Page 54 of The Doctor's Surprise Family

“Hey, Oli? Sweetheart?” I got up and knelt by him. “Dad’s coming, I promise. He’ll be here any minute.”

Oli kicked at my knee. “Tell him go away!”

“Go away? Honey?—”

“You too, go away! Go away! Go away!” Oli thrashed, but I caught him and swung him into my arms. He clung to me, wailing, and buried his face in my neck. His skin felt too hot, and I motioned to Mom.

“Could you grab the thermometer?”

Mom ran to get it, and I sat and rocked Oli. The doorbell rang, and he only screamed louder. I stroked his hair.

“Hey, does your head hurt?”

Oli nodded and wiped his nose on my shirt. “My throat tickles too. And my tongue feels all funny.”

I rubbed his back while Mom took his temperature. She showed me the readout: 99.5. Oli squinted at it.

“Am I sick?” His lip wobbled.

“You’ve got a little fever, but you’ll be fine.”

Blake hurried up behind me. “He’s got a fever?”

Oli hid his face. “Make Dad go away.”

I rocked him in my arms.

“Mommy, make him go.”

I looked up at Blake. “Could you get us some ginger ale and a whole lot of ice? And some blankets from the linen closet, at least five or six?”

Blake hesitated, then he hurried off. I carried Oli over to the couch. When he’d quieted enough I knew he could hear me, I leaned down to whisper into his ear.

“It’s not all bad, you know, when you get sick.”

He made an unimpressed grunting sound.

“I promise, it’s not. You get lots of cold drinks to cool down your throat, and you get to watch all the TV you want. And you know what? Hey, Oli? Know what?”

He sniffled. “What?”

“You get your own blanket fort to watch your shows in. We’ll build it around you while you sip your drink.”

“So Dad isn’t mad at me? For being a baby?”

I bit my lip so I wouldn’t laugh. Oli might take it wrong and melt down again. “Trust me, when he’s sick, he’s a bigger baby than you.”

Blake came back in with a huge pile of blankets, a bowl of chipped ice balanced on top. Dad brought the ginger ale and Oli’s Bluey cup. I got Oli all propped up on a cloud of pillows, his soft-worn nap blanket pulled up to his chin. He watched, glassy-eyed, as we built his fort around him, leaving a gap so he could see the TV. By the time we were done, his eyelids were drooping.

Blake stuck his head in. “How you doing in there?”

“My nose itches,” said Oli. “My eyes itch too.”

“You can close them if you want to. Your eyes, not your nose.”

Oli giggled at that, and wiggled his nose. He sipped his ginger ale, then set it aside. A few minutes later, he’d drifted to sleep.

I glanced up at Blake. “You don’t have to stay.”

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