“Well, he should fall victim within a day or so. Lots of fluids for both of them,” Nola told me. “Rest, cartoons, bland soft food. And I will bring by some coloring books tomorrow describing how not to share germs.”
“Too late,” Danny grumbled.
By the time Wade arrived, I could tell that he was already sliding toward infection himself. His symptoms mirrored his son’s to an eerie degree, down to the glassy blue eyes and flushed cheeks. He was congested, and I could feel the slight difference in his body temperature without even touching him. And he looked like he was about to fall over from exhaustion.
Harley and Danny were conked out together in Danny’s room. They’d spent most of the evening on the foldout couch in the living room, dosed up on Tylenol and ginger ale and enough Dexter’s Laboratory to drive me slightly insane. I impressed even myself by hauling both of them upstairs under my arms without breaking a sweat. All mothers should have vampire upper-body strength.
“You don’t look so good,” I told Wade, handing him a can of ginger ale from the fridge.
“I don’t get sick,” he protested, shrugging out of his denim work jacket. “I’ve got the Tucker constitution.”
“Well, I don’t know if you should take Harley home. He’s sick. Danny’s halfway to sick. You’re getting sick. And I can’t get sick. So if you stay here, when you inevitably fall under the germ spell, you’re not left without support.”
“I’m telling you, I don’t get sick,” Wade growled, sprawling back on the foldout couch.
“I’ll remind you of those words in twelve hours when you’re sniffling and whining for juice.” I propped his foot against my thigh and wiggled his work boot loose. His leg dropped like dead weight to the floor as I repeated the process with his other foot.
“I never whine. I’m a Tucker,” he muttered.
I was smiling, even as I rolled my eyes and pulled the sheets up to his chin. “Yep.” I kissed his warm forehead. “You’re a regular badass.”
It didn’t take twelve hours for Wade to sniffle. It took three. But to his credit, he didn’t whine for juice. He politely requested a Budweiser.
“I don’t think beer is the answer,” I told him, dropping two Tylenols into his palm for his five A.M. dose.
“It’s the answer if the question is ‘What’s cold and delicious and makes ya forget that ya feel like your head’s about to explode?’ ”
“Well, it is hard to argue with that logic.”
“I really don’t feel good,” he mumbled, pulling me down to sit so he could drape his arms around my waist and bury his face against my thighs.
I giggled, cupping my hand around his bare neck. “I know.”
“I don’t want you to have to take care of me.”
“I know. And I appreciate that.”
“You’re a really sweet girl, and your hand feels nice on my neck.”
“Thanks. You’re a nice guy.”
He rolled onto his back and sort of sleepily leered up at me, through the dark gold hair that was tossed over his eyes. “And you’re so good to Harley. You treat him just like you treat Danny.”
I pushed the hair back from his face. “He’s easy to love. He’s a good boy. He’s a good friend to Danny.”
“And you’re funny and you’re smart and you call me on my bullshit.” Wade grinned loopily. “And ya have a pretty fantastic rack.”
“There it is,” I scoffed. “How much of that Coldaid stuff did you take?”
He held up two fingers to measure a little bit and then slowly expanded his fingers until they measured a shit ton. He pursed his lips. “You’re right. That’s not a very nice thing to say, is it?”
“Probably not.”
“OK, ya have the greatest rack in the history of racks.”
“Is that much better?”
“Is it the word ‘rack’ that bothers ya?” he asked, squinting at me.
I shook my head, still petting his hair like I was stroking a feverish cat. “I’m not sure.”
“Will ya ignore the ‘rack’ comment and lie down here with me?” he asked, lifting up the blanket. I looked down at his flushed, feverish face. I couldn’t catch his cold. There was no reason not to slide under those blankets. Shaking my head, I crawled onto the couch next to him. He rolled over, slinging a leg over mine and snuggling his face against my chest. “Oh, you feel nice and cool.” He sighed, combing his fingers through my hair. “And ya smell nice. You always smell nice, like those white flowers. The ones that only come out at night?”