Part 12 (1/2)

”Honey, I really need you to look after Rachel for me, and Mr. Quartermain is still sick. He has germs I don't want you getting.”

”But you're getting them,” he heard Libby protest. He could almost see her pout. In about twelve years, she would make one h.e.l.l of a heartbreaker. And in another ten on top of that, she'd be a lawyer to be reckoned with, he judged.

''Mama's strong.”

He'd vouch for that, he thought. And soft. Very soft. His mind began to drift as he allowed himself to imagine just how soft she could be.

”You could still get sick,” Libby persisted.

Definitely lawyer material, Evan decided. He'd enjoy seeing Libby arguing a case.

”Then you can take care of me,” Claire told her.

He could hear unadulterated joy in Libby's voice. ”I can? Really?” She was probably hoping Claire would get sick, just a little, so she could get her mother to make good on her promise, Evan thought.

”Really. Now get back to Rachel. Remember, she needs you.”

All traces of desire to come visit the patient had left her voice. ”Yes, Mama.”

If he strained, he could hear the sound of her feet thundering on the rug as she flew to her charge. For a tiny thing, she had heavy feet.

”You're good at that,” he told Claire as she walked into the room. ”Reasoning with her instead of just telling her to obey.”

He had absolutely no idea about parenting, but in his opinion, she had it down pat.

”Kids react to respect, the same as adults.” Claire set down the tray she was carrying on his bureau. ”Okay, it's time to get you back among the living. I have the cla.s.sic healer for you.” She gestured at the bowl in the center of the tray. ”Chicken soup. Plus apple juice and some tea,” she offered in a quick rundown, then flashed a mischievous smile. ”And if you're very good, I'll let you have some gelatin for dessert. Cherry.”

So saying, she placed the tray on his bed. Evan eyed the soup. ”I don't like chicken soup. They always make it too salty.”

Now that he was getting better, he was being difficult. Why didn't that surprise her?

”Well, 'they' didn't make it,” she informed him. ”I did. And mine isn't too salty.”

He didn't think anyone in his generation cooked anymore. His mother lamented that it was a lost art. His sisters knew how to boil water and how to dial for takeout.

”You made it?”

She lifted her chin, pretending to be affronted. ”Don't look so surprised-I can cook.”

Now that he thought of it, the soup did smell good. But how had she managed to make it? ”I don't have anything in my refrigerator.”

”The chicken's on loan from mine, okay?” She held out the spoon to him. ”Now shut up and eat. You need to get your strength back.”

And he knew just what he wanted to do with it when it returned.

Capitulating to the aroma and the vague hunger rumbling through his belly, he took the spoon from her. ”All right.”

”Attaboy, you'll be up and about in no time.” Deciding that he couldn't sit up the way he was, she s.h.i.+fted the tray back to the bureau. ”Of course, you can't eat like that unless I bring you a straw.”

She remedied the problem by rearranging the pillows until they were all behind him. As he sat up, Evan's head began to swim unexpectedly, and he grabbed her arm to steady himself. It surprised and embarra.s.sed him to discover just how weak he still was.

She stiffened slightly as his fingers accidentally brushed against the side of her breast. Claire felt her stomach tighten as taut as a high wire.

”Sorry,” he apologized. ”I didn't realize just how weak I was.”

”You just need to eat something,” she murmured selfconsciously. She was acting like a schoolgirl. Struggling to hide her nerves, she set the tray in front of him again, then sat down on the other side. ”I can make the plane go into the hangar if you're too weak to feed yourself.”

It was tempting to have her feed him, not because he felt weak, but because he liked having her fussing over him. Liked it far more than he would have believed only a few days ago.

”No, I think I can handle my own hangar.”

”Okay, Ace, call me if you need me.” She began to rise.

”Why don't you stay and talk to me?” he asked. ”Tell me about the project you're working on,” he suggested when she looked as if she was going to beg off with an excuse.

Well, this was a surprise. Claire slowly sat down again. ”All right. It's a logo for Aesthetic Athletics,” she began. ”There's this guru sitting in the middle, wearing a huge pair of running shoes. He's meditating about being in the Olympics...”

Chapter Nine.

Libby stopped for breath, waiting. When her mother didn't say anything, Libby c.o.c.ked her head and looked at her.

Mama had a funny look on her face, like she was a jillion miles away. Libby tugged on her sleeve to get her attention.

”Mama, Mama, aren't you listening to me?”

Fresh from putting Rachel to bed, a task that seemed to drain her of most of her energy, Claire had returned to the living room and sunk down on the sofa. Just in time. Her legs felt as if they'd given way.

Libby's voice was fading in and out of the buzzing in her ears.

”Hmm?” How could she be on a roller coaster when she was sitting still? Claire tried to concentrate on her daughter, but it wasn't easy. ”I'm sorry, honey, I think I'm just going to lie down for a minute, all right?”

And then Claire stretched out, right where she sat, collapsing against the dark blue sofa like a balloon that had had all its air suddenly released.

Libby stood looking at her mother. Something was wrong. Mama never lay down during the day. And she always listened to her, even when she looked as if she wasn't. Libby started to feel strange, funny, like there were all these big b.u.t.terflies in her stomach trying to get out at once.

She shook her mother by the shoulder, wanting her to get up again. ”Mama?”

Claire drew a long breath and let it out again, trying to regain ground. It didn't work. Ground was quickly slipping away from her.

It was just because she was pus.h.i.+ng herself too hard- that's all. All she needed was a few minutes to rest and she'd be good as new.

”Just for a minute,” Claire repeated. Her voice echoed in her head, sounding as if it were coming from deep inside a well. ”I promise I'll be up and listening to you in a minute.”

Shutting her eyes, Claire curled up on the sofa, bringing her knees to her chest almost reflexively. She felt cold and hot at the same time and didn't know if she wanted to get something to cover herself with or to change her sweater for something lighter. It was a moot point Either choice involved moving, getting up. And she didn't have the strength to do that.

She would in a minute, she felt certain, but not right now. Right now, it was all she could do to concentrate on breathing.