It lies. It lies.
That whisper, somehow female, somehow raging, slithered into her sleeping brain. She whimpered a
little, tossed restlessly in her chilly bed.
Kill it! Kill it. Hurry before it's too late.
No, she couldn't kill something so beautiful, so alive, so vivid. But that didn't mean she could just leave
it there, out of its place, upsetting the rest of the bed.
All that work, the preparation, the planning, and now this. She'cf just have to plan another bed and work it in. With a sigh, she reached out, feathered her fingers over those bold blue petals. It would be a lot of work, she thought, a lot of trouble, but—
"Mom."
"Isn't it pretty?" she murmured. "It's so blue."
"Mom, wake up."
"What?" She tumbled out of the dream, shaking off sleep as she saw Luke kneeling in the bed beside her.
God, the room was freezing.
"Luke?" Instinctively she dragged the spread over him. "What's the matter?"
"I don't feel good in my tummy."
"Aw." She sat up, automatically laying a hand on his brow to check for fever. A little warm, she thought. "Does it hurt?"
He shook his head. She could see the gleam of his eyes, the sheen of tears. "It feels sick. Can I sleep in your bed?"
"Okay." She drew the sheets back. "Lie down and bundle up, baby. I don't know why it's so cold in here. I'm going to take your temperature, just to see." She pressed her lips to his forehead as he snuggled onto her pillow. Definitely a little warm.
Switching on the bedside lamp, she rolled out to get the thermometer from the bathroom.
"Let's find out if I can see through your brain." She stroked his hair as she set the gauge to his ear.
"Did you feel sick when you went to bed?"
"Nuh-uh, it was ..." His body tightened, and he made a little groan.
She knew he was going to retch before he did. With a mother's speed, she scooped him up, dashed into the bathroom. They made it, barely, and she murmured and stroked and fretted while he was sick.
Then he turned his pale little face up to hers. "I frew up."
"I know, baby. I'm sorry. We're going to make it all better soon."
She gave him a little water, cooled his face with a cloth, then carried him back to her bed. Strange, she thought, the room felt fine now.
"It doesn't feel as sick in my tummy anymore."
"That's good." Still, she took his temperature—99.1, not too bad—and brought the wastebasket over beside the bed. "Does it hurt anywhere?"
"Nuh-uh, but I don't like to frow up. It makes it taste bad in my throat. And my other tooth is loose, and maybe if I frow up again, it'll come out and I won't have it to put under my pillow."
"Don't you worry about that. You'll absolutely have your tooth for under your pillow, just like the other one. Now, I'll go down and get you some ginger ale. You stay right here, and I'll be back in just a minute. Okay?"
"Okay."
"If you have to be sick again, try to use this." She set the wastebasket beside him on the bed. "I'll be
right back, baby."
She hurried out, jogging down the stairs in her nightshirt. One of the disadvantages of a really big house, she realized, was that the kitchen was a mile away from the bedrooms.
She'd see about buying a little fridge, like the one she'd had in her dorm room at college, for the upstairs sitting room.
Low-grade fever, she thought as she rushed into the kitchen. He'd probably be better by tomorrow.
If he wasn't, she'd call the doctor.
She hunted up ginger ale, filled a tall glass with ice, grabbed a bottle of water, and dashed back upstairs.
"I get ginger ale," she heard Luke say as she walked back down the hall to her room. "Because I was
sick. Even though I feel better, I can still have it. You can have some, too, if you want."
"Thanks, honey, but—" When she swung into the room, she saw Luke was turned away from the door, sitting back against the pillows. And the room was cold again, so cold that she saw the vapor of her
own breath.
"She went away," Luke said.
Something that was more than the cold danced up her spine. "Who went away?"
"The lady." His sleepy eyes brightened a bit when he saw the ginger ale. "She stayed with me when
you went downstairs."
"What lady, Luke? Miss Roz? Hayley?"
"Nuh-uh. The lady who comes and sings. She's nice. Can I have all the ginger ale?"
"You can have some." Her hands shook lightly as she poured. "Where did you see her?"
"Right here." He pointed to the bed, then took the glass in both hands and drank. "This tastes good."