Wednesday, September 21, 1983

"Mooooommmmmyyyyyyy, I neeeeeeeed yoooooouuuu," hollered Theresa from her bedroom.

"Coming, sweetheart," I called. I turned the burner down under the soup I was cooking for her.

What a way to spend your fifth birthday, Resa. She'd woken up with a sore throat and a fever. The other girls were fine so I'd sent them off to school.

Theresa's cheeks were flushed and her hair sweaty. Her eyes glistened and she'd started developing a runny nose.

"Oh, baby," I said, sitting on the edge of her bed and brushing her bangs away from her face to kiss her forehead in a quick fever check. "What do you need?"

She rubbed the sleeve of her nightgown beneath her nose. I shook my head and handed her a tissue. "Use this, Resa, not your sleeve."

"Okay, Mommy."

"Now, what was it you needed?"

"My throat hurts and I'm booooooooooooorrrrrreeeddddd."

She'd drunk all of the water I'd left with her. I picked the glass up and told Theresa I'd be right back. I went into the bathroom and refilled the glass then reached into the medicine cabinet for throat spray.

"Open wide," I told her, wielding the Chloraseptic.

"Aaaaaahhhh," she obediently opened her mouth for me to squirt the anesthetizing spray into her throat. "YUCK!"

"I know," I comforted her, leaning forward to kiss her forehead. "But that will make your throat feel better."

"I'm still bored," she complained.

I gestured to the coloring book and crayons on her nightstand. "Why don't you color a picture?"

She whined, "I already diiiiiiid."

"I tell you what," I decided, "grab your pillow and come downstairs. I'll set you up on the sofa and you can watch television."

She lit up. "Really?"

"Really." I reached for the blanket at the foot of her bed as she took her pillow and crawled out of bed.

When we got downstairs, Star lifted his head from his basket. He watched as Theresa put her pillow in the corner of the sofa and got comfortable. As soon as I covered her with her blanket he got up and jumped onto the sofa, curling up at her feet.

"Star wants you to feel better," I commented. I turned the TV on and put it on PBS for her.

"Thank you, Mommy," she smiled at me.

"You just rest okay, and I'm going to go finish making your soup."

I left her watching Sesame Street and headed back into the kitchen. Despite my having left the soup on low, it was bubbling at a full boil. I stirred it and quickly removed it from the heat.

I ladled a serving into a bowl for her and set it aside to cool. While I was fixing her a glass of orange juice the phone rang. It was Al.

"How is our munchkin doing?"

"Her nose started running now. Her throat still hurts and the fever hasn't broken yet."

He sighed. "So this is a full-fledged sickness."

"It's looking like it. Hopefully Grace doesn't go down next." I made a mental note to move her into the guest room tonight to keep her as separate from Theresa's germs as possible. I cleared my throat.

"Hopefully you don't get it next," responded Al.

"Honey, it was just a frog in my throat."

From the living room, Theresa coughed several times. It was apparently loud enough to travel through the phone line.

"She sounds rough."

I sighed. "She does."

"Poor kid. And on her birthday." He tapped his pen against his desk, a sure sign he was thinking. "Were you still planning on baking her a cake?"

"I don't see why I wouldn't be able to."

At that moment, Theresa groaned and I heard her running to the downstairs bathroom followed by retching sounds.

"Be right back," I told Al, dropping the handset as I hurried to check on her. It clattered against the counter in my wake.

Theresa was crying, having just finished throwing up and only partially making it into the toilet. Vomit was in her hair and spattered on her nightgown.

"Oh, sweetheart," I said, reaching for the hand towel at the sink and immediately soaking it under running water. I wiped her hair clean and dabbed at her nightgown.

"I don't feel good," she sobbed. She gagged and I gathered her hair out of the way as she vomited again. When she stopped she sat on the floor and cried. "Mommy, I feel yucky."

I kissed her forehead to soothe her. "Theresa, you're burning up, honey."

"I'm not hot, Mommy, I'm cold," she shivered.

I hugged her close, to comfort and warm her. "I'll go get you a new set of jammies and we'll wipe you down, okay?"

"Okay," she chattered, hugging her knees to herself and wrapping her arms around them as I got up. Star, who'd been watching from the doorway, curled up against her hip.

I started for the stairs when I remembered the phone. I hurried into the kitchen and picked it up. "Al? Are you still there?"

"Is everything okay, Beth?" Concern filled his voice. I doubted he could have overhead anything from the bathroom, but the amount of time I'd been gone had increased his worry.

"She threw up and now she's got chills. Pretty sure this is the flu. I've got to go, hon."

We exchanged quick "I love you's" and I hung the phone up, hurrying upstairs for fresh pajamas and washcloths to get Theresa cleaned up.

She was still shivering, rocking back and forth on the bathroom floor as she sobbed and complained that she felt yucky, when I got back to her.

I brushed her hair back from her face as I knelt next to her and used the wet hand towel I'd used earlier to once again wipe through her hair to get it free of anything foreign. Urging her to stand up, I tugged the nightgown off her. I wet the washcloth I'd brought down and wiped her face and torso.

"Here, honey, let's get into these fresh jammies," I cajoled her. She clung to me as she stepped one shaky leg after the other into the pajama pants. I helped her get the shirt over her arms before quickly popping it over her head. "Do you want to go back to the sofa or do you want to get into bed?"

"Sofa."

"Okay, Resa."

I bent to lift her into my arms and she buried her face in the side of my neck. I didn't like how hotly her skin burned against mine.

She snuggled back into her pillow and requested her blanket again, still shivering. Once more, as soon as I had her tucked in, Star leapt onto the sofa and curled up against her.

"I don't want soup anymore, Mommy," she complained.

"That's fine, baby, but you do need to drink some orange juice and take some more medicine, okay?"

Theresa reluctantly agreed, and I went to retrieve the juice for her.

"Sip it slowly," I told her as I handed it to her. "I don't mind if it takes you all of Mister Rogers to finish it."

"Okay," she said, bringing the juice to her lips. A moment later she whined, "It hurts to swallow!"

"I know, sweet pea, but you need to get at least something on your tummy, even if it's just juice."

She frowned, but she took two small sips before stretching to put the glass on the end table.

"What medicine are you going to make me take?" she inquired, suspicion entering her eyes.

"Just Tylenol." For now.

Theresa made a face, her little nose wrinkling up, but she knew there was no point in arguing with me. She waited, reluctantly, until I came back with two small chewable tablets.

"This will help your fever go down."

The disgust on her face intensified as she popped the tablets into her mouth. "What flavor is it?" she asked around her chomps.

"Grape."

"It doesn't taste like grape, it tastes yucky!"

I laughed and stroked her cheek. "Chew it up and wash it down with orange juice."

Her little hand wrapped around the glass and she chugged a big sip. She instantly regretted it and pressed her tummy.

"Do you feel like you're going to throw up again?" I asked her.

Theresa shook her head.

"All right, honey. You just watch Mister Rogers and I'll sit over here." I moved to the other end of the sofa and reached for the basket I kept on the floor containing yarn and the crochet project I'd been working on while the girls were at school.

It caught Theresa's attention when I went through the motions of poking the hook through loops, sometimes twisting yarn around it before pulling it back through.

"What are you making, Mommy?"

"Aunt Janie is going to have another baby early next year, so I'm making a hat, sweater, and booties for it."

"Is it going to be a girl or a boy?"

"We don't know until it's born. That's why I'm using yellow yarn. The baby can wear it whether it's a boy or a girl."

Theresa sat up slightly. "I hope she has a girl. I'm glad we're all girls in our family."

I reached the end of the row and turned the fabric that would become the sweater around to do the next one. "Why are you glad?"

Despite not feeling well, Theresa grinned at me. "Because boys are stupid."

"Why would you say that?"

"Nicky Stine always teases me, and so does Robby Hillard."

Continuing to crochet the sweater, I tilted my head at her and said, "You know, Daddy's a boy. I certainly hope you don't think he's stupid."

Theresa was indignant and she took a sip of orange juice. "Of course Daddy's not stupid! But he's not a boy, he's a Daddy!"

"He was a little boy once," I commented.

Theresa processed that, her eyes widening at the thought that her Daddy had once been young and small like her. Mister Rogers began singing a song on the television and her jaw dropped as she pointed at the TV.

"Bridget said that Mister Rogers can't really see or hear me when he talks, but listen, Mommy—he's singing about what we're talking about!"

Sure enough, Fred Rogers was singing "Everybody's Fancy," the lyrics I was very familiar with after so many years of PBS programming being on our television.

"Only girls can be the mommies.
Only boys can be the daddies.
Everybody's fancy.
Everybody's fine.
Your body's fancy and so is mine."

Theresa sang along with him until the song ended. Then she sang the chorus again a few times.

"Everybody's fancy! Everybody's fine! Your body's fancy and so is mine!"

The trolley journeyed to the Neighborhood of Make-Believe so Theresa was quietly rapt on the show again, and I focused on the crochet project for Janie's baby. After several rows I realized Theresa had fallen asleep. I leaned for the remote and lowered the volume, stroking Star's fur.

"You looking after our girl, buddy?" I asked him.

He let out a soft "whuff."

"Good boy."

Carla Grayson, the mother of Grace's friend Kelly from church, had asked if the girls could have a midweek sleepover the night before. It had turned into a playdate this morning that lasted until early afternoon. I hurried out of the front door before Carla rang the doorbell, which would set Star off, since Theresa was still asleep.

"Hi, Carla," I greeted her. "I hope Grace behaved herself."

Grace gave me an outraged stare.

Carla laughed. "She was a perfect angel. She and Kelly got along very well."

"I made a present for Theresa for her birthday!"

"She did," nodded Carla. "She and Kelly made some Shrinky Dinks and Grace turned hers into a necklace and bracelet for her sister."

"That was very sweet of you, Grace." I looked at Carla. "Thank you again. I'd invite you in, but Theresa is sick with the flu and is running a fever."

Sympathy creased Carla's brow. "Oh, poor girl. And on her birthday!"

Grace reached for the door. "I'll go give her a hug and a kiss to make her feel better."

I quickly grabbed Grace's hand. "No, honey. You need to stay away from Theresa so you don't catch it." Carla handed me Grace's overnight bag and I thanked her.

"I'll let you get back to your girl," said Carla. From the car, Kelly waved goodbye.

I turned to Grace. "Theresa's on the sofa right now. I don't want you getting too close to her. And you're going to sleep in the guest room tonight."

"Why can't Theresa sleep in there?" Grace whined.

"Because she's already been either on the sofa or in her bed all day, coughing and she threw up a few times. The guest room doesn't have any of her flu germs in it."

I opened the door and we walked inside. Theresa still hadn't woken up. Grace stood across the living room and looked at her sister.

"Poor Resa," she said.

"Yes," I agreed, "poor Resa. And we don't want it to be poor Gracie also, so you keep your distance, okay?"

She sighed. "Okay. Can I at least have my toys?"

I had sprayed Lysol in their shared bedroom and pulled Grace's toys into the guest bedroom earlier. "Your toys are already in the guest room."

"Yay!" she cheered, dashing up the stairs.

Theresa coughed in her sleep and I sighed. Star raised his head from where he rested against her ankles.

"Go back to sleep, Star."

He yawned, his little pink tongue curling upwards, and flopped his head back down.

I was still holding Grace's overnight bag, so I walked into the laundry room with it, pulling out the clothes and pajamas she'd worn yesterday and sorting them into lights and darks. I found a small package wrapped in festive paper and I smiled at Carla's thoughtfulness as I pulled the gift out and set it on the kitchen table.

Grace came hurtling into the kitchen. "Oh! You found it!" She grinned and pointed at the gift.

"I did. Did you have a good time with Kelly?"

She nodded. "Did you know Kelly takes dance lessons? She showed me this!" Grace stood on her tippy toes and curved her arms above her head in a port de bras, then pointed her toe and extended her leg in front of her.

I clapped. "That looks beautiful, Grace."

"Can I take dance lessons with Kelly?" she implored.

"Grace, I don't even know where—"

"She goes to To the Pointe Dance School."

This was the first activity Grace had expressed interest in. "Let me talk to Daddy about it."

"Okay," she smiled. She put her feet in a decent first position and then bent her knees in a plie.

I had to admit she seemed very enthusiastic already.

"Are you hungry?"

She shook her head. "Mrs. Grayson fixed lunch before we left."

Theresa coughed in her sleep again and Grace turned a worried head towards the living room. "Mommy, can we pray for Resa? She would pray if it was me that was sick."

I smiled at her. Theresa was the most devout of the girls and Grace recognized that about her sister. "I think that would be lovely. Would you like to say the prayer for her?"

Grace nodded enthusiastically. "Should we kneel?" she asked.

"I think God will hear us standing up, but if you want to kneel we can."

She considered. "Theresa would kneel."

We both knelt right there in the kitchen and Grace prayed aloud, "Dear God, please help Resa to feel better soon. It isn't fair for her to be sick on her birthday and it isn't fair that I can't get too close to her. Please make her flu go away. Amen."

Theresa's thin voice called from the living room as soon as we got back to our feet. "Mommy... Mommy."

"I'm coming." I patted Grace's shoulder before hurrying to Theresa. "Do you feel like you're going to throw up again?" I lifted the trash basket lined with a bag that I had put near her after she'd thrown up the last time.

She shook her head. "My head hurts, Mommy. And my arms and legs hurt."

I sat next to her on the sofa and stroked her cheek, which was still hot to the touch. "I'm sorry, Resa. That's part of having the flu."

"The flu is mean!" she declared.

"I agree, honey."

Grace had come into the living room and Theresa's eyes got wide. "Don't come close to me, Grace! I don't want you to get the flu. It's mean."

"I won't." Grace looked at me. "Does this mean we can't celebrate Resa's birthday?"

Theresa started to cry when Grace said that.

I gave Grace a softly scolding look before turning back to Theresa. "Shhh, you don't need to get more congested by crying! We'll celebrate your birthday today if you feel up to it."

"How can we celebrate if no one can come near me?" she wailed.

"I'm near you right now, Resa. But if you want to wait until you're better to celebrate, we can do that, too."

"This is the worst birthday ever!" exclaimed Theresa.

The doorbell rang and Star leapt off the sofa, barking.

"I'll get him," said Grace, scurrying after the Scottish terrier and picking him up.

I smiled when I looked through the peephole. A man from a local florist shop stood on the front step with a large bouquet of carnations, daisies, and roses in his grasp.

"For Miss Theresa Calavicci," he said when I opened the door. I signed for the flowers and took hold of the bouquet.

Theresa had overheard the man's loud voice and sat up. "For me?"

I handed the bouquet to her, and a large smile spread across her face.

"Let's read the card and see who they're from," I encouraged her.

She plucked the small envelope from the center of the bouquet and opened it, pulling the little card out and handing it to me.

"For my sweet Resa, Happy Birthday and Get Well Soon. Love, Daddy," I read aloud.

She looked up at me, joy in her feverish eyes. "Daddy sent them!"

"I'll put them in water," I told her, reaching for the flowers. She passed them over, but held on to the card.

Grace followed me into the kitchen and ducked down to the cabinet where I stored vases and platters. "I'll get a vase for them," she announced.

"Thank you, sweetheart," I said as I unwrapped the bouquet.

"Can I put them in the vase?"

"Let me fill it with water and then you can."

I put the filled vase on the kitchen table and Grace reached for the bouquet, carefully keeping the flowers together as she stood them inside the vase.

"Perfect!" she declared.

I agreed with her and lifted the vase to bring it back into the living room. I set it on the end table and Theresa looked at it and smiled.

"How did Daddy know that would make me happy?"

"Daddy's smart like that," offered Grace.

I winked at Theresa, "Even though he's a boy?"

She stuck her tongue out at me. "Can I call Daddy and tell him thank you?"

The kitchen phone would just barely reach the sofa. "Do you feel well enough to come to the kitchen?" I asked. "I'll hold you."

"Okay," agreed Theresa. She stretched her arms for me to lift her, wrapping her arms around my neck and her legs around my hips. Grace watched us go and then climbed into Al's recliner to watch the television that was still on, now showing Reading Rainbow.

I dialed Al's direct office number and waited until he answered. I was surprised when the call routed to Cynthia, his secretary.

"Captain Calavicci's office, how may I help you?" her polite voice asked.

"Cynthia, hi, it's Beth."

"Hello, Beth." The smile on her face was evident in her voice. "Did the flowers for Theresa arrive? Al asked me to order them and told me what to have the card say."

"They did. She wanted to thank him. Is he out of the office?"

"He's in a meeting. Would you like me to have him call you back when he returns?"

I shifted the phone to my shoulder and turned my head towards Theresa. "Daddy's in a meeting right now. He'll have to call us back."

She sighed but nodded.

"That will be fine, Cynthia. Thank you."

"Of course. Tell Theresa I hope she feels better soon."

I put the handset against my shoulder again and told Theresa, "Mrs. Dobbins hopes you feel better soon."

Theresa smiled. "Thank you, Mrs. Dobbins," she said.

"I heard her," Cynthia said when I put the phone back to my ear. "Gracious, she sounds awful. That's no way to spend a birthday, sick like that."

I wanted to laugh at yet another comment about Theresa's illness ruining her birthday. "Isn't that the truth?" I said, instead.

"I'll have—oh, hang on, he's back. I'll put you on hold so I can transfer you back to his desk." As she did so I heard her tell Al, "It's Beth."

There was a momentary silence followed by two brief chirping rings before I heard Al's voice. "Hey, babe, is everything okay with Resa?"

"Everything's fine," I assured him. "Resa just wanted to thank you for the flowers." I passed the receiver to her.

"Thank you, Daddy. They're so pretty!" She was quiet as she listened to him. "My throat hurts," she said before she coughed again. I quickly turned my face away, hoping I'd reacted swiftly enough. "I will, but I wanted to tell you thank you." She smiled at whatever he was telling her. "Chocolate?" Another momentary pause. "Okay, Daddy. I love you!" She handed the receiver back to me. "Daddy wants to talk to you again."

I wiped the handset against my jeans before putting it to my ear. "It's me again."

"I'm bringing home a cake for her. She deserves to have that much at least. And you don't need to try to get one baked and decorated on top of taking care of her and Grace. Plus, the twins will be home soon, won't they?"

I glanced at the clock and sighed. "Yes, they will. Thanks, babe."

"You've got it. I love you, Beth." I heard a rustle as he covered the mouthpiece with his hand. I couldn't understand what he said even though I could hear his voice. After a moment sound returned as he removed his hand. "Gotta go, Beth. I've got a conference call." He said goodbye and I hung up the phone.

"All right, what do you say we see what the books on Reading Rainbow are today?"

Theresa grinned. "Okay, Mommy!" She sniffled and wiped her sleeve across her nose.

I sighed again, no point in correcting her when there wasn't a tissue box nearby. I carried her to the sofa and then pointedly handed a tissue to her. She absently wiped her nose, fixated on the slightly animated story playing out on the screen to the accompaniment of the celebrity narrator.

"Mommy, can we get this book?" Grace asked.

"Hmmm, maybe next time we go to the library."

Grace shifted her eyes towards Theresa, who was coughing again, and she let out a small sigh. There would be no library trip anytime soon.

The buzzer for the dryer ending its cycle sounded and I left the girls watching the show to empty its contents into a basket. I hefted it against my hip and returned to the living room, sitting near Theresa's feet at the end of the sofa between her and Grace in Al's recliner to fold the warm towels.

"Can I help you, Mommy?" asked Grace, hopping out of the chair.

"Thank you, Gracie. You can fold the washcloths."

Her folds were sloppy, since she kept her attention on LeVar Burton as he closed out a segment with "But you don't have to take my word for it!" I didn't re-do them, though, knowing it would demoralize her to have her work undone to be done "properly" by me.

The show ended as she finished with the last washcloth and I stacked all the folded linens back into the basket to carry them upstairs. Grace glanced at the front door and looked back at me. Usually, she and I walked to the corner to meet the girls' bus when Reading Rainbow ended. Theresa coughed miserably.

"We won't leave her alone," I told Grace. "You sit back in the recliner and don't move, and I'll meet the twins."

"Okay," Grace said hesitantly.

Theresa raised her head from the pillow and smiled at her little sister. "Thanks for staying with me, Grace."

"You're welcome," Grace said, although she sounded uncertain.

"I'll be quick," I promised.

I slipped out the front door, closing it firmly behind me and walked determinedly past the three houses between ours and the bus stop.

The bus was running perfectly on time, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Sometimes it could be delayed as much as five or ten minutes, which usually wasn't a big deal, but even though I could see our house from the corner, I was uncomfortable leaving Theresa and Grace home alone.

Bridget and Michele stepped down from the bus and smiled when they saw me.

"Where's Gracie?" Michele asked.

"Home with Theresa," I answered, "let's hurry home, okay?"

"How is Theresa feeling?" inquired Bridget.

"Worse than she did this morning."

They both frowned. Bridget looked at Michele.

"Race you!" she challenged.

Michele stuck her chin out. "You're on."

They both took off, racing for the house to be the first to slap a hand against the door.

"Who won?" they breathlessly asked when I caught up to them.

"It was a tie," I said, not having any idea whose hand had reached the wood first. "Let's get inside."

Michele pushed the door open and Bridget announced, "Resa, we're home!"

"Hi, Bree and Sheli," came Theresa's weak voice. "Don't come too close to me or you'll get sick, too."

The twins looked nervously at me and I smiled down at them. "Theresa has the flu, so just keep a bit of distance from her."

They came into the living room, but kept the coffee table between them and Theresa. Michele caught sight of the vase on the end table.

"Where did the flowers come from?" she asked.

Theresa's pale lips spread in a smile. "Daddy sent them to me!"

"Lucky!" said Bridget.

"I don't think having the flu is lucky," countered Theresa. "It's YUCKY. I threw up and—" Whatever she was about to say was broken off by a coughing fit. The twins took a step back and Grace leaned away from the sofa. Theresa looked like she was about to start crying, so I intervened.

"Daddy's going to pick up a cake for Resa; we're still going to celebrate her birthday today."

"And I'll get another cake for my party!"

I pressed my lips together. "Oh, honey, you won't be over the flu by Saturday. We're going to have to cancel your party."

Her face fell. "Mommy, no!" Her lower lip trembled.

I sat next to her on the couch. She leaned against me as I hugged her, tears coming despite her best efforts to keep them back. "I'm so sorry, Resa."

"It's not fair!" she wailed.

I waved for the twins to go upstairs. Bridget took Grace's hand and the three left the room. I heard their footsteps traipsing up the steps.

"I know it's not fair," I told Theresa, kissing her hot forehead. "We'll find something special to do with you when you get better."

"I wanted to have a party with my friends," she sulked, folding her arms over her chest.

I slid a finger under her chin and tilted her head to look at me. "You wouldn't want to get your friends sick, would you?"

"No," she said, "but why couldn't they just keep their distance like my sisters?"

Shaking my head, I said, "Honey, we aren't going to invite people to come visit when you're sick like this."

She pouted. "It's not fair," she said again. A moment later she clapped her hands over her mouth and jumped off the sofa, running pell-mell for the bathroom. I hurried after her and caught up with her right before she hunched over the toilet. Taking a handful of hair, I got it out of her face so that she didn't vomit into her hair again as she had earlier.

When she finished, she let out a loud wail and sank to the floor, burying her face in her knees and sobbing.

I knelt beside her and wrapped my arms around her. "I know, baby," I whispered into her hair. "I wish I could take this flu away from you."

"Me, too," she murmured, leaning against me.

After a minute, I realized she'd fallen asleep. I eased her to the fluffy bathroom rug in front of the sink and flushed the toilet. Steeling myself for her weight, I crouched and lifted her into my arms, carrying her back into the living room. I got her situated on the sofa and covered her up. I sat next to her and rubbed her legs through the blanket.

"I wish I could take this sickness and have it instead of you," I said. "My poor baby."

Theresa was back upstairs in her bed and I was cooking dinner after having sprayed Lysol in the living room. The twins were in the den finishing their homework and Grace was beside them coloring in a coloring book when Al came home bearing the chocolate cake for her. Al walked into the kitchen and set the cake box on the counter before coming up behind me and kissing me on the cheek as I mashed potatoes on the stove.

"What are we having for dinner?"

"Theresa asked for mashed potatoes. Her throat still hurts. I've got a roast in the oven to go with them and the green beans are almost done steaming."

He unboxed the cake. The frosting was chocolate with the piping border accented with pink and yellow dots. Pink and yellow roses with light green leaves decorated the top of the cake and in yellow it read, "Happy Birthday Resa."

"She'll love it," I approved.

"Is she upstairs?"

I nodded, adding another splash of milk to the potatoes. "Her headache got worse and the other girls needed some time downstairs."

"I'll be back. I'm going to go check on her," he said.

"Hi, Daddy!" I heard as he passed the den.

"Hi, girls. All of you still feeling fine?" A moment as they alternately must have nodded, and then he said, "Good. I'm going to go see Resa for a bit, okay?"

"Okay."

The potatoes were done, and I pulled the oven door open to check on the roast. Just a few more minutes, I decided. I started working on the gravy, using a packet of mix to save time.

Al had changed clothes after spending some time with Theresa, no longer wearing his khaki uniform. He now had on a pair of blue jeans and a bright blue polo shirt.

"Poor kid," he said. "She's burning up."

I nodded. "I know, she's been miserable all day." I sneezed and Al's eyes widened.

"Don't tell me you're getting sick."

I pointed to the gravy I was stirring. "I added pepper to it."

He looked dubious but said, "Okay." Still, he stepped closer and placed the back of his hand against my forehead before nodding and leaving the room.

A moment later Bridget and Michele came in.

"Did you finish your homework?"

"Almost," said Michele.

"Daddy told us to set the table," added Bridget.

They collected silverware and plates, hesitating a moment. Michele turned to me and asked, "Is Theresa going to eat downstairs with us?"

"If she feels up to it." They exchanged a look with each other, and I added, "She can sit at the end of the table where I usually sit so that she can have a little space from you all. The rest of you sit closer to Daddy."

"Okay," they chorused, heading for the dining room.

I finished preparing dinner to the sounds of plates being set, the clink of silverware being placed and they came back to retrieve glasses and napkins. I thanked them as I transferred food to serving dishes.

Al came in to help me carry the dishes to the dining room and then offered to carry Theresa downstairs to eat.

"Only if she's awake and feels up to it," I cautioned him. He gave me a look, insulted that I doubted his judgment. I quickly apologized and he smiled.

"You've had a stressful day. It's fine."

A few minutes later he returned with Theresa balanced on his hip. She still had the flush of fever on her cheeks.

"You sit here, Resa," directed Bridget, pointing to my usual chair.

"So I don't get anyone sick," mumbled Theresa.

"No," Michele quickly interjected, "it's the birthday seat!" I gave her a grateful look.

Theresa perked up as Al carried her over and lowered her into the chair. I sat next to her, and she didn't appear to notice that the guest chair across from me remained empty as the other three girls took seats between me and Al, who was at the head of the table.

Grace volunteered to bless the food, which Theresa gratefully smiled at her for since her throat was still hurting. We all bowed our heads as Grace prayed over the food and for Theresa to feel better.

"Amen," we all chorused.

Al and I began serving plates. Once dinner began, he asked the twins how school had gone.

"Mrs. Redding taught us how to add today," said Michele.

Bridget nodded. "And we learned about nouns."

"Is that so?" Al asked, cutting a bite of roast. "What's a noun?"

"Table. Chair. Plate." Bridget gave examples.

Al winked at me. "Run?"

Michele shook her head. "That's not a noun, Daddy. A noun is a person or a place or a thing."

"Ah, but what about when I go out for 'a run'?" he pressed.

Confusion creased their foreheads and I rolled my eyes. "That wasn't nice, Al."

"Mommy's right, that wasn't nice of me," he agreed. "It sounds like you both had a good day at school."

Theresa dragged a fork through her mashed potatoes. "They actually got to go to school," she complained.

I touched her elbow. "Now, sweetheart, if you had gone to school today not only would you have gotten your classmates sick but you wouldn't have had a good day at all."

"I didn't have a good day here," she pouted.

Grace stared wide-eyed at her. "Daddy sent you flowers. That was good."

Theresa looked apologetically at Al. "That was good, Daddy. I'm sorry."

Waving a hand to mark the apology as unnecessary, Al smiled at her. "It's okay, Theresa. It does seem like a rotten day if you don't feel well. Especially if that day is your birthday!"

Theresa looked balefully at me and then returned her attention to Al. "Mommy said we have to cancel my party on Saturday."

I sighed, but Al nodded sagely. "I'm afraid so, munchkin."

Her eyes filled with tears.

"Ah-ah-ah,' he said, waving his fork at her. "We're going to have a little party for you tonight, just the six of us. I got you a cake and everything."

"It's not the same," she muttered, propping her cheek on her fist and resentfully shoving a forkful of mashed potatoes into her mouth.

Al's fork clattered to his plate, catching everyone's attention. He gave Theresa a hard look.

"Are you implying that a party with just your family is less than a party with your friends?"

Her mouth fell open and her eyes danced from one of us to the next. "I wanted to have a party with my friends," she said.

"Al, she doesn't feel good," I put in.

He shook his head. "Theresa, you need to appreciate what you have. I understand you don't feel good, and it stinks to be sick on your birthday. But I'm here, and Mommy is here, and your sisters are here. We're all here with you." Al sighed, looking at his plate for a second before meeting her eyes again. "Do you know how I spent my fifth birthday, Theresa? My father was away on a construction job and Aunt Trudy and I were in a children's home. There were so many kids there that no one got a special birthday. And I was just so glad to be with Aunt Trudy."

Theresa was shamed and she hung her head. "I'm sorry," she said. I held my breath for a moment, wondering if she would ask about Al's mother, but she was more interested in his mention of Aunt Trudy.

"Daddy, what was Aunt Trudy like?" asked Theresa.

His eyes softened. "She was very gentle," he said. "Full of love. With a beautiful smile." He looked around the table. "She would have loved all of you girls so much."

Conversation stilled for a while, and only the clinks of silverware against plates made any sound. After several minutes of this, Al asked Grace how her sleepover had been.

Grace excitedly told him about the games she and Kelly had played, about the food Mrs. Grayson had served, and concluded with an exclamation of how she wanted to take dance like Kelly did.

Al laughed and commented, "Well, I'll have to talk to Mommy about that."

"Mommy said she'd have to talk to you," said Grace.

Laughing again, Al met my eyes and said, "Well, I guess we'd better schedule that talk soon, eh, Mommy?"

I nodded, chewing green beans.

Theresa had slowed in her consumption of the mashed potatoes she'd requested.

"Are you feeling okay, honey?" I asked her.

She shrugged. "I still feel yucky."

"Too yucky for cake?"

"No way," she declared. "I hope I never feel too yucky for cake!"

Al grinned at her. "That's good," he said, "because your cake came from Butterfly Bakeshop."

That perked her up. "It did?"

"Would I tell you a fib?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

"No, never." The complete trust in her voice struck us both in the heart.

Al smiled warmly at her. "I love you, Theresa."

"I love you, too," she answered.

I glanced around the table and saw that everyone except Theresa had finished eating. She had noticed as well, and she asked if she could be done.

"Of course you can," Al said.

The twins gathered up dinner plates while Al took a serving bowl in each hand and I lifted the platter the roast was on. We brought it into the kitchen and Al told the twins to get dessert plates and forks. They excitedly did so and hurried back to the dining room.

"Where are her gifts?" he asked.

"I'll get them," I said. I pointed to Grace's on the kitchen table. "Gracie brought that one home from the Graysons'." Grace had appeared in the kitchen at that moment and she dashed to grab it. I laughed. "I guess if you can just bring the cake in, I'll go get her gifts out of the closet."

I was glad I had already wrapped them the other day. Sometimes I waited to wrap gifts while the birthday girl was at school so they'd be waiting when she came home, but I'd had a free moment and taken care of it. I gathered the stack up and rejoined the family in the dining room.

"There's Mommy," Al announced. He struck the match he'd been holding in wait against the matchbox and reached to light the five candles he'd stuck into the cake.

"Wait," said Theresa. She looked sad as she said, "I don't want to blow my germs on everyone's cake."

Al pulled his hand back and regarded her with impressed compassion. He waved the match to extinguish it.

"That's very considerate of you, Theresa," he said. He plucked a single candle from the cake and held it out to me with a question in his eyes.

I nodded and struck a match to light it. Al shifted to stand to the side of Theresa.

"You can turn away from the table and blow this out to make your wish, Resa."

She smiled gratefully at him as we all sang "Happy Birthday" to her.