Page 82 of The Way We Collide

“Oh, no…” I pull the handle to flush it away and crawl to the sink to rinse my mouth.

Haddy’s crying in the other room, and I fish around in the drawer for a scrunchie to tie my hair back.

Using the counter to help myself stand, I take a clean washcloth and hold it under the cold water. I only feel a little better when I hear his voice.

“Hey, what’s happening?” Hendrix is coming up the hall. “What’s wrong with Haddy… Oh, whoa!” He skids to a stop at the bathroom door, bending forward and holding his mouth. “What’s that smell?”

“Vomit.” My voice is hoarse from my own barfing session.

“You don’t look good.” He holds up a hand, taking a step back.

“I need Advil. We should have baby Tylenol…” I start to gag, my chin jutting forward, and I spin around to the toilet.

I make it just in time, but nothing comes out as I heave.

My shoulders shudder, and tears stream down my cheeks. Resting my hot head on my arm, I whisper, “Help.”

Hendrix places Haddy on the rug and shuts off the water in the nearly full tub. Haddy cries, then she leans forward onto her baby arms and barfs on the rug.

“Oh, shit.” Hendrix gulps, his body lurching forward like he’s about to vomit. “I don’t have the balm…”

“You’re kidding me?” I wail, looking up at him.

He pulls his shirt over his nose, holding up a finger. “I’ll get help!”

“Hendrix,” I cry as he races out of the room.

Haddy is still leaning forward, crying in her stinky barf, and I go to her, picking her up and removing her clothes and diaper.

“My poor baby.” I remove my dirty clothes as well, dragging myself to the garden tub and lowering us into the warm water.

I’m weak and shivering, but the water helps. Using my hands, I scoop fresh water over Haddy’s chin and face, doing my best to clean her. Then I do the same for myself.

Reaching for a clean washcloth, I hold it under the cold water and give it to her to chew, wondering where the hell Hendrix went.

I’m so tired and my head is pounding. I have no idea how much time passes. The water starts to cool, and we have to get out before we catch a chill. It’s just so hard.

Haddy’s tub seat is nearby, so I strap her in while I dry myself and wrap my body in the thick bathrobe from my closet. Then I take her out, wrapping her in an equally thick towel.

The fresh diaper I got earlier is around her waist, and I limp into the bedroom only to be hit by the scent of baby vomit.

It smells like rancid milk, and I start to gag again. A knock on the door helps me grasp control.

“Come in?” My voice is weak, and I expect it to be Hendrix.

Instead, a tall woman with kind brown eyes and rose-colored scrubs enters the room. “Are you Raven?” Her brown hair is back in a ponytail, and she crosses the room quickly. “Here, let me help you. Sit.”

“Who are you?” I allow her to lead me to the large chair near the window away from the bed and all the smells of sickness.

“Raven, this is Sally McKenzie,” Hendrix calls from the crackin the door. “She’s one of the team nurses. I called her to come and help us.”

“Sally?” I look up at the woman sliding an infrared thermometer across Haddy’s head, then mine.

“You both have fever.” Her lips tighten, and she shakes her head, going to the door where a canvas messenger bag is sitting. “We’ll start with the baby.”

My eyes are heavy, and I watch as she gives Haddy a dose of liquid ibuprofen. She then takes out a red bottle and a white bottle.

“Liquid or pill?” She holds them out to me, and I shake my head. “Whichever works fastest.”

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