Page 47 of Give & Take

“Really?” Jenna says. “That’s great! What are you doing?”

I thought it was obvious. But that’s not nice. The girls could be my nieces or something. “I’m looking after these two,” I say with false brightness that isn’t me. The false part, anyway. “We’re just heading home.”

“Can we just sit here for a minute?” Nova asks. “I don’t want to move.”

Aurora blinks glassily. Her skin is kind of green.

“Are they okay?” Jenna’s friend asks. It’s the first time she’s spoken. She looks more in tune to the situation, but considerably less enthused to be standing here.

I empathize.

“Fine,” I say tightly. “Just a little too much fun in the sun.” I squat down next to Aurora, feeling her forehead as if it’s not at all a case ofToo Many Donuts, You IdiotSyndrome.

“You okay, Ror?” I ask uselessly, worry rising. “You need some water?”

I reach for the beach bag.

Aurora starts to shake her head, then blanches at the movement.

Jenna or her friend says something else I miss as I give up on the water and stroke sweet Aurora’s springy hair back from her face.

“Raph? Where are you staying?” Jenna asks loudly, clearly repeating herself.

You’ve got to be kidding me. I stand up.

“We’re at my dad’s summer house, just over there.” Jenna points to a modern boxy thing pointing out of the trees. “Oh, I forgot, this is my friend?—”

I run my free hand over my hair, glancing to the bar as she chatters away. “Jenna, I?—”

“Oh my God.” Jenna’s friend interrupts. “I think that kid’s going to?—”

I whip around just in time to see Aurora open her mouth. She gags, and a moment later, a giant sticky mass of semi-digested mini-donuts splatters into the sand.

Nova screams.

I scoop Aurora up, concern—and a lurching nausea—clenching my stomach. “Oh Ror.” Guilt sits on me like a hundred-pound weight.

“I’m sorry,” Aurora mumbles in my ear as I gently press her head on my shoulder.

“No honey, I’m sorry.”

Keeping her in my arms, I pull her away from me just a little, so I can see her face. A moment later, her throat lurches, and her big eyes pin on me in fear.

I see what happens next in painful slow motion: Aurora’s eyes going watery, her cheeks pulsing, and then vomit hosing from her little mouth onto my bare chest.

It’s hot, I think absently, before my own stomach lurches.

“Oh myGod,” Jenna’s friend says. “That issodisgusting!”

It takes everything in me not to throw up myself.Although doing it next to Jenna’s friend’s feet would be a nice touch.

Instead, I grit my teeth and say, “Nova, come with us.” I carry Aurora to the outdoor showers a few feet away, next to the concession. Nova trails listlessly behind.

“I threw them all up,” Aurora says, crying as I clean us up.

“It’s okay, honey” I say. “This is my fault.”

Aurora’s crying, Nova’s staring bleakly, and Jenna and her friend are still standing there staring. That is, until Jenna comes over and offers to help.

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