Christmas with Holly Page 9

  “You’re kidding, right? Shelby would kill you. I got it covered. Holly will be fine.”

  “Don’t let her stay up late,” Mark had said sternly. “Don’t let her eat crap. Don’t miss her next dose of ibuprofen, or—”

  “Yeah, I know. Everything’s fine.”

  “If Holly’s still sick tomorrow, the pediatrician’s office is open until noon on Saturdays—”

  “I know. I know all the stuff you know. If you don’t leave now, you’re gonna miss your flight.”

  Mark had left reluctantly after dosing Holly with ibuprofen. He had left her resting on the sofa, watching a movie. She looked small and fragile, her cheeks colorless. It bothered him to leave her, even though Sam had assured him everything would be all right. “I’ll have my cell phone with me,” he had told her. “If you want to talk to me, if you need me, you call whenever you want. Okay, sweetheart?”

  “Okay.” And Holly had given him the toothy little grin that never failed to melt his heart. Leaning over her, he kissed her forehead, and they rubbed noses.

  It felt wrong to walk out of the house and go to the airport. Every instinct prompted him to stay. But Mark knew how much the weekend meant to Shelby, and he had no desire to hurt or embarrass her by not showing up to a family event.

  In Seattle, Shelby picked him up at the airport in her sleek BMW Z4. She wore a sexy black dress and high-heeled pumps, her blond hair styled loose and straight. A beautiful, classy woman. Any guy would be lucky to have her, he thought. He liked Shelby. He admired her. He enjoyed her company. But the lack of turbulence and intensity between them, which had always seemed so right before, had begun to seem vaguely wrong.

  “We’re meeting Bill and Allison for dinner before the party,” Shelby said. Allison had been her best friend since college, and was now the mother of three children.

  “Great.” Mark hoped he would be able to get his mind off Holly long enough to enjoy dinner. Pulling out his phone, he checked to see if there were any messages from Sam.

  Nothing.

  Noticing his frown, Shelby asked, “How’s Holly? Still under the weather?”

  Mark nodded. “She’s never been sick before. At least, not since she’s been with me. She had a fever when I left.”

  “She’ll be fine,” came Shelby’s soothing reply. A smile curved her lightly glossed lips. “I think you’re sweet to be so concerned about her.”

  They went to a casually sophisticated restaurant in downtown Seattle, the main room dominated by a twenty-foot central tower of wine bottles. They ordered an excellent pinot noir for the table, and Mark drained his glass quickly, hoping it would help him to relax.

  It had begun to rain outside, water glittering on the windows. The rain was slow but steady, the clouds piled like unfolded laundry. Buildings crouched patiently beneath the elements, letting the storm water run through paved cascades and across vegetated swales, and into roadside rain gardens. Seattle was a city that knew what to do with water.

  As Mark watched the oblique patterns of rivulets sliding along building exteriors of stone and glass, he couldn’t help thinking of the rainy night, less than a year ago, that had changed everything. He realized that before Holly, he had measured out his emotions as if they were some finite substance. Now there was no hope of stopping or containing them. Was parenting ever going to get easier? Did you ever reach a point where you could stop worrying?

  “This is a new side of you,” Shelby said with a quizzical smile as she saw Mark checking his phone for the twentieth time during dinner. “Sweetie, if Sam hasn’t called, that means everything’s okay.”

  “It could mean something’s wrong and he hasn’t had a chance to call,” Mark said.

  Allison and Bill, the other couple, exchanged the smiling, slightly superior glances of experienced parents. “It’s hardest with the first one,” Allison said. “You’re scared every time they get a fever…by the time you have the second or third, you stop worrying so much.”

  “Kids are pretty resilient,” Bill added.

  Knowing that all of this was intended to ease Mark’s worry didn’t help one bit.

  “He’ll be a good father someday,” Shelby told Allison in a smiling aside.

  The praise, which probably should have pleased Mark, elicited a flare of irritation. Someday? He was a father now. There was more to being a parent than a biological contribution…in fact, that was the least part of it.

  “I need to leave for just a minute to call Sam,” he told Shelby. “I just want to find out if the fever’s gone.”

  “Okay, if it will help you to stop worrying,” Shelby said. “Then we can enjoy the rest of the evening.” She gave him a meaningful glance. “Right?”

  “Right.” Mark leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Excuse me.” He stood from the table, went to the restaurant lobby, and pulled out his cell phone. He knew that Shelby and the other couple thought he was overreacting, but he didn’t give a damn. He needed to know that Holly was okay.

  The call was picked up. He heard his brother’s voice. “Mark?”

  “Yeah. How is she?”

  A nerve-wracking pause followed. “Not great, actually.”

  Mark felt his blood turn to ice water. “What do you mean, ‘Not great’?”

  “She started throwing up not long after you left. She’s been puking her guts out. I never would’ve believed one little body could produce so much evil stuff.”

  “What are you doing for her? Have you called the doctor?”

  “Of course I did.”

  “What did he say?”

  “That it’s probably flu, and to give her sips of an oral rehydration fluid. And he said the ibuprofen may have made her sick to her stomach, so we’re going to go with just Tylenol now.”

  “Does she still have a fever?”

  “One hundred two, last time I checked. Unfortunately she can’t keep the medicine down long enough for it to do much good.”

  Mark gripped the phone tightly. He’d never wanted anything as much as he wanted to be back on the island, right then, taking care of Holly. “Do you have everything you need?”

  “Actually, I have to pick up some stuff at the grocery store, like Jell-O and clear broth, so I’m going to get someone to babysit for a little while.”

  “I’m coming back.”

  “No, don’t. I’ve got a whole list of people I can call. And I…oh, Jesus, she’s throwing up again. Gotta go.”

  The connection went dead. Mark tried to think above the rush of panic. He called the airline for a reservation on the next flight to Friday Harbor, called for a cab, and strode back to the table.

  “Thank goodness,” Shelby exclaimed with a taut smile. “I wondered what was taking you so long.”

  “I’m sorry. But Holly’s very sick. I have to go back.”

  “Tonight?” Shelby asked, frowning. “Now?”

  Mark nodded and described the situation. Allison and Bill looked sympathetic, while Shelby appeared increasingly distressed. This sign of concern for Holly gave Mark a new sense of partnership with her, a feeling of connection. He wondered if she would consider going back with him. He wouldn’t ask her to, but if she offered…

  Standing from the table, Shelby touched his arm gently. “Let’s talk about this in private.” She sent a somewhat weary smile in Allison’s direction. “Back in a sec.”

  “Absolutely.” And the two women exchanged one of those unfathomable female something-is-brewing glances.

  Shelby went with Mark to the entrance of the restaurant, to a corner where they could talk undisturbed.

  “Shelby—” Mark began.

  “Listen,” she interrupted gently, “I’m not trying to frame this as a choose-between-Holly-or-me thing…but she’ll be fine without you. And I won’t be. I want you to come to this party tonight, and meet my family. There’s nothing you can do for Holly that Sam’s not already doing.”

  By the time she had finished speaking, Mark’s feelings of warmth and connection
had vanished. No matter what she said, she was making him choose between her and Holly. “I know that,” he said. “But I want to be the one doing it for her. And there’s no way I could have a good time tonight, knowing my kid is sick. I’d be in a corner with my cell phone the whole time.”

  “But Holly’s not yours. Not your own kid.”

  Mark looked at Shelby as if he’d never seen her before. What was the implication? That his concern for Holly wasn’t valid because she wasn’t his biological child? That he wasn’t entitled to worry about her to this extent?

  It was often in small moments that significant things were revealed. And with that spare handful of words, his and Shelby’s relationship had undergone a sea change. Was he being unreasonable? Was he overreacting? He didn’t give a damn. His first concern was for Holly.

  When Shelby saw Mark’s expression, she lifted her impatient gaze heavenward. “I didn’t mean it to sound like that.”

  His brain methodically rearranged the words into a more precise truth. She had meant it, despite how it had sounded.

  “It’s okay.” Mark paused, feeling the supportive trusses of their relationship being dismantled in this conversation, every word a hatchet-strike. “But she is mine, Shelby. My responsibility.”

  “Sam’s, too.”

  He shook his head. “Sam is helping. But I’m her only legal guardian.”

  “So she needs two grown men hovering over her?”

  Mark replied carefully. “I need to be there.”

  Shelby nodded and let out a slow breath. “Okay. Obviously there’s no point debating this right now. Should I take you to the airport?”

  “I called for a cab.”

  “I’d offer to come with you, but I want to be there for my cousin tonight.”

  “I understand.” Mark put a hand on her back in a gesture of appeasement. Her spine was stiff and straight, as if it had been carved in ice. “I’m going to take care of dinner. I’ll leave my credit card number with the hostess.”

  “Thank you. Bill and Allison will appreciate that.” Shelby looked glum. “Call me later and let me know how Holly is. Although I already know she’ll be fine.”

  “Okay.” He leaned down to kiss her, and she turned her face so that his lips met her cheek.

  Nine

  The cab ride to the airport seemed to take forever. The flight back to Friday Harbor was so slow that Mark was certain he could have gotten there faster by kayak. By the time he’d driven back home to Rainshadow Vineyard, it was almost ten o’clock. An unfamiliar car was parked in the driveway, a white Sebring.

  Mark entered the house through the back, walking straight into the kitchen. Sam was there, pouring himself a glass of wine. He looked haggard. The front of his T-shirt was water-splotched, and his hair was standing up in places. An array of medicine bottles and empty glasses had accumulated on the counter, as well as a plastic jug of rehydrating drink.

  Sam looked at him with a flicker of surprise and shook his head. “I knew I shouldn’t have told you,” he said in resignation. “My God, Shelby must be pissed.”

  Setting down his bag, Mark stripped off his jacket. “I don’t give a damn. How is Holly? Whose car is in the driveway?”

  “It’s Maggie’s. And Holly’s better. She hasn’t thrown up for an hour and a half.”

  “Why did you call Maggie?” Mark asked, nonplussed.

  “Holly likes her. And when I met her on Halloween, she told me to let her know if we ever needed help with Holly. I tried Alex first, but there was no answer, so I called Maggie. She came right over. God, she is great. While I was at the store, she put Holly in a lukewarm bath, cleaned things up, and got her to keep down some medicine.”

  “So the fever’s gone?”

  “For the time being. It keeps spiking, though. We’ll have to keep checking on her.”

  “I’ll take the night shift,” Mark said. “You get some rest.”

  Sam gave him a weary smile and took another swallow of wine. “I could have handled it. But I’m glad you came back.”

  “I had to. I would have been rotten company at the party tonight, worrying about Holly.”

  “What did Shelby say?”

  “She’s not happy.”

  “She’ll get over it. This is nothing that a bouquet of flowers and a little groveling won’t fix.”

  Mark shook his head irritably. “I’m not above groveling. But it’s not going to work out with Shelby.”

  Sam’s eyes widened. “You’re going to break up with her over this?”

  “No, it’s not this. It’s just that lately I’ve realized…never mind, I’ll tell you later. I have to see Holly.”

  “If the two of you split,” Sam said as Mark headed for the stairs, “make sure that Shelby knows I’m available for revenge sex.”

  The hallway that led to Holly’s room smelled like ammonia and bath soap. Lamplight sent a soft varnish across the rough wood flooring. For a moment Mark tried to imagine what an outsider’s impression of the house would be: some of the unfinished rooms, the floors that needed sanding, the unpainted interiors. It was a work in progress. At this point, they had spent their efforts on structural restoration, making the house safe and sound, but they hadn’t gotten around to doing much cosmetic work on it yet. No doubt Maggie had been appalled.

  Entering Holly’s room, he stopped just inside the doorway. Maggie was on the bed beside Holly, who was snuggled in the crook of her arm. A new stuffed animal was tucked on Holly’s other side.

  With her face bare of makeup, and her hair pulled back in a ponytail, Maggie looked like a teenager. There were scattershot golden freckles on her nose and the crests of her cheeks. She was reading aloud to Holly, who was glassy-eyed but peaceful.

  Holly gazed toward Mark with drowsy confusion. “You came back.”

  Mark went to the bed and leaned over her, smoothing back her hair. His hand lingered on her forehead, testing her temperature. “’Course I came back,” he murmured. “I couldn’t stay away if my girl is sick.”

  “I threw up,” she told him solemnly.

  “I know, sweetheart.”

  “And Maggie brought me a new teddy bear and gave me a bath—”

  “Shhh…you’re supposed to be falling asleep.”

  He looked over at Maggie, and was caught by her dark gaze. He had to check himself from reaching out to touch her, from grazing his fingertips across the festive spray of flecks across her nose.

  Maggie smiled at him. “One more page to finish the chapter?” she said, a question tipping her voice, and he nodded.

  Drawing back, Mark sat on the side of the bed as Maggie continued to read. His gaze fell on Holly, her lids heavy, her breathing slow and steady. Tenderness and relief and anxiety tangled in his chest.

  “Uncle Mark,” the child whispered when the chapter was done. A small hand fumbled out to him across the quilt.

  “Yes?”

  “Sam said I could have”—she paused with a yawn—“a Popsicle for breakfast.”

  “That sounds fine.” Mark lifted her hand and kissed it. “Go to sleep,” he murmured. “I’ll be watching over you tonight.”

  Holly settled deeper into the pillows and dropped off to sleep. Slowly, Maggie extricated herself, maneuvering off the bed. She was wearing jeans and sneakers, and a pink cotton sweater that had ridden up to her waist, revealing a strip of pale midriff. She flushed and pulled the hem of the sweater down, but not before Mark’s gaze had flickered to an intimate flash of skin.

  They left the room together, turning down the lamp but leaving a night-light glowing.

  “Thank you,” Mark said quietly, leading the way through the dim hallway to the stairs. “I’m sorry Sam had to call you. I should have been here.”

  “It was no problem. I had nothing else to do.”

  “It’s no fun, taking care of someone else’s sick kid.”

  “I’m used to sickness. Nothing bothers me. And Holly is such a sweetheart, I would do anything for her.” />
  Mark reached for her hand and heard her breath catch. “Careful, the floor’s uneven here. We haven’t finished leveling it.”

  Her fingers folded, and so did his, their hands tightening into a compact and intimate sphere. She let him lead her to the stairs.

  “The house isn’t much to look at,” Mark said.

  “It’s great. It has wonderful bones. When you’re finished restoring it, it will be the most charming house on the island.”

  “We’ll never be finished,” Mark said, and she laughed.

  “I saw two rooms that were beautifully finished…Holly’s room, and her bathroom. That says a lot.” Slipping her hand free of his, Maggie took hold of the banister.

  “Let me go first,” Mark said.

  “Why?”

  “If you fall, I’ll be able to catch you.”

  “I won’t fall,” she protested, but she let him precede her. As they went down the stairs, her voice descended on him like delicate petals. “I brought back your thermos. No thanks to you, I’m drinking coffee again. Although nothing tastes as good as the stuff you brought me.”

  “Secret ingredient.”

  “What is it?”

  “I can’t tell you.”

  “Why not?”

  “If you could make it for yourself, you wouldn’t come back for more.”

  A brief silence as she tried to interpret that. “I’m coming back tomorrow morning, to see Holly on my way to the shop. Does that mean I get a refill?”

  “For you, unlimited refills.” Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Mark turned and caught Maggie just as she began to stumble.

  “Oh—” She gasped and reached out for him, her body colliding softly against his. Mark steadied her, settling his hands at her hips. A few of her curls brushed the side of his face, the touch of cool silk arousing him instantly. She was poised on the step, her weight still balanced on a forward pitch, entirely his to control. He was acutely aware of her, the warm, quick-breathing tension that he longed to soothe.

  “The banister ends before the last step,” he said. One of the house’s innumerable quirks that he and Sam had adjusted to, but it always caught visitors unaware.