Page 158 of Unforgettable

After some quick mental math, I said, “About twenty minutes.”

“Okay, that’s great.” Then she was silent for so long I had to check my phone to make sure she hadn’t hung up on me. When I realized she hadn’t, I put the phone back to my ear in just enough time to hear her say, “Thank you.”

It was muffled and strained, but she’d thanked me nonetheless. I was concerned that Zach was sick enough to warrant a frenzied phone call to me, of all people.

“Not a problem.”

And then she actually hung up.

“Uncle Reed,” Zach groaned from the back seat. He had a nasty stomach bug—one I hoped and prayed I didn’t catch—and puked all over himself at recess. The nurse sent me away with a few puke bags, one of which he was clasping for dear life against his chest.

I felt so bad for the kid. Being sickandbeing little had to be a pain in the ass.

“What’s up, bud?”

“Am I going to die?”

My first reaction was to laugh, but then I thought better of it—catastrophizing was part of being a sick kid.

“No, you’re not going to die,” I said matter-of-factly. “This stomach bug probably won’t last much longer. I bet you’ll be running around and ready to go back to school by tomorrow.”

“So I don’t have the plague?”

That question threw me. What six-year-old knew what the plague was?

“No, you don’t. And how do you know what the plague is?”

He readjusted in his seat, his head lolling back onto the leather cushion. He seemed so tiny in the spacious back seat, and I wished I’d had a booster seat for him.

“A boy in my class said only people who have the plague puke like I did, and that meant I was going to die.”

Kids were so damn mean. I wanted to turn the car around and haul ass back to the school just so I could give the kid a piece of my mind. Then call his parents and make sure they knew what kind of little shit they’d raised.

“Buddy, I’ve been in your exact shoes before. I had a stomach bug and look at me now. I’m good as new.”

He exhaled heavily and proceeded to hurl into the bag. I cringed and looked away. At least he made it into the bag.

“We’re almost there. I’m so sorry,” I tried to console him, but I felt helpless. I didn’t know how people did this all the time—being in charge of keeping another person alive. It was a daunting task that I didn’t feel nearly prepared enough for. But I’d do anything for Josh and Zach.

And it felt an awful lot like something maybe a stepfather would do. It was an interesting realization—that if it all worked out the way I hoped it would, I’d be like a stepfather to Zach. I, of course, wouldn’t be more thanlikea stepfather unless Josh and I decided to get married, but I couldn’t see that happening unless laws changed suddenly and three people were allowed to be married to each other. But I would love to belikea stepfather to Zach.

Until we had children of our own.

And with that equally as daunting thought, Zach puked one more time as I pulled into my reserved spot.

With the puke bag still secure around his mouth, I carried him up the stairs and didn’t stop until I set him fully clothed in the bathtub.

On the drive to the school, I’d called the one person I knew would have the expertise required to tell me how to take care of a sick child—my mom. She answered immediately and told me a warm bath always helped. Then she gave me about ten other things to do or try and offered to come by to assist.

I’d told her that it wasn’t necessary, but I was regretting that decision when Zach puked in the bathwater only about ten minutes after he’d settled in.

Once I finally got the bathtub and him cleaned up, I laid him down on the couch with a trash can directly beside his head. At least he was resting, and when he was asleep, he was less likely to puke everywhere.

I was watching him intently, prepared for any sign that he was about to get sick again when my phone began vibrating. The caller ID said Josh, and I immediately smiled. My stomach did stupid little flips when I answered.

“Hey, babe.”

“Hey, you still at the gym?”

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