A Secret for a Secret (All In #3)(52)

“Oh, thank God you’re here. Have you seen Alex? He’s not in his office.”

“He’s been in a meeting for”—I check the time on my computer screen and cringe—“a couple of hours now. I’m not sure when he’s supposed to be done.”

“Is it important? Do you think we can interrupt?” Two little figures appear behind her: Lavender and River. Today they’re not holding hands, though. Instead, River is clutching one of those plastic beach pails to his chest. His little shoulders cave in, and he makes a sound that’s a combination of a groan and a sob before he wretches. Lavender pats him on the back, and Violet turns her head and tries to suppress a gag.

“Oh God, is River okay?”

“I think he has the flu.”

I grab a handful of tissues and round my desk. After leading him over to one of the chairs, I get him to sit down while Lavender clambers into the one beside him. I wipe his clammy face and brush his damp hair away from his forehead.

“Thank you for doing that. I have a hard time with—” She motions toward her face and the bucket River is holding.

“It’s fine. So does my dad. Whenever I was sick as a kid, I had to keep him away from me so he wouldn’t react by tossing his cookies too.”

“I can totally relate to that.” Violet blows out a breath. “I have an appointment with his doctor in half an hour, but I was hoping I could leave Lavender with Alex, because I’d really like to avoid her getting it too. Or being in a doctor’s office with a bunch of other sick people.” Violet pats her daughter on the top of her head but keeps her gaze averted from the contents of the beach pail.

“Lavender can hang out with me until he’s finished his meeting, if that works for you.”

Violet drops down into a crouch so she’s at eye level with Lavender. “Do you think you’d be okay to stay with Queenie for a while? Just until Daddy is out of his meeting?”

Lavender looks from her mom to me and back again, little lips pursed in a line.

“Did you bring your coloring stuff? We could draw together while you wait for your daddy,” I offer.

Lavender considers that for a few seconds before she finally nods.

“Awesome. Looks like you’re good to take River to the doctor and get him all fixed up,” I tell Violet.

“Thank you so much. I really appreciate this.”

“It’s no trouble at all.”

Violet kisses Lavender on the forehead. “I shouldn’t be too long: an hour and a half or so tops. And I’ll call or text with updates so you don’t worry too much,” she tells Lavender.

“What about Robbie and Maverick? Are they here too?”

“They’re in school until four, and then Robbie has his Botany Club and Maverick has hockey practice, so we’re all set there.” She guides poor River out of the office, murmuring reassurances.

I turn to Lavender, whose attention is focused on the empty doorway. Her hands are in her lap, and she’s wringing them nervously. “We should probably wash our hands, shouldn’t we?”

She drags her gaze away from the doorway and nods once. After slipping off the chair, she follows me to the bathroom. She’s too small to reach the sink, so with her permission I lift her up onto the vanity and turn on the taps. She runs her hands under the water, and I pump soap into them. “We’ll wash them really well so you don’t get what River has, okay?”

She nods again and rubs her hands together, and I start singing “Happy Birthday.”

She tips her head, and a slight smile curves one corner of her mouth.

I pause to tell her, “My dad always sang ‘Happy Birthday’ twice when we washed our hands; then we’d know all the germs were gone. Do your parents do that?”

She shakes her head.

“Want me to keep singing?”

At her nod, I start over, thinking it doesn’t hurt for us to wash our hands longer, considering how ill her poor brother seems to be. Once we’re all done, we dry our hands with paper towels. Back in my office, I clear a spot on my desk for her and grab some paper from the printer while Lavender unpacks her knapsack.

I pull up a chair beside mine, and Lavender sits on her knees, shimmying forward until she can reach the desk and her crayons. She picks up a piece of blank paper and very carefully lines up the corners, her tongue poking out as she tries to get one side to line up and then the other. But her little hands make it impossible.

“Do you want to make a card for your brother?”

She nods.

“Can I show you a trick?”

Another nod.

“You hold the corners for me, okay?” I wait until her little fingers are pressed on each corner; then I pinch the center on both ends, helping her flatten it out. For the next half hour we sit side by side, quietly coloring. Every once in a while Lavender peeks over at my paper to see what I’m drawing.

Crayons aren’t the best medium for fine art, but I follow the contours of her face, sketching lines with a pencil first before I start filling them in with color. When Lavender is done with the card for her brother—she spells River without any vowels, although she’s barely four—she starts another picture while I continue working on mine.

Lavender tugs on my sleeve to get my attention.

“What’s up, kiddo?”