"It's Mommy, honey." Ellen went over to Will's bed, and his sobs intensified, cranky wails in the dark room.
"I'm hot."
"I know, baby." Ellen scooped him up and hugged him close, and he flopped onto her, resting his head sideways on her shoulder and clinging to her like a baby koala. His face was damp against her neck, and she rocked him as she stood. "My poor baby."
"Why am I hot?"
"Let's get you out of these clothes, okay?" Ellen lowered him back into the bed, and he was too listless to squirm. He had fallen asleep in his turtleneck and overalls. "I'm gonna turn the light on, so be ready. Cover your eyes. Ready?"
Will slapped two small hands over his eyes.
"Good boy." Ellen leaned over to the night table and switched on the Babar lamp. "Okay, move your hands away from your eyes, nice and slow, so they can get used to the light."
Will moved his hands away, then came up blinking. "I'm getting used."
"Right, good." Ellen retrieved the board books that had gotten wedged inside the bed frame and set them on the night table. She unhooked the fasteners at the top of his straps, then shimmied him out of his overalls. "You had a big, long nap."
"Mommy." Will smiled shakily at her. "You're home."
"I sure am," Ellen said, with a twinge. "I'm so glad you got such a good rest. That's going to help you feel better. Reach for the moon, partner." She pulled off his damp shirt as Will raised his arms, and she could barely see the thin white line that divided his little-boy chest down the center, though he felt embarrassed enough to wear a T-shirt when he swam. Once it had been a knotted zipper of flesh, in days she would never forget. "You hungry?"
"No."
"How about soup?" Ellen placed her palm on his forehead. She couldn't remember the last time she'd used a thermometer, as if it proved her motherhood bona fides.
"No soup, Mommy."
"Well, then, how about bugs and worms?"
"No! "Will giggled.
"Why, did you have that for lunch? Are you sick of bugs and worms?"
"No!" Will giggled again. Oreo Figaro appeared in the threshold and sat silhouetted in the hall light, a fat cat with a back hump like Quasimodo.
"I know, how about you eat some cat food? I bet Oreo Figaro would share with you." Ellen turned to the cat. "Oreo Figaro, would you share your dinner?" Then she turned back to W. "Oreo Figaro said, "No, get your own food."
Gales of laughter, making Mommy feel like a comic genius. "He has to share."
"Oreo Figaro, you have to share. Will says so." Ellen turned to W. "Oreo Figaro says, "I make my own rules. I'm a cat, and that's how cats roll."
"Oreo Figaro, you're gonna get a time-out."
"Right." Ellen got the liquid Tylenol from the night table, unscrewed the lid of the small bottle, and sucked some into the dropper. "Here's medicine. Open up, please, baby bird."
"Where's Oreo Figaro?" Will opened his mouth, then clamped down on the dropper.
"In the doorway. Did you swallow?"
"Yes. Get him, Mommy."
"Okay, hold on." Ellen put the sticky dropper back in the bottle, closed the cap, and went over and picked up the cat, who permitted himself to be carried to the bed and placed at its foot, curling his tail into a shepherd's crook.
"Oreo Figaro, you gotta share!" Will wagged a finger at him, and Ellen rooted around on the night table for a bottle of water.
"Drink this for me, please, sweetie." She helped him up to sip from the bottle, then laid him back down. A slight, pale figure in his white undies, he took up barely the top half of the bed, and she covered him lightly.
"No books, Mommy."
"Okay, how about we cuddle up, instead? Scoot over, please." Ellen turned off the light, eased herself over the side of the guardrail, and gentled Will up and onto her chest, where she wrapped her arms around him. "How's that feel, baby?"
"Scratchy."
Ellen smiled. "It's my sweater. Now, tell me how you are. Does your throat hurt?"
"A little."
Ellen wasn't overly worried, she hadn't smelled strep on his breath. You didn't have to be a good mother to smell strep. Even a drunk could smell strep. "How about your head? Does it hurt?"
"A little."
"Tummy?"
"A little."
Ellen hugged him. "Did you have fun with Connie today?"
"Tell me a story, Mommy."
"Okay. An old or a new one?"
"An old one."
Ellen knew the one he wanted to hear. She would tell it and try not to think about the photos in her bedroom. "Once upon a time there was a little boy who was very, very sick. He was in a hospital, all by himself. And one day, a mommy went to the hospital and saw him."
"What did she say?" Will asked, though he knew. This wasn't a bedtime story, it was a bedtime prayer.
"She said, "My goodness, this is the cutest little boy I have ever seen. I'm a mommy who needs a baby, and he's a baby who needs a mommy. I wish that little boy could be mine."
"Oreo Figaro's biting my foot."
"Oreo Figaro, no, stop it." Ellen gave the cat a nudge, and he went after her foot instead. "Now he's got me. Ouch."
"He's sharing, Mommy."
Ellen laughed. "That's right." She moved her foot away, and the cat gave up. "Anyway, back to the story. So the mommy asked the nurse, and she said, "Yes, you can take that little boy home if you really, really love him a lot." So the mommy said to the nurse, "Well, that's funny, I just happen to love this baby a whole lot."
"Tell it right, Mommy."
Ellen got back on track. She'd been distracted, thinking about Timothy Braverman. "So the mommy said to the nurse, "I really love this baby a whole lot and I want to take him home," and they said okay, and the mommy adopted the little boy, and they lived happily ever after." Ellen hugged him close. "And I do. I love you very much."
"I love you, too."
"That makes it perfect. And oh, yeah, they got a cat."
"Oreo Figaro's head is on my foot."
"He's telling you he loves you. Also that he's sorry about before."
"He's a good cat."
"A very good cat," Ellen said, giving Will another squeeze. He fell silent, and in time she could feel his skin cool and his limbs relax.
She remained in the dark bedroom, listening to the occasional hiss of the radiator and looking at a ceiling covered with phosphorescent stars that glowed W. Her gaze fell to shelves full of toys and games, and a window with the white plastic shade pulled down. On the walls, cartoon elephants lumbered along in a line, knockoff Babars holding onto each other's tails and balancing one-legged on bandbox stands. She had put the wallpaper up herself, with the radio blasting hip-hop. It was the child's room she'd always dreamed of, ready just in time to bring Will home from the hospital.
Her gaze returned to the WILL constellation, and she tried to count her blessings, but failed. Until that damn white card had come in the mail, she'd been happier than she'd imagined she ever could be. She hugged Will gently, but her thoughts wandered back down the hall. Then she got another idea, one that wouldn't wait.
She eased Will from her chest and shifted out of bed, clumsily because of the stupid guardrail. She got up, covered him with his thermal blanket, and padded out of the room on fleece socks.
Oreo Figaro raised his head and watched her sneak off.