Page 96 of Sexted By Santa
Henry grew teary-eyed. “Oh! You’re going to make me cry, seeing you so happy.” She hugged me, giving me a swift kiss on the cheek, and pushed me toward the car where Tori waited. “Go on. Go live your life.”
I chuckled a little on my way down the steps, but damn if my eyes weren’t a bit damp too.
* * *
By the time we got home, Tori wasn’t fooling anyone. Even a totally inexperienced child wrangler like me could see that she wasn’t well. I put my hand to her forehead, only to be met with a blaze of heat. “You’re feverish.”
She ducked away from my hand. “I’m fine.”
“Tori, you’re not fine.”
“My sugars are fine,” she insisted, her voice going cranky. “I’ve been checking.”
“And what aboutyou? You’re more than a glucose reading.”
She hesitated, her eyes growing watery. “I’m just tired.”
I shook my head. “No, it’s more than that. I think you may be coming down with something.
Do you have a headache? Sore throat?”
She shuffled. “My head does hurt. My stomach doesn’t feel great either.”
I sighed. “I wish you’d told me. I wouldn’t have dragged you over to Henry’s today.”
She bit her lip. “I felt fine this morning. I’m not that sick.”
“Still, I think you should take a fever reducer. Unless that interferes with your meds?”
“Daddy gives me Tylenol sometimes when I get a headache from low blood sugar. It’s in the bathroom vanity.”
“It’s safe to take with your insulin, then?”
She nodded, but I hesitated. Jaxson needed to know she was running a temp, and I needed to verify the Tylenol was safe. Tori was responsible for an eight-year-old; she kind of had to be, given her health requirements. But Jaxson was trusting me to look out for her.
“Will you go grab that for me, hon? And maybe check your glucose level one more time. Just to be sure.”
Lethargy was a symptom of low blood sugar, if I remembered right. But it was also a common symptom of the flu, and that seemed the most likely reason for her low energy today, given the fever.
Tori gave a put-upon sigh but left to find the Tylenol, Sir Elton John at her heels. He’d met us at the door, giving a happy dance but wasn’t thrilled we seemed more concerned with people business than play time.
While Tori was in the bathroom, I fired off a text to Jaxson:
Hey, I think Tori’s coming down with the flu. Just thought you should know.
He didn’t answer right away. Tori returned with a small bottle of Tylenol. It was liquid, but it was a prescription bottle instead of over the counter, and when I checked the label I saw that it didn’t include sugar.
“Did you check your monitor?” I asked while I read the label. “Your blood sugar isn’t low?”
“It’s not low,” she confirmed.
I nodded, feeling reassured, but I was hesitant to dose her until I knew it was safe. Jaxson still hadn’t answered the text, but the stack of info he’d compiled about Type 1 Diabetes and Tori’s school health plan might provide some clarity.
Tori drooped, looking exhausted. I took the Tylenol from her and put a hand on her shoulder. “You look tired. Why don’t you lie down while I check a couple of things? Then I’ll get you taken care of.”
“Okay.”
I tucked Tori into bed, and Sir Elton John was quick to snuggle in beside her, always a glutton for cuddles. I retreated to the bedroom, where Jaxson left his laptop. The folder beside it labeled Tori’s health was filled with documents I’d read the day before. I vaguely remembered there being a sheet in there of approved medications and doctor’s numbers.
