”

  Despite himself, he grinned. Lifting the cup of tea to her lips, he held it while she gulped thirstily. “Just a case of bad timing, I guess. Boy, are you going to regret talking like this when you’re feeling better.”

  “I know,” she agreed, and pouted. “But it’s the truth anyway. Rome, when am I going to be well? I’m so tired of hurting all over. My legs hurt, my back hurts, my neck hurts, my head hurts, my throat hurts, my stomach hurts, my eyes hurt, and even my skin hurts! Enough is enough!”

  “I don’t know, honey. Maybe tomorrow. Do you want me to rub your back?”

  “Yes,” she agreed instantly. “And my legs. That makes me feel better.”

  He pulled off her nightgown and helped her to roll over on her stomach. Gently he kneaded her aching muscles, and even though she’d lost weight she hadn’t needed to lose, he still found himself admiring the clean, delicate lines of her body. Her long legs were fantastic, so slim and straight and well-rounded. Her bottom was a feminine work of art, shaped just right to drive a man mad. He placed his hand on one satiny buttock, and even in her illness, she smiled a little.

  “I like that. I like it when you touch me. When I’m better, will you make love to me again?”

  “You can bet on it,” he said under his breath. He moved up to massage her back, feeling the fragility of her ribs just under her skin.

  “I’ve wanted you for years,” she said, the words a little muffled by the pillow, but he understood them and his hands paused for a moment. “I had to be a little unfriendly to you to keep Diane from guessing.”

  “You did even better than that,” he said ruefully. “You kept me from guessing too. How many years have you wanted me?”

  “Since I’ve known you.” She yawned, and her eyes closed.