Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Maddie glances at me, then to the nurse, “Um… we’re actually her guardians, but we’re going to be adopting her.”
The nurse smiles knowingly. “That’s awesome. But here’s a hint—get used to the mom and dad names. It’s okay to call yourselves that now.”
Another look passes between me and Maddie, and I can see she’s wondering if that’s appropriate. I grin at her. “Hi, Mom.”
Maddie’s eyes sparkle. “Hi, Dad.”
The nurse gets us back on track. “Okay, so what’s wrong with the little dumpling?”
We’re asked a series of questions and we answer in a rhythm that surprises me both in its ease and in how much there is to say.
“Fevers?”
“No.”
“Cough? Congestion?”
“Not really. Fussy, ear pulling,” Maddie supplies.
“Eating?”
“Down a bit,” I say, because this morning she pushed the bottle away after a few minutes and then cried because she wanted it back.
“Any allergies?”
“None,” Maddie says, eyes on Grayce like she’s seeing her for the first time. If we’re mom and dad, then that makes her our daughter.
The nurse makes notes, leaves, and almost instantaneously the doctor is there. She’s probably in her early forties, sharp but kind eyes, and the kind of smile that looks like she knows how to talk to grown-ups and babies without losing the attention of either. “I’m Dr. Klemmer. Brienne called this morning to ask me to see you. So sorry Grayce isn’t feeling well.” She moves to the sink to wash her hands. “I understand Grayce might have a sore ear.”
“Her right,” Maddie murmurs.
Dr. Klemmer takes the otoscope and approaches with confidence. “I’m going to take a look, but she’s not going to like it. Just hold her steady.”
Grayce does not appreciate any of this. The second that light comes near her ear she shrieks, limbs windmilling, little heels drumming against Maddie’s stomach.
Maddie murmurs, “It’s okay, Graycie.”
“Do you want me to—” I start.
“I’ve got her,” Maddie says, which I expected. Then, after a beat, she says, “Maybe you can put a hand on her legs.”
“Copy that.” I slot my palm over Grayce’s shins, feel the tiny muscles tense and stutter under my skin. “Hey, Graycie,” I murmur. “We got this. Five seconds, tops. Six if you’re tough.”
“Mmm,” the doctor hums, peering. “Right ear looks angry. Left is slightly inflamed. Classic otitis media.”
My stomach bottoms out. “That sounds serious.”
The doctor shoots me a reassuring smile. “That’s a fancy way of saying she has an ear infection. How long has she had the symptoms?”
“Just since last night,” Maddie provides.
Dr. Klemmer flips the scope off, nodding. “I think for now, we just observe and give her over-the-counter pain relievers. If she’s not better in the next forty-eight hours, I want you to call my personal cell phone, and I’ll write her a prescription for antibiotics.”
Maddie’s eyebrows shoot sky high at the generous offer from this doctor. “That’s… very kind of you.”
Dr. Klemmer smiles. “Any friend of Brienne’s is a friend of mine. Give Grayce lots of fluids. She might be extra clingy or wake a bit more at night.” The doctor eyes both of us over her chart as she scribbles notes.
“Both of you are on cuddle duty,” she says lightly. “Good for ears, good for hearts.”
We leave with Dr. Klemmer’s cell number scrawled on the back of a business card and a cartoon sticker stuck onto Grayce’s onesie by the nurse—an orange tiger giving a thumbs-up.
The parking lot air is softer than the exam room’s hum, but it’s still cold enough that Grayce’s nose pinks as I settle her car seat into place. She’s exhausted from combatting the otoscope and the indignity of strangers, and by the time I shut the back door she’s dozing off.
Maddie stands there with the diaper bag strap digging into her shoulder, staring at the closed door like she can see through it. “Thank you,” she says, louder this time, clearer. “For calling Brienne.”
“Anytime,” I say lightly, because I don’t want her to think that was a big deal. That was just a perk of the job.
Her jaw works, like there’s a bigger thank-you stuck under her tongue, but she swallows it and nods toward the street. “Let’s stop by the pharmacy. I want to get a humidifier.”
“Let’s do it,” I say. My obligations to the team don’t start until this afternoon with nothing more than a team meeting and video review.
The pharmacy is bathed in harsh fluorescent lighting, and I hold Grayce as Maddie paces down the baby aisle, fingertip trailing over thermometers and nasal aspirators like she’s taking inventory in a language only she speaks. She picks up a small humidifier and turns it in her hands, checking the back, the side, the back again before putting it in the basket.
At the register, Maddie starts to dig into her wallet, but I thrust Grayce at her. She has no choice but to take her, enabling me to pull out my own wallet and credit card to pay.