Wildest Dreams (Thunder Point #9)(8)

Lin Su felt her hackles rise. She wanted to take him down. She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. “Fantastic little lecture, Mr. Smiley. You should do a TED Talk someday. You have no idea what it was like sitting up through the night when he was three years old, doing breathing treatments every couple of hours, holding him while he strained to get a breath, watching him get that blue tinge, putting him in the ambulance. He has to be cautious!”

She saw what clearly looked like sympathy come into his gaze. “You must have been terrified,” he said. “The good news is, he isn’t three anymore.”

Lin Su’s anger grew even though Blake’s voice was gentle.

“Ah, there he is,” Blake said. “He’s really moving.”

Charlie was speeding, head down, peddling madly. He slowed as he came upon them, his grin wide as the sky. He had his mother’s perfect, straight white teeth.

“That was awesome,” he said to Blake. He was huffing and puffing a little. “Mom, what are you doing here? Winnie all right?”

“She’s fine. Are you having trouble catching your breath?” Lin Su asked.

“I’m winded,” he said. “I rode hard. Not long, though. I’ll be fine in a second.”

“Do you need your inhaler?”

“Mom,” he said. “I’m fine.” But then he coughed.

“Charlie, I don’t want you...”

“Charlie, do you have any major plans for that laptop of yours for tonight?” Blake asked, cutting her off.

Charlie shrugged. “No, why?”

“I think you should research famous athletes with asthma,” Blake said. “You’ll run across some familiar names and get some good ideas.”

* * *

Charlie coughed on and off through the rest of the afternoon and because of that Grace offered to settle her mother in for the night so Lin Su could take her son home. On the way home she lightly berated him. “You shouldn’t have taken the hard ride. A long walk or a ride on a paddleboard is one thing—a burst of exercise could haunt you.”

“It’s not an asthma attack. Trust me, I’d know.” He coughed again. “It’ll pass.”

“We’ll do a breathing treatment,” she said.

“I’ll do it,” Charlie said. “I just wish you liked him. Because he’s a good guy.”

“Mr. Smiley?” she asked, though of course she knew. “I like him fine. He was being very neighborly, loaning you the bike for a ride. But he didn’t know about the asthma. That’s your responsibility, Charlie.”

“Then let me have it,” he said tersely.

Mr. Smiley, she found herself thinking, is going to be a problem. He was encouraging this free thinking, letting Charlie learn from his consequences, and he didn’t understand that in Charlie’s case the consequences could be fatal.

Well, probably not, she relented. Worst case, a manageable asthma attack, relieved by a nebulizer and maybe some oxygen. But she was suddenly desperate that Charlie listen first to her.

“It’s not going to kill me, you know,” Charlie said as if reading her mind. “Sometimes I have a little breathing thing, not very often. I haven’t had one of these in a long time.”

“May,” she said. “When everything was in bloom. And it got a little dicey.”

“Because it turned into a cold. This could be just a cold, you know. I felt a little stuffy before I took the bike out.”

Lin Su said nothing as she drove. But she counted his coughs, which had become deep and gravelly. He wasn’t wheezing. Yet. They were almost home when she said, “I don’t appreciate your attitude toward me, as if I’m somehow punishing you. I’m going to make you some soup while you take a hot shower with lots of steam. Then you come out, eat soup and give the water heater time to heat up again and get back in the steam. After that we’ll do a breathing treatment. How many times have you used the inhaler?”

“Just twice.”

“Let’s see if we can nip this in the bud, okay, Charlie?”

He nodded. “Sorry, Mom. The bike was so awesome.”

“I know, honey.” She wanted to carry on about the use of some discretion to keep this asthma in check but she knew he’d heard enough. And maybe Mr. Smiley was partially right—he might learn more this way, from the consequences, than from her harping. He’d heard it all before. But damned if she’d ever admit that.

They carried out the plan—shower, soup, shower, treatment. After all that, he started to sniff a little and she hoped it was a little cold rather than an attack, even though that presented a different set of problems. If these symptoms persisted it would be wrong to take him back to Winnie’s. She shouldn’t be exposed to germs if it could be avoided. With all the people in and through Winnie’s house it was risky enough—her nurse couldn’t bring a known virus into the patient’s home.

Then she had a slightly evil thought. It would serve him right to have to spend a day at home as a result of his less than responsible actions, even though she knew it wasn’t possible for a bike ride to bring on a cold. He should learn to listen to her. So you want it to be a cold, Charlie, and not your overtaxed weak lungs—a cold, it is. And you have to stay home. Away from your playmates for a day.