Page 119 of The Single Dad

“Toast?”

“Something easy to eat,” I explain. “If he wakes up hungry, he should have access to food he’ll be able to keep down.”

Cole nods stiffly, as if I just gave him marching orders, and rushes down the stairs. Shaking my head, I get Archie a cup of water from the bathroom, then return to set it on his bedside table.

“Archie?” I say quietly. He makes a little noise that might be an acknowledgement. “I left you a trash can here in case you need to throw up, and there’s a cup of water on your nightstand. I want you to try sipping it, okay? As much as you think you can keep down.”

“Okay,” Archie mumbles.

I brush the sweaty hair back from his forehead. Poor kid. These kinds of bugs are always miserable.

But that doesn’t explain Cole’s outsized reaction. He’s acting like he thinks Archie is dying. To a certain extent, it makes sense—he’s under a lot of pressure, and is unaccustomed to being a parent.

I’ve never seen him like this before, though, and it’s almost terrifying.

* * *

Cole

Riley and I are up late into the night, continually checking on and taking care of Archie. We bring him fresh cups of water, clean out the trash can, and try to coax him into eating a plain, unbuttered slice of toast.

Riley also digs through the infrequently-used medicine cabinet, searching for a kids’ fever reducer. She urges Archie to swallow a capful of it, and he frowns at the unpleasant taste of the thick, purple liquid.

Meanwhile, on her instruction, I pour cool water onto a hand towel, then fold it up to lay it across Archie’s forehead.

Riley is calm and collected throughout. She seems to feel bad for Archie, and talks to him softly, trying to comfort him, but she herself isn’t afraid.

I wish I could say the same. Fear grips me each time I look at the little boy, so small and fragile, bundled underneath his blankets, sweating out a fever. The weight of the responsibility I took on when I adopted Archie always weighs extra heavy at times like these.

Of course, Archie has been sick before. But each time he falls ill, or gets hurt, it’s the most stressful thing I’ve ever experienced—ten times more stressful than anything work related.

Riley continues to check Archie’s fever throughout the night. At around midnight, his temperature is at its highest—around one-oh-two. But after that, it starts to go down, little by little. Eventually, around two in the morning, the fever seems to break. His temperature is just a little bit higher than normal, and he finally settles into a real sleep.

“He’ll be able to sleep it off now,” Riley says, looking up at me with a smile.

“Good.” I exhale—the first time I’ve taken a deep breath in what feels like hours.

The two of us head downstairs for the living room, leaving Archie with a cup of water for if he wakes.

In the living room, Riley collapses onto a couch. She looks up at me with a weary smile. “Well, that’s probably the worst of it, huh?”

I nod, sinking down onto the sofa beside her. The second I’m off my feet, I realize just how exhausted I am.

Riley leans toward me. I glance down at her.

“Thank you,” I say softly.

“For what?”

“For all of your help. And for keeping a level head.”

“I was just doing my job,” she says, a teasing note in her voice that I might be imagining.

“No way,” I reply, shaking my head. “That was above and beyond, and you know it.”

“He’s gonna be fine, you know.”

I take another deep breath, my gaze darting to the ceiling, past which Archie is probably fast asleep. “Yeah, I know.”

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