Page 62 of Lillian

“Don’t judge me!” I tell him with faux indignation. “I’m a busy woman.”

“Too busy to spend the day with me?” he asks, surprising me.

“It’s Friday. You don’t have to work?”

“I’m playing hooky. I was hoping to spend some time with two of my favorite girls after my apology breakfast.” He dumps the pancake out onto a plate off to the side, pouring more batter into the pan.

“What are you apologizing for?” My brows furrow.

“For showing up so late last night. Unannounced.”

“Ahh,” is all I say. It did really surprise me, scare me, even. Lights shining through my living room after I had fallen asleep on the couch. When they woke me up, my heart was pounding, expecting either some stranger showing up on my door or my sister. Which would have been worse because only bad news is brought so late and without warning.

But then I poked my head up over the back of the couch, low enough to where they wouldn’t see me looking out the living room window, and saw Lincoln’s Lincoln.

“It was a nice surprise,” I tell him so he doesn’t feel bad. “A heads up text wouldn’t have been out of line, though,” I laugh, winking at him.

The grin he gives me is sheepish. “Deal.”

“Good. So what are these plans for the day?” I walk to the counters and pull out plates for me and Lincoln and then one of Grace’s small plastic ones.

“Grace, come eat.” I look at her laying on the couch. The chocolate milk has been discarded, still half full, and she’s got her thumb in her mouth as she lays there in the same spot as before.

Warning bells are starting to ring off in my head. This isn’t like her.

“I was hoping you two would come stay the weekend with me again. There is this really cool arcade on the way home I thought we could stop at that Grace would love.”

I’m only half listening to him. Instead, I go to the medicine cabinet, grab the thermometer, and go to the living room to kneel in front of Grace.

“Here, sweetie. Open up for me really quick.” My voice is gentle, soothing.

She shakes her head at me.

“Yes, come on. Just super fast.” I tug her thumb out of her mouth, and she opens up.

I stick the thermometer under her tongue and tap underneath her chin to remind her to close.

Twenty or so seconds later, the thermometer beeps, and I pull it out.

One oh one point three.

Shit.

With the back of my hand, I brush her hair back, feeling her forehead again. It’s sticky with sweat, little baby hairs pressed to it.

“Are you sure you’re feeling okay, Grace?” I ask again, and she just shrugs, not giving a verbal answer. “You didn’t drink all your milk. Will you come eat some pancakes?”

Another shake of her head.

Pushing up off the floor, I take the thermometer back into the kitchen and rummage around until I find a bottle of children’s berry-flavored Motrin.

“Is everything okay?” Lincoln places a hand on my back as he comes to see what I’m doing.

“I think she’s coming down with something. She’s running a fever,” I tell him as I pour out the recommended dosage for her.

“Oh no. Poor girl.” Lincoln frowns toward the living room, concern in his eyes.

“Sorry, I know you wanted to make a day of it, but I think that’s off the table now.”

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