Page 40 of His Daughter

She's upset about something Ray did. Just give her ten minutes.

Ten minutes. It was never ten minutes. That was forty-five minutes of Ray said this and Ray did that. I shoved the phone into my pocket, lifted Lena up, and left Mrs. Parrish in the kitchen.

Margot called at noon. I picked up on the first ring. "How's domestic life?"

I shrugged. "I'm surviving."

I heard papers shuffling on her end. "Listen, I need to talk to you about the budget. The housing program is covered. His grant handled that. But operating costs are another story — salaries, rent in the office. The insurance renewal is next month." She paused. "We're short, Thea. Not a little short. Really short."

I closed my eyes and picked Lena up. She cooed lightly. She felt warm against my skin. "I'll come in this week. We’ll figure something out."

"Please. The Garcia case is moving, and the Whitfield grant needs your signature. I can't do the funder calls alone because they all want to talk to you."

"I know. I'll come in. I promise."

"Good. Maybe you should ask your billionaire for…you know, since you're basically living with him now. Slip it into conversation over breakfast like — "

"Margot."

"Oh, come on. I'm just saying you are our best hope…and access."

"I'm hanging up now."

"You could ask nicely! You're very persuasive when you —- "

I hung up. I turned my attention to Lena. “Hi, pretty girl,” I gushed. I pressed my lips to her forehead and immediately frowned. She was warm…no. More than warm. She was running a fever. Her eyes were drooping.

I shifted her in my arms so I could study her. Her cheeks were flushed, a deep-red color, uneven, spreading down her neck. Something was terribly wrong.

I carried her to the nursery and laid her on the changing table. She whimpered when I set her down. I pulled the thermometer from the drawer and held it under her arm, as Dr. Kaplan had shown Declan, counting the seconds.

101.4.

My hands were still. My mind was not. I undressed her — gently pulled the onesie off, left her in the diaper. The air in the nursery was cool, and her skin prickled with it, but the flush didn't fade. I picked her up. She pressed her face into my neck. She was burning through the thin cotton of my shirt.

I called the medical concierge number Declan gave me. A woman answered on the second ring.

"Vanguard executive health services. How can I help you?"

"My name is Thea Calloway. I'm calling on behalf of Declan Hale's daughter. She's approximately four months old, and she has a fever of 101.4."

"One moment. I'm connecting you to Dr. Kaplan."

Hold music. Fifteen seconds. Then a male voice came through. "Ms. Calloway, tell me what you're seeing."

"Fever of 101.4, taken under the arm. Flushed skin. Rapid breathing. She's been fussy for the last hour, and she feels hot to the touch."

"Any rash? Vomiting? Change in diaper output?"

"No rash. No vomiting. She had a wet diaper an hour ago. What do I do?"

"At her age, any fever over 100.4 means the emergency room. Don't wait to see if it comes down on its own. Take her now."

"Oh…alright." I hung up and called Declan.

"What's wrong?"

"Lena has a fever. I called Dr. Kaplan, and he thinks I should take her to the ER. I’m heading there now."