Simona Taylor - Intimate Exposure

“How old is she?” he asked.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“How old is she?”

Not wanting to be left out of the conversation, Bee piped up. “I’m three and a half!”

“You are? You’re a really big girl!” Elliot was soft-voiced, indulgent, his hands still working on her.

Bee watched him with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion, her bleary eyes trying to focus. “You a doctor?”

“No, I’m not, but I’m just gonna check you out, if you let me.” He tenderly ran his fingers along her throat then lifted her shirt and carefully looked over her torso.

“No blotches,” he murmured. “That’s good.” Strong fingers encircled the tiny wrist, and he fixed his eyes on his watch, counting pulse beats.

A scary thought crossed Bee’s mind, and she gave him a panicked look. “No shots! No shots!” She lifted her eyes to her mother, pleading for her intervention if a needle should appear.

For Shani, that was too much. Elliot looked as though he knew what he was doing; she certainly hadn’t a clue what to do herself, but her territorial instincts were aroused, her hackles up. “Elliot, I asked you a question.”

He turned to Gina, who was as puzzled as she was. “Has she eaten anything this evening?”

“Not much.”

“Drinking okay? Thirsty?”

Bee pouted, as if she suspected that any second now, one of the grown-ups was going to try to force something into her. “No! Not thirsty!”

Elliot mumbled something and patted the damp hair. Bee relaxed a little, sinking back into the pillows, but still frowned suspiciously at the adults surrounding her.

Gina shook her head. “She didn’t want her juice, or water. I made her take a few sips, but—”

That was enough. Shani shouldered Elliot aside and threw her arms around her daughter. The child’s skin was on fire. He didn’t resist, didn’t look the least bit offended.

“You said you aren’t a doctor …”

“No, but I know what I’m doing.”

“How, exactly?”

He shrugged. “Peace Corps. Two years in Haiti after college.”

She was momentarily stunned. A member of the wealthy Bookman clan, in the Peace Corps?

Without offering any further explanation, he extricated a blanket from the pile of rumpled bedding and seemed about to reach for Bee again, but then he thought better of it and held it out to Shani. “Wrap her up. It’s cold out.”

Shani did as she was told. Bee didn’t resist, which was scary in itself. Usually, getting any article of clothing onto her daughter required a chase around the bed, three or four laps at least, and maybe a foray into the living room. But Bee was as boneless and unresisting as a sleeping cat. As she lifted the hot little bundle into her arms, Bee wound her hands around her neck, face pressed against her breast.

Elliot followed her to the door. He turned to Gina, who was hovering, her expression a mixture of concern for Bee and frank curiosity over Elliot’s sudden appearance.

“This is Elliot,” Shani informed the teenager belatedly. And to Elliot, “This is Gina, Mr. Pak’s daughter. She’s seventeen. Her real name’s Jin, but, well, everyone calls her.” She was aware that she was babbling. She stopped herself. “She babysits for me.”

Elliot nodded, gravely extending a hand. Then he was all business, opening her front door and preceding her outside. “We’re going to Immaculate Heart Pediatric,” he informed Gina.

“She gonna be all right?” Gina asked.

Elliot’s eyes were on her, not Gina. “I think so. A high fever doesn’t mean anything awful on its own. It’s probably just an infection.”

Oh, thank you, Jesus. She let Elliot propel her into the backseat, allowing him to buckle the seat belt over her lap before she settled her daughter in her arms. In the absence of a car seat, it’d have to do.

He sensed her apprehension. “I’ll get you there safely,” he promised. “Both of you.”

They pulled to a screeching stop in the hospital parking lot. Elliot hopped out and looked in through the window at Shani as she struggled in the backseat with Bee’s deadweight. “How’s the baby?”

“Sleeping,” Shani answered. “Still hot.”

“Then we’d better get in there.” He jerked his chin in the direction of the entrance to the E.R.

It was next to impossible to emerge from the car holding Bee, but Elliot opened the back door and gently, as if lifting something infinitely precious, eased her daughter from her lap.

Shani got out, feeling the sting of pins and needles run through her legs as blood rushed back into them. It had gotten colder. She stamped on the ground, found her land legs again and held her arms out for her daughter. But Elliot shook his head, cradling Bee as though he’d known her since the day she was born. “Keep your strength. You’ll need it.” She couldn’t decide whether to be grateful or outraged.

Of one accord, they moved toward the doors. “You didn’t have to do this,” she pointed out.

His mouth curved, and he shrugged it off.

Maybe it was nothing to him, a little lost sleep and a missed dinner, but she needed for him to know that to her, his small gesture meant everything. “My daughter.” As she walked, she searched for words. “Bee’s all I have, now.” She tried not to think of Christophe. He hadn’t been hers for a long time.

His expression was so compassionate, it hurt to look at him. “She’ll be okay, I promise you. And I don’t mind doing this. Really.”

Which was a good thing, because at that moment Bee was jolted out of her exhausted, fever-tormented sleep. She went rigid, threw open her startled brown eyes, flung out thin, stiff limbs and threw up down the front of his shirt.

Shani reacted immediately, reaching out to help tilt Bee’s head so that most of the clear fluid spurted onto the ground.

“Elliot, I’m so—”

“It’s all right.”

She fumbled through her bag, cursing the clutter, and pulled out a packet of baby wipes. “At least let me … I’m so sorry!” She dabbed at the wet mark on his shirt, cringing at what he must be thinking. She was a mother, used to dealing with all manner of bodily fluids, but this was a single man. Baby upchuck was probably at the top of his gross-out list.

“Relax. She’s done now.”

She held out her arms, expecting him to hand Bee over as if she was an armload of contraband, but he was walking again. “Better get her inside.”

It was a choice between standing in the cold parking lot and following. She followed. “I’ll get your shirt cleaned,” she promised.

He threw her an amused, patient look over the fluffy blanket-covered bump in his arms. “The shirt’ll wash.” He stepped aside to let her get the door. She brushed past a security guard who was lightly dozing on his feet and heaved against the heavy glass door under a large sign that read EMERGENCYin white on red.

Elliot found them a space in the waiting room and let Shani sit, settling beside her with Bee on his lap. His face was beautiful in its tenderness. His faded shirt and loose jeans were an odd uniform for an angel of mercy, but Shani knew that when angels swooped to Earth, they sometimes left their wings at home. Grounded by their circumstances, they had no choice but to sit back and watch chaos unfurl. It was like a scene from Dante’s Inferno being put on by the local grade school. Children sobbed, babies wailed, worried parents held them close or paced, gulping coffee, guzzling high-caffeine sodas and rooting around in greasy packets of potato chips. Half an hour passed, then half an hour more. Heads lifted whenever a new group of names rang out over the sound system. As each sick child’s name was called, his or her parents left through the swinging doors leading into the guts of the building with a mixture of relief at finally making it inside and guilt at leaving fellow sufferers behind.