Page 54

NURSE KITTEN

Tyler

“Hey little buddy. How’s it going?”

“I’m okay, Dad,” Parker answers, his voice a little froggy and a little sad. I pace down the hall of the corridor at the Seattle Arena, my phone pressed tight to my ear.

“I heard you’re not feeling so hot,” I say, rounding the corner. I just called Sabrina for the update—it’s a flu-like bug that’s going around, she told me. Some of the other kids at school have it.

“Actually, I am a little bit hot,” Parker says, then forces out a laugh at his own joke. I manage a small smile, relieved he’s retained his sense of humor. “I’m one hundred two.”

“That’s no fun. I wish I were there,” I say, and my heart hurts since it’s eight hundred miles away from here in San Francisco, with my little boy.

“Me too,” he says, then coughs, before saying in a softer voice, “Sorry, Sabrina.”

“It’s okay. Coughing is fine,” she replies, her voice easy to hear. She must be right next to him on the couch. And my heart squeezes a little more, knowing she’s there with him.

“But we get to watch Space Dogs ,” Parker tells me, managing to sound a little upbeat.

“Sabrina found it from YouTube, and it’s funny, and the science mostly makes sense, so it’s not that bad.

Also, I want to talk to you about the science of Santa sometime soon,” he says, but his voice fades and he coughs again. “But not right now. Love you, Dad.”

“Love you too,” I say, my chest hurting, full of longing and the wish to be there and take care of him.

A few seconds later, there’s a rustling on the phone, then Sabrina’s voice. “Hey, it looks like he’s going to snuggle up under a blanket for a nap,” she says, then pauses. “Wait. Spoke too soon. Be right back.”

I stare at the phone and the line that went dead. My pulse spikes and panic grips me, hard and cold. I pace down the hall, then tap out a quick text to Sabrina— What’s going on? —but before I can send it, my phone rings. This time it’s Luna. I swipe it so fast. “What’s going on?”

“Dad, it’s me. I’m upstairs. Like, literally at the top of the stairs and I’m watching them downstairs.

But don’t worry, I have a mask on because I really don’t want to get sick, because I don’t want to miss Secret Santa, and Sabrina already helped take me shopping for Secret Santa,” she says, and I want to say speed it up , but I don’t want to be rude.

“But anyway, she just called up to me and said Parker is barfing but don’t worry. He’s almost done barfing.”

“Shoot,” I mutter, feeling utterly helpless.

“I’ve got a view of the bathroom door from here, Dad,” she says, then like a play-by-play announcer, she narrates what’s happening downstairs. “Oh my god, Sabrina is so strong. She’s carrying him across the hallway and back to the living room.”

My throat tightens with emotions as I picture her taking care of my little guy. “Tell Sabrina to call when she can,” I say gently. “I love you, Luna.”

“Love you too, Dad.”

A little later, as I’m walking back to the hotel in the rain, every cell in my body on high alert, my phone rings once more. It’s Sabrina, and I answer it immediately. “Hey, how’s it going?”

“He’s okay. I think he feels better now that he’s thrown up a little bit. He’s actually curled up under a blanket on the couch right next to me, sound asleep. Oh, and Drama is right here with him too. She’s purring on his neck. It’s okay that she’s here? In the house?”

“Of course,” I say instantly.

“She has to go back next week to Little Friends. For her final vaccine and then her spay. But for now, she’s being a little nurse kitten,” Sabrina says, cheery and chipper, like she’s trying to make me feel better about Parker being sick.

“Does he need to go see a doctor? Does he need anything? Do you need anything? Some meds? Cough syrup? Dinner? I can send you all that right away. An appointment at the doctor?” I hope she says yes to something, anything.

“Actually, we went to urgent care when I picked him up from school. They had an appointment right away, and that’s when they said it’s probably a twenty-four-hour bug. I texted you as soon as we left urgent care.”

“Oh,” I say, stopping under the awning at the hotel. Parker’s the kind of kid who rarely gets sick, and on the odd occasions he has, I’ve always been around. I never felt more useless in my life. Or more grateful. “Thank you for doing that.”

“They said there’s really nothing to give him. It’s just a virus, but it tends to run its course pretty quickly,” she says.

“Can I get you something? Something for dinner? I don’t want you to think about cooking or even zapping anything in the microwave right now.”

“I’m sure there’s some food in the house,” she says. In the background, a voice calls out, “Dad, I love those sandwiches from Happy Cow.”

I laugh.

Sabrina does too. “Luna won’t venture downstairs, but she sure doesn’t miss a thing,” she says with a laugh.

And it feels like we’re sharing a smile over the way we know my daughter so well.

I go ahead and I place an order for some sandwiches and some Gatorade, and then some crackers for when Parker is feeling better. I send a note along too—just for Sabrina.

I can’t tell you how much it means to me to know you’re there.

—T

Then I try not to gnaw my leg off with worry.

I do my best to put my worries out of mind as we battle Seattle in a rough, physical game the next day, jostling for control of the puck every second it seems. I’m slammed into the boards nearly as many times as I shove the team around.

But we trudge off the ice with a hard-fought win, and as soon as I’m in the visitors’ locker room, I text Sabrina.

Tyler: How is he? How’s Luna? How are you?

Sabrina: Parker stayed home today, of course, but he’s doing so much better! No more barfing, and he’s been fever-free without meds for nearly twenty-four hours, so that’s good!

My shoulders relax.

Tyler: Thank god. And Luna?

Sabrina: That girl has some serious germ avoidance skills! She’s practically sealed herself in a bubble since yesterday. She’s all good.

I breathe a huge sigh of relief as I sink down on the bench in front of my stall.

Tyler: Thank you so much for taking good care of him.

Sabrina: It’s the job. Glad I could do it!

I wince at those two words— the job . It’s the truth.

Of course it’s the job. But it’s a reminder, too, that I have my work cut out for me.

I made her feel like she’s only my employee.

I’ll need to show her when I return home that she’s so much more, even if it’s not the time to articulate exactly how much.

For now though, I shower, put on my suit, and head to the jet, grateful this was a short trip and I’m on my way home.

We land in San Francisco in the evening and I jump into my car and drive home. But when I pull into the garage, I spot my mother’s car parked on the curb. I check the time. It’s nearly nine. That’s odd. I didn’t think she’d be here at this hour. It’s a little late for a pop-in.

I go inside, head up the steps to the first level, and run right into them at the front door. “You’ve got everything,” my mother says to Luna and Parker as they hoist their bags onto their shoulders. “So we should be all set. And you can play with all the dogs tonight at my house.”

She looks up at me with a smile. “Oh, hi, sweetheart. How are you?”

“I’m fine, but what’s going on?”

Parker looks great, his eyes bright, his cheeks rosy. He flings himself at me. “Dad! I’m all better.”

“I heard,” I say, giving him a big hug. Then I do the same for Luna, but that still doesn’t answer the question of why they’re taking off right now.

“Sabrina texted me,” my mother begins. “She’s not feeling so great.

So I came over to collect my babies, and I’ll get them to school tomorrow.

I didn’t want Sabrina to worry about making sure they got to bed on time and having to make them breakfast, and she needs to rest herself,” my mom says, going into full mom mode and grandma mode too.

My muscles tighten and I’m antsy to check on Sabrina as soon as I can, but I give my kids a kiss and a hug, and we chat a moment before they leave.

The second the door is locked I march downstairs and knock on Sabrina’s door. “Are you okay? Can I come in?”

“Go for it,” she says weakly. The door’s not locked, so I open it, and my heart stops. She’s curled up under the blanket on the couch, her face pale, her blonde hair a wild mess and falling out of a half-made bun. She looks both beautiful and tragic, cocooned with a kitten in her arms.

“Hey, baby,” I say, and I close the distance, sitting right next to her.

She pushes a hand out from under the blanket, trying to stop me.

“Don’t get too close,” she says, her voice cracking like Parker’s was yesterday.

She tugs the blanket up higher over her mouth and coughs into it.

When she stops a second or two later, she says, “Go. Save yourself while you still can.”

I smile. “I’m not scared,” I say. Then I touch her forehead. She’s burning up. “Sweetheart, did you take any Tylenol?”

She shakes her head. “Not one hundred two.”

“I bet it is.” I hunt around for the thermometer, but I don’t spot it on the coffee table or anywhere in her living room.

She points weakly toward the stairs. “It’s upstairs. Kitchen.”

And that’s that. I scoop her up, blanket, kitten and all, locking her door on the way out, and carry her toward the main living room, Drama meowing dramatically of course as I go.

“Tyler,” Sabrina says, but her protest is half-hearted. “You can’t carry me upstairs.”

“I can and I am,” I say.

“I’ll be fine,” she says, as I round the corner to the living room, heading straight for the couch.

“You’ll be fine because I’m going to take care of you,” I say, in a firm, clear voice.

Her shoulders curl inward. “But I’m gross.”

“You’re not gross.”

She coughs into her elbow as I set her down. “I’m gross.”

I laugh. “Hush, baby.”