You Will Know Me(49)

“Don’t worry,” he warned Katie, “it sounds much worse than it is.”



The only person she’d ever heard of getting it was Beth March in Little Women.

As they hurried through the waiting room, Eric called.

“Honey,” she whispered into the phone. “Um.”

A bleary, streaky-nosed kid and his wan parents were staring at dappled Drew, his face like raw bacon.

“It’s scarlet fever,” she said, covering her mouth with her hand. “It’s fine, but Drew has scarlet fever.”

Both parents looked up, alarmed, the mother clutching her son closer to her chest.

“Christ,” Eric said. “Isn’t that from the Civil War?”

“It can come with strep. The strep releases a toxin—”

“How could he get it when he’s already on antibiotics? I always knew that guy was a quack. Teddy’s doctor. All he knows are cortisone shots and horse pills.”

“Who else do you know who sees patients on Sundays?” Katie said, voice low as she could make it. “He says it does happen. He increased the dosage and he says in twenty-four hours, the fever will go away and the rash will just—”

“Let me talk to him.” That sharp rap again.

“He’s with another patient. And Eric, you need to—”

“I mean Drew,” he said, more softly now. “Can I talk to my son?”

Katie said nothing, handing the phone to Drew.

“Dad,” he chirped, “it’s like in The Velveteen Rabbit. Remember how they had to burn all the toys?”

Katie rested her hand on the top of his head, trying to breathe.



Devon was standing on the front lawn, gym bag in hand, when Katie pulled up the drive.

“I’m going to the Y,” she said. “I’ll work the weights.”

“You will not,” Katie said, jumping out of the car. “You’re not going anywhere after what happened yesterday.”

“Dad said he’d take me,” she said, backing away from Drew, even from Katie. “Mom, I need to.”

She wouldn’t even step into the garage, or look at her brother.



“We’ll just do a few hours’ practice,” Eric said, pulling the covers over Drew, who slumped into face-squashing sleep in seconds. “I’ll be with her the whole time.”

“Go, just go,” Katie said. “Both of you. Go.”

“After, I’ll take her to lunch. I’ll explain.”

Katie was listening, but she wasn’t.

Drew’s eyes fluttered like when he was a baby.



The rest of the morning, taking care of Drew, scrubbing everything with bleach until her hands cracked, she had the feeling things were happening, but no one was calling her back, no one seemed to be anywhere they should be.

Another load of laundry, the weight of the final basket branding her forearms, she fell asleep in the mamasan chair she’d dragged into Drew’s room. To watch him.

She was dreaming when a sound woke her, dreaming of her hands digging into Hailey’s thick hair from behind and pulling it back to see Devon hunched beneath, teeth bared and pink, her feet like little claws.

Her eyes opened to Drew sitting bolt straight in bed, mouth open, a flash of crimson that looked like a flame.

“Someone’s here,” he lisped. “Someone with noisy shoes.”

Katie leaned over and looked out the window.

In the driveway, a familiar car gleamed like an oyster.

Reaching the bottom stair, laundry bag still in hand, she stopped in the foyer and took a breath.

There was Gwen, lodged firmly in the wing chair in the living room. It was the only fine piece of furniture they’d ever owned, a family heirloom presented, with tears and ceremony, by Eric’s mother for their tenth anniversary.

Katie could remember sitting on it only once. Or she and Eric had together, the herringbone beneath her palm as she pushed against his chest. A seized moment, Devon away at regionals, news of her triumph freshly arrived. The knife-pleat skirt tickling her swinging ankle, the skidding sound of its ball-and-claw feet on the floor—claw away, claw up the floor, mark it.

And there Gwen sat. Tangerine sheath dress just a shade too tight across her midriff, those tanned piston arms of hers bare because she was always warm. I run a few degrees shy of Hades, she told everyone, all the time, always have.

Fingers tapping on her phone.

And, now scraping along the wall-to-wall, were those noisy shoes. Pointy, soaring, python-skinned like they’d hiss.

“Look who woke up. I ran into Eric and Devon at Pancake Palace. They’re upstairs.”

“Thanks,” Katie said, looking at her watch. They’d been gone for four hours. “What can I do for you, Gwen?”

“It’s really unbelievable, isn’t it? Thank God that demented girl is under lock and key.”

“Yes,” Katie said, trying to smooth her sleep-rumpled hair. Trying to shove the detergent-speckled laundry bag behind her. “For now.”

“You should have seen Devon at practice yesterday, Katie.” Her eyes shone, python heels rasping on the carpet beneath her. “Amplitude, perfect body alignment, and the prettiest toe point I’ve ever seen. But, listen, Katie, that double-twist Yurchenko is not what it was two weeks ago. The stress of this is telling on her.”