Page 27 of A Treasure Worth Seeking

“Dammit,” she heard him mutter under his breath before he ordered, “Mrs. Lyman, call your physician and tell him you have an emergency. This is no ordinary stomachache. If he can’t come immediately, find someone who will.”

“He’s a friend. He’ll come,” Melanie said. To Erin, her voice seemed to float from the dark end of a long tunnel.

She panicked when she felt the bile rising once again in her throat and clamped her hand over her mouth. Lance flung back the covers and swept her into his arms, one arm supporting her back, the other under her knees. He carried her to the bathroom and deposited her in front of the commode. She had no time to feel embarrassed before she vomited again.

When she was finished, she straightened up and leaned shakily against the wall. Lance, with a supportive arm around her waist, said, “Here. Swish your mouth out, but don’t swallow it.”

He clinked a glass against her teeth, and she took a mouthful of the solution. It was green mouthwash diluted with water.

She washed her mouth out and spit into the sink. How would she ever look this man in the face again? Wouldn’t he always remember her in this ravaged condition? She couldn’t think about it now. All she could do now was cling to him like a parasitical ivy struggling for survival.

He lay her gently on the bed and covered her with the blanket against her shivering. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, stroking the sweat-dampened hair from her forehead when Melanie came running back into the room. “He’ll be here in a minute. He only lives a few blocks away. Is she better?”

“I think so,” Erin heard Lance answer. “Go down to the kitchen and fill a plastic bag with ice. Bring it to me.”

Erin didn’t remember Melanie leaving or coming back, but in what seemed a few seconds, Lance was saying to her, “If you feel nauseated again, I’ll put this on your throat. It may help.” She nodded weakly, but couldn’t open her eyes. Her lids were incredibly heavy. All her strength was concentrated in her right hand which gripped Lance’s as if retaining the hold on him were a matter of life and death.

She must have slept, for the next thing she knew she was being shaken by a hand on her shoulder and a strange, new voice was coming at her from the end of the tunnel. “Miss O’Shea. Miss O’Shea. If you’re going to get a man out of bed at two o’clock in the morning, the least you can do is greet him properly.”

The face hovering over hers was as kindly as the soft-spoken voice. The doctor’s hair was gray, his eyes a faded blue. “How are you doing? Did you get rid of it all?”

“I think so,” she nodded.

“You have quite a tummyache from what I hear. Does it still hurt?” He had pulled away the covers and was probing her abdominal region with practiced fingers.

She pondered the question for a moment and then answered, “It feels hollow, but every once in a while it cramps again. Not as bad as before.”

“Well, there’s not anything in there to cramp now,” he smiled. Now he was taking her blood pressure, counting her pulse, and pushing a thermometer under her tongue. “I’m going to ask you some questions. Just nod your head yes or no. Do you have frequent cases of this type of gastritis?”

No.

“Has an ulcer been diagnosed by a physician?”

No.

“Was there any blood in what you threw up?”

No.

“Are you pregnant?”

For some inexplicable reason her eyes flew to Lance, who was standing at the foot of the bed. He had put on a shirt, but it remained unbuttoned.

“Um?” the doctor asked again.

No.

“Are you taking any medication including birth control pills?”

She was about to shake her head “no” when she remembered the antibiotic. Yes.

“I’ll get it,” Lance said and went into the bathroom.

The doctor took the thermometer out of her mouth and looked at it. “Well, you certainly don’t have fever. Your temperature is below normal,” he said with a chuckle.

“It usually is,” Erin said and hoped that the grimace on her face was at least the facsimile of a smile. “What is your name?” she asked.

“Andrew Joshua.”

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