Ride the Rainbow Home by Susan Aylworth Page A

rubbing the fingerprints off the sliding glass door.
    She'd been expecting Jim's call for hours and by late afternoon she was jumping every time the house phone or her cell phone rang, but it wasn't until she had tucked Tommy into bed that she finally heard his voice.
    "Hello, Meggie."
    "Hello yourself," she purred.
    "Have you and Sally worked things out for this weekend?"
    "It was easy. I only had to twist her arm a little."
    "Great. I'm looking forward to it." Then he casually asked, "Say, what's your address in Walnut Creek? I have an appointment in the East Bay tomorrow and I thought I might drive by."
    Meg practically floated as she repeated her address, hardly daring to hope what Jim was thinking. He was working in California, wasn't he? He worked there often. Was it possible they wouldn't be two states apart after all? Later she drifted off to sleep in Isabel's bed, her mind full of pictures of Jim in her cozy condo. She let hope override the inner sense that there was something incongruous about the images.
     
    * * * *
     
    "Mommy!"
    Meg awakened groggily, remembered where she was, and stumbled down the hallway toward the sound. It was Tommy's voice she'd heard, but by the time she and Sally bumped into each other at the doorway, both Tommy and Isabel were in tears.
    "What's wrong, baby?" Sally cooed, stroking Tommy's forehead. "Oh, Lord! He's burning up!"
    Meg felt a sick knot forming in her middle. "How can I help?"
    "There's non-aspirin in the medicine cabinet," Sally said, pulling the child into her lap. "Would you bring me two?"
    "On my way." She started down the hall.
    "And a cool, damp washcloth!" Sally called after her.
    Fear propelled Meg into the bathroom where the sudden light stung her eyes. In a state of near panic, she rummaged through the medicine cabinet, found the children’s acetaminophen, prepared the washcloth, and rushed back. "Here are the pills," she said.
    "Thanks, Meg. Come on now, honey. Chew these for Mama." Sally slipped first one tablet, then the other past Tommy's clenched teeth. "The washcloth?" she asked.
    Meg gave it to her and she folded it, placing it against Tommy's fevered forehead, all the while rocking and humming tunelessly. Meg dropped to the side of the bed and sat by helplessly. How many things could go wrong with a baby Tommy's age? How did Sally know what to do? What if she was wrong? Babies still died of a fever sometimes; Meg had heard of it. What would they do if Tommy—? But she wouldn't—couldn't—allow herself to consider that possibility. Choosing not to think at all, she watched and wrung her hands.
    But Sally seemed to know exactly what to do. Tommy slowly fell into a fitful sleep, then bit by bit relaxed. Soon he was snoring peacefully on his mother's breast, his brow cooler. Sally stopped rocking and lifted the cloth away. "Help me get him back into bed," she said.
    Meg smoothed back the covers while Sally placed the sleeping baby on the mattress, then tucked Tommy in. "Is he going to be all right?" she asked as they tiptoed into the hall.
    "I think so," Sally whispered. "His fever went down quickly."
    "Do you know what's wrong?" Meg paced nervously. "Maybe you should take him to a doctor, but they won't be open this time of night, will they? Maybe the hospital—"
    "Meg, you're babbling," Sally interrupted, her voice patient. "We don't need a doctor, and certainly not a hospital. And who can ever be sure what's wrong, anyway? These little ones can run a fever over anything, or nothing at all. It's probably just some little bug he picked up in the church nursery while his dad and I went to mass."
    Meg let her breath out slowly, finally allowing herself to relax. "You're a pillar, Sal. How do you stay so calm?"
    Sally smiled wearily. "I wasn't calm the first half dozen times I went through this," she said, "but after a while you kind of get used to the idea that they aren't really as fragile as they look. Besides, you can usually tell when something is serious