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Fuck it. I call the Thorn and get her dad.
“The Thorn and Rose, Tom speaking.”
“Hi Tom, it’s Caden Everton,” I say. It sounds busy in the background. “I was at the beach with Isla and she got really sick. Not sure if it’s the flu or something worse. Do you guys have a doctor who could come look at her?”
“Our GP doesn’t make house calls,” Tom says. “Is she all right? What are her symptoms?”
I tell him, silently berating myself for assuming her doctor makes house calls. How very Everton of me to think that.
“I would say bring her here, but my wife is immune compromised,” Tom says, sounding torn.
“Right,” I say. “No problem. Look, I’ll call my family’s doctor. I’m sure he can get out here today and take a look at her.”
“Really?” Tom says.
“Of course,” I say. “It’s no trouble at all.”
“I—thank you, Caden. That’s very kind.”
“I’ll keep you posted,” I promise him, then hang up.
I call Daisy first, but her phone goes to voicemail. Same with Von. Finn picks up, but all I hear is, “I’m in a meeting,” before the line goes dead. I call Al.
“Hey!” he says. I can barely hear him through the pounding of bass in the background and the shriek of women. Then I hear splashing.
“Where are you?” I say.
“What?”
I glance at Isla—her lips have parted as she sleeps, one hand curled against her chest.
“Where are you?” I say louder.
“Beach party in the Hamptons, dude!” Alistair says. There’s more shrieking and splashing. “What’s up?”
“I need the number for Dad’s on call doctor,” I say.
“What?”
“Dad’s doctor!” I shout. Isla twitches but doesn’t wake.
“Who’s a proctor?” Alistair says as the music in the background increases in pitch.
“Never mind,” I growl, hanging up.
There’s only one option left. I suppress my groan and call my father’s number.
He picks up on the second ring.
“Caden?” he says. He sounds surprised. Which I guess makes sense since I haven’t called him in five years.
“Dad, I need the number of our doctor, the one who makes house calls,” I say without preamble. “What’s his name…Dr. Wilkins, right?”
“What’s happened? Are you all right?” He sounds concerned, which is both shocking and a little bit comforting. I don’t think I’ve ever known my father to worry over me. That was Mom’s domain.
“I’m fine. It’s Isla Davenport.” I wonder if he even remembers who Isla is. “She’s really sick. I’m worried.”
There’s a long pause on the other end of the line. I feel the anger grow in my chest, the tension threatening to choke me. I’m about to hang up and figure something else out when he speaks again.