“I can’t just leave you with?—”
“Yes, you can.”
“I should at least?—”
“Conrad.”
I stopped. Her tone wasn’t harsh. It was caring.
“You’ve been awake all night and dealing with bodily fluids,” she said. “Go shower. Put on real clothes. I’ll prevent the children from licking electrical outlets in your absence.”
“I don’t think they’d?—”
“We both know Billie absolutely would do that if her curiosity led her there.”
Unfortunately, that was true. Exhaling slowly, I nodded. “Okay. Five minutes.”
“Fifteen,” Winnie corrected. “You look one strong gust of wind away from collapse.”
My bedroom had somehow become even more chaotic while I was downstairs. Billie had acquired crackers from God knows where, and was lying on top of CJ, who had cocooned himself entirely beneath blankets except for his hair. Bianca sat upright, reading the medication pamphlet from the children’s fever reducer.
“Daddy,” Bianca said, “did you know nausea is technically considered a protective biological response?”
“I do now.”
Winnie entered behind me, carrying a tray loaded with water glasses, fresh washcloths, and toast.
The children visibly relaxed as soon as they saw her.
Billie reached both arms toward her. “Winnie, my stomach is trying to kill me.”
“That does sound unpleasant.”
“I may never recover,” Billie whimpered dramatically.
“We shall persevere.”
CJ peeked out from under the covers. “Is that toast?”
“It is.”
“Winnie, I love you.”
“Wow, CJ.” Winnie pressed the back of her hand to his cheek and smoothed his hair. “That’s a bold declaration for seven in the morning.”
I reluctantly left them to go clean myself up. I trusted Winnie in ways that probably weren’t entirely rational, but it still felt wrong to hand off my sick kids to someone else.
The shower helped slightly. I was still exhausted and feeling a bit light-headed from the lack of sleep.
By the time I’d dressed and called my boss to confirm that he’d received my middle-of-the-night text, the house smelled faintly of cinnamon and broth.
I moved downstairs, expecting disaster, but all was calm.
Winnie stirred something on the stove, and my children were all sitting at the island. Bianca, wrapped up like a burrito in a blanket, watched her every move. Billie lay sideways on two chairs, mumbling about how her organs had betrayed her. A pale CJ had recovered enough to moan about the disgusting flavors of electrolytes.
Winnie glanced over her shoulder when I entered. “You should eat.”
“I’m not especially hungry.”
