Thursday, September 22, 1983

The sound of croupy coughing woke me up. Al was quietly snoring beside me, his back to me. Trying my best not to waken him, I sat up and slid out from under the covers. I felt around the floor for my slippers, accidentally kicking one a few feet away. More fumbling with my toes located it. I was determined not to turn the lamp on and disturb Al's sleep.

I eased the door open and slipped into the hallway. I headed straight for Theresa's room, concerned that her cough was overpowering the medicine I'd given her. She was peacefully sound asleep, though. The cough repeated and I groaned, realizing it was coming from the twins' room. I lightly touched Theresa's head with the back of my hand, checking to see if her fever had broken. No such luck and I sighed as I left her bedroom and moved to see whether it was Bridget or Michele who'd come down with the flu.

I crossed to the bookshelves beneath their windows and turned the reading lamp on to give the room a slight illumination. It took only one quick glance to see that it was Michele who'd succumbed to the bug. Her cheeks were bright red and her hair sweaty and she coughed again.

"Michele, baby, sit up," I whispered.

She did, and looked at me with eyes reflecting fever as Theresa's had been.

"I don't feel good, Mommy," she said. "Oh no... I got the flu from Theresa, didn't I?"

"Maybe. Don't blame her. Maybe you caught it from school."

Michele frowned. "I wasn't blaming her, Mommy." She started coughing again.

The coughing woke Bridget up. She rubbed her eyes as she sat up.

"Oh, no, Sheli, did you get sick?"

Miserably, Michele nodded.

"How are you feeling, Bridget?" I asked, concerned.

She shrugged. "Fine."

"Okay, well let's try to keep it that way." I pulled Michele's covers back. "Let's move you into the room with Theresa, honey."

She coughed again. "Okay."

"Go back to sleep, Bree. Hopefully you stay healthy."

Bridget nodded at me. "Goodnight, Sheli. I hope you feel better."

"Thanks," croaked Michele as I turned off the lamp and ushered her out of the room and down the hall to Theresa and Grace's room.

I pulled the comforter back on Grace's bed for her. "Climb in bed, honey. I'll be right back with some cough medicine and Tylenol for you."

"Okay."

Hurrying to the bathroom, I pulled the medicine down and prepared a dose of each for her.

"Here you go, Sheli. Take this and I'll be right back with some water for you to wash the taste out of your mouth."

"Mommy, I feel really bad."

I hugged her. "Oh, honey, I know. I'm so sorry. Don't worry, I'll take care of you until you feel better."

"Thank you, Mommy. I love you."

"I love you, too, Michele. I'll be right back with your water."

It was just a minute or two before I was back, but she'd already fallen back asleep. I left the cup of water on the nightstand for her and bent to kiss her forehead. I kissed Theresa as well before returning to bed.

Al stirred ever so slightly as the mattress shifted when I lay down again. "What's up?" he murmured.

"Michele's down with the flu now," I told him.

That woke him up all the way. "Oh, no!"

"I moved her in with Theresa. I just pray Bridget doesn't come down with it next."

He groaned. "Oh, man, I hope not. That's all you need, flu spreading through the house tomorrow."

I rolled towards him. "Are you feeling all right?"

"Yes, Beth, I'm fine. How about you?"

"I'm fine. Tired."

He chuckled. "Well, go on back to sleep. Morning will be here before either of us is ready."

"You're right about that."

We kissed goodnight again. He was asleep within a couple of minutes, but it took me longer to fall asleep again, one ear open to hear if coughing was going to come from Grace or Bridget.

I woke up with a start, flinging the blankets off of me. It was suffocatingly hot underneath the covers, and I kicked them off my feet. I sighed and tried to fall back asleep when I felt my jaws go cold and a roiling sensation begin in my stomach.

Oh, no. I just had time enough for the thought before the realization propelled me to the bathroom. I flipped the light on and tossed the lid and seat of the toilet upwards with a crash as vomiting seized me.

Just great. I leaned my head against the bathroom cabinet, much as Theresa had earlier. A shadow fell over me and I looked up to see Al's concerned expression regarding me. He rubbed his hand over his face.

"Dinner didn't agree with you?" he hopefully asked, but we both knew the truth. Al knelt before me and pressed the back of his hand to my forehead. "You're almost as hot as Theresa was."

"I'm sorry," I exhaled, feeling too drained to move from my place leaning on the cabinet door.

"No, honey, it's not your fault." He kissed my forehead. "Do you feel like you're going to puke again?" The dread that I might answer yes crossed his face.

"I don't know," I honestly said. "I think I'm going to stay here for a minute. Just in case."

Al nodded and took a washcloth from the linen cabinet. He ran it under cold water and knelt before me again, tenderly wiping my cheeks with it.

"I'll call in tomorrow, tell them I'm taking time off until you're all over this."

"You mean later today. But, Al, I can—"

He cut me off with a chuckle, "You can't even get up off the floor right now. There's no way you can take care of yourself and two sick kids." A second later the realization that he had to take care of us struck him. With raised eyebrows he asked, "What do you think the chances are that Bridget and Grace stay healthy?"

"I'm more worried about you. It wasn't that long ago that I kissed you," I said, giving him a weak smile. "The last thing we need is you down with man-flu."

Al rolled his eyes. "Well, you're not so poorly that you can't make smart remarks," he grinned. "It's been a few minutes since you threw up. Do you think you're good to get back in bed?"

I considered and then nodded. He reached down to help me up. I leaned on him more than I wanted to as we walked back to the bed. Once he got me settled, he went back to the bathroom, returning with two Tylenol capsules in one hand and a cup of water in the other.

"Here, take this for your fever."

"Thanks, honey." I gratefully took the pills and water, leaning to set the empty cup on the nightstand. I could feel the body aches beginning already.

"Try to get some sleep, Beth."

Nodding, I closed my eyes, trying not to think about how everything from my eyeballs to every one of my joints ached. I felt Al get back into bed behind me, rolling on to his side to face me. He stroked my hair until I fell asleep. It seemed like my hair was the only thing that didn't hurt.

"What do you mean Mommy's sick? Mommy can't be sick!" Grace exclaimed from the hallway.

"I know, I'm sorry," Al gently told her. "But Mommy has the flu like Theresa and Michele. Please don't go in our room, either."

I was facing our doorway in the bed, and I saw Al grab Grace's shoulders as she deliberately pushed the door open anyway. She stood in the doorway and called out to me.

"Mommy, are you okay? I don't want you to be sick."

My throat was sore and my voice sounded rough and raspy as I told her I would be fine. "Daddy's taking care of me, sweetie."

Grace looked up at Al and he nodded, giving her a reassuring smile. "I am, Gracie."

Theresa's voice called out, "Moooooommmmmyyyyy."

"Mommy's sick, Resa," shouted Grace. "You have to ask for Daddy!"

Al rolled his eyes and gave me a long-suffering smile as he pulled the door closed behind him. I could just hear his muffled voice asking Theresa what she needed.

A moment later the door opened again. Bridget stood in the doorway wearing her school uniform, one sock on and the other in her hand. She very deliberately stayed on the threshold as she caught my attention.

"Mommy, I don't want to go to school by myself."

"Bridget, if you're not feeling sick there's no reason for you to stay home."

"I could help Daddy," she protested.

I laughed to myself. More than likely her presence today would stress Al out even more.

Sure enough, he stood behind her and put his hands on his hips. "Bridget Louise Calavicci, you're going to miss the bus if you don't get a move on, and if I have to drive you to school it's not going to be a pleasant trip."

"Mommy," Bridget whined.

"Listen to Daddy, Bridget."

She stomped off to her room and Al shook his head before calling after her, "I'm not kidding, Bridget."

He came into the room now and sat on the bed beside me. "How are you feeling?"

"Terrible," I admitted. "But I'll be fine while you walk Bridget to the bus stop. And if Theresa or Michele need anything, I think I can manage for a few minutes."

The look he gave me was doubtful, but he didn't argue. With Bridget in such a mood this morning, this wasn't the day to start trusting her to walk to the bus stop on her own.

Al rested his hand against my forehead. I knew his hand wasn't cold, that it was my fever, but it felt icy against my skin.

"What did they say at work?" I asked.

"Cynthia's got everything handled. If anything that's a true emergency comes up, I told her to call me here."

Fortunately, Cynthia could be trusted to triage what Al would be contacted about. Whenever he left the door open to be contacted at home, though, somehow someone would get wind of it and bypass Cynthia to reach him.

Bridget was back in the doorway. "I need help fixing my hair," she said, holding two navy blue hair ribbons in her hands.

"Can't you wear it down today?" Al asked her. "Braids are out of my area of expertise."

She looked hopefully at me. "Mommy can do it, can't you?"

I shook my head. "No, Bree, I don't want you to get sick. Don't come in here." A cough broke free and I waved my hand to emphasize her need to keep her distance.

"Bree, we bought you headbands that match your uniform. Go get one and I'll help you brush your hair real pretty," offered Al.

An exasperated sigh left her lips, but she trudged defeated back towards her room.

"I'd better go help her or I'll never get her off to school on time." He clapped his hands against his thighs before rising to follow.

I rubbed my face and pulled the blankets tighter against my shoulders as a chill took hold.

"Mommy?" It was Theresa. She leaned against the doorjamb. "Did I get you and Michele sick?"

"Honey, don't even worry about it."

She hesitated, "Can I come in?"

I nodded. "We both have the flu." I lifted the comforter next to me. "Come on, baby."

Theresa climbed into bed and snuggled up close to me. "If I got you sick, I'm really sorry, Mommy."

I kissed her forehead. "Resa, it's okay, I promise. Don't be sorry."

She sighed and coughed. "Okay, Mommy."

From the hallway we could hear Al direct Grace to put shoes on and meet him downstairs. He then checked on Michele and, realizing Theresa wasn't in her bed, started calling for her.

"She's in here," I said as loud as my sore throat would allow.

Theresa was half asleep and she looked up at him when he came in. He looked flustered and he exhaled in relief.

"Michele's asleep. Grace and I are going to walk Bridget to the bus stop. I'll be back as soon as she's off."

"We'll be fine," I assured him, even as both Theresa and I started coughing.

"All right," he said, his face not matching his words. He left and a couple of minutes later we heard the front door open.

"Bye!" yelled Bridget.

Theresa tried to call a farewell of her own, but coughs took over. I rubbed her back. Michele apparently was still asleep, as not a peep followed the silence that filled the house after Al and the other two girls were gone.

"Do you feel any better today?" I asked her.

She shook her head, and leaned her head on my shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Resa. I wish you did."

"I wish you did, too, Mommy." She smiled at me. "Thank you for making my birthday not so yucky yesterday, though."

"That was Daddy, too, you know. He sent you flowers and got the cake for you."

She nodded. "I told him thank you at bedtime last night. But I'll tell him again."

I chucked her playfully under her chin. "So even though it was just us it turned out okay?"

"Yeah, but I would rather not be sick!"

I laughed, which turned into coughs. "I agree with you, baby."

She yawned. "I'm sleepy, Mommy."

"Go ahead and go back to sleep then, Resa."

Theresa nodded and closed her eyes. She was asleep in moments.

I felt like I was probably not far behind her when Al and Grace came back. "Bree got on the bus!" yelled Grace, immediately shushed by Al.

"Your sisters and Mommy don't feel good and are resting," he corrected her.

Al was going to have his hands full just with keeping Grace busy and entertained—and away from our two sickrooms—today. Having to take care of the three of us down with the flu on top of it and knowing that there was no doubt that at least some calls would be coming from Starbright made me feel extra sorry for him.

I heard the television click on downstairs and grinned. While Al preferred for the girls to do something creative, he wasn't so foolish as to ignore the potential for keeping Grace distracted and busy for the time being. A few minutes later he appeared in the doorway, running both hands through his hair.

"It's only 8 AM," he groaned. "How do you do this every day without pulling your hair out?"

"Who says I don't?" I grinned back at him.

He eyeballed Theresa. "Poor kid. I guess I can hold off on making breakfast for her and Michele."

"For the time being," I agreed.

"Are you hungry?"

"Not in the slightest."

He nodded. "I fed Grace with Bridget. I guess I have a little bit of a breather until that show ends. I'll call into the Project and make sure there aren't any fires I need to put out."

I rolled my eyes. "Some day off for you."

Al shrugged. "The deadlines don't care that I have to take care of all of you."

"I'm sure they don't." I gave him a rueful smile.

He leaned over and kissed my cheek. "Get some rest, Beth."

I had tied my hair back in a low ponytail, which wasn't the most comfortable for lying in bed, but made dealing with the random waves of vomiting that accompanied the flu much easier. I flushed the toilet and shakily rose to my feet. I smacked my mouth, my tongue rolling around in disgust at the lingering taste of vomit.

Brushing my teeth was a necessity. I grabbed my toothbrush and set to work banishing the flavor of being sick. At least until the next bout. I sighed as I spat toothpaste into the sink and rinsed it away.

I had just replaced my toothbrush in its holder when Theresa burst into the bathroom, instantly hunching over the toilet. The braid I had put in her hair was coming undone. Fortunately, none of the stray pieces were long enough to be in danger of getting coated with vomit.

I stroked her back. "I'm sorry, honey," I murmured.

Theresa started crying when she finished. "I hate this!" she yelled.

"I do, too. Come on, sweetie, get off the floor." I flushed the toilet yet again.

Theresa shook her head from her position cross-legged on the bathroom rug. "I might have to throw up again and I don't want to have to run. I might miss again."

"Okay," I said, and then registered what she'd said. Miss again?

I looked back to the bedroom and groaned at the sight of vomit splatters starting a few feet from the bathroom door. My nurse's steel stomach wasn't quite as sturdy when I was battling nausea myself.

Rubbing my hot face, I headed out of the bedroom. Al had just come up the stairs and he stared at me.

"Where do you think you're going?"

I thumbed over my shoulder back at the bedroom. "Cleaning supplies. Resa didn't quite make it to the bathroom."

Al's lips curled back in disgust but he shook his head. "I'll take care of it."

I laughed. "You?"

Just then Michele came flying out of Theresa and Grace's bedroom, her eyes wide and her hand clamped over her mouth as grunting sounds came from her throat. She disappeared into the hall bathroom.

"I've got this," Al told me as I leaned against the door frame for support.

He hurried after her. I heard the toilet seat clatter up and then the most awful retching coming from our usually delicate daughter as she threw up.

Guttural noises punctuated Al's words as he comforted her. As if I was right next to him, I could picture his face contorting as he alternately checked to make sure Michele was all right and tried to look away from her vomiting.

"Oh... gak... It's all right, Sheli. Are you.. gak... okay, honey?"

Michele was crying and Al urged her to blow her nose. A loud wail followed the snuffling noises, "Throw up came out of my nose, Daddy!"

Al's gagging intensified but he pushed through for the benefit of his daughter. "That... gak... happens sometimes, Sheli. Throw it in the toilet so we... gak... can flush it all away."

The toilet flushed and the two of them emerged from the bathroom looking as if they'd crossed the Somme battlefield. Michele leaned against Al and he ran his hand up and down her back. His throat quivered and he clenched his jaw as if he still had to suppress his own urge to puke.

He looked at me still in the doorway and said, "Don't you move, Beth. Your lips don't have any color to them. I'll get the stuff to clean up after I get Michele comfortable again."

Michele looked gratefully up at him. "Thank you, Daddy."

Warmth filled Al's eyes and he hefted her up into his arms. "You've got it, baby girl. You think your tummy's okay now?"

She considered and then nodded.

"Do you want to get back in bed or do you want some time downstairs?"

"Isn't Grace watching TV right now?" she asked.

Al gave her a grin, "I can be very persuasive, Sheli."

Michele shook her head. "Maybe later, Daddy. It's bad enough Gracie has to stay away from us all."

"You're a very considerate girl, Michele Gertrude, do you know that?" Al kissed her cheek. "Aunt Trudy would be so proud of her namesake."

She looked blankly at him and he playfully tapped her nose. "That's you, sweetheart. You have her name as your middle name. That makes you her namesake."

Michele smiled. "I'll have to remember that the next time Freddy Natangelo says something about my middle name. That I'm her namesake."

I said, "Sheli, what do you mean?" This was the first I was hearing of this. Al's face showed his concern as well.

"Last week, Mrs. Redding was helping us fill out our library forms and we got into a conversation about middle names. Did you know that Terry Spencer doesn't have a middle name at all? And Gabby Lopez has two?"

"Sheli, what did Freddy say?" I prompted.

"Oh." Her face fell. "He said Gertrude was an old lady name. And then, when we got to the library he pulled a Dr. Seuss book down and asked the library lady to read the story of 'Gertrude McFuzz' from it. The Gertrude in that story is very foolish, Daddy."

Al's lips were tight. "Did Mrs. Redding say anything to him?"

"She didn't hear him. He sits right next to me so he whispered it."

"The teacher probably didn't even realize why he asked for that story, Al," I commented.

He visibly shook off his irritation. "Maybe so." He returned his attention to Michele. "Well, your Aunt Trudy was very sweet and loving, just like you."

She beamed at him. "Daddy, would you read a story to me, please?"

"Of course I will, baby girl. You pick the book out while I go get the cleaning stuff and get that cleaned up for Mommy."

"Al, you're not going to want to deal with that," I said as I waved behind me.

He gave me a stern look. "You need to get back into bed, Beth. Pronto." He carried Michele into Theresa and Grace's room and I heard him tell her to get into bed as soon as she chose the story.

"Why are you still standing there?" he demanded when he emerged. "I've got this handled. Get back into bed."

Behind me, Theresa retched from the bathroom.

"I will in a minute," I told him, hurrying to her side. She was holding onto the sides of the toilet bowl with quivering arms.

I swayed and leaned against the bathroom door. Al's hands on my arms surprised me.

"Beth, you're sick." He moved into the bathroom, deliberately looking away from the toilet as he picked Theresa up. "Please get back in bed," he told me as he carried her out of the room. He kissed her on the forehead and told her, "I'm going to read a story to Sheli, why don't you pick one out also, sweetheart?"

"I picked this one, Daddy!" I heard Michele say.

"That's a good choice, honey. I still have to help Mommy so I'll be back to read to you in a minute. Resa is going to pick a story out, too."

I heard Al go downstairs as I flushed the toilet to clear it from Theresa's vomiting. I sighed at the spattering around the rim of the bowl, and I pulled the handtowel from its ring and ran it under the faucet.

"Excuse me, Elizabeth Calavicci, what do you think you're doing?"

Al had come back just as I began wiping the edge of the toilet bowl.

I turned to face him and shrugged. "Trying to clean this up before it sets."

He had yellow cleaning gloves on and he plucked the towel from my hands, making a face as he held it away from himself between two fingers. He pointed to the bed with the other hand. "Bed. Now."

"I'm going, I'm going," I said, my hands held up in surrender. I plodded past the trail of vomit and climbed into bed. I stayed sitting up watching him though.

He flushed the toilet again and I heard water briefly running in the tub followed by the squishing sound of the towel hitting the bottom. Al came back into the bedroom, utter dread on his face as he surveyed the evidence of Theresa's earlier sickness. He closed his eyes and took a steeling breath before kneeling and reaching into the pail of cleaning supplies for paper towels.

His head kept bobbing and turning to the side as he gathered up all the solid clumps with paper towels. Al couldn't hold back a loud gagging noise as he finished. He got up to throw them away in the bathroom and, even though he had gloves on, washed his hands with soap and water.

"You okay there, babe?" I asked when he came back into the bedroom again.

"Oh, yeah, just... gak... just great." He ran a forearm across his forehead before kneeling to spray carpet cleaner.

At that moment, Star came bounding in, jumping up and down to try to lick Al's face as he worked.

"Star, come on, cut... gak... cut it out, boy."

I took pity on him, and patted the bed, calling, "Star! Here, boy."

Star gave Al one last lick on the chin and then pounced onto the bed.

Casting a grateful smile at me, Al returned to sponging the carpet to clean up the last of the vomit. He gagged again a few times but persevered.

"Thank you," I told him with complete sincerity.

Al nodded as he peeled the gloves off and draped them over the side of the pail. "You're welcome, honey. Get some rest, okay? I'll bring you some juice after I read to the girls." He carried the pail out of the room and I heard him tell them, "I have to put this away. I'm coming, I promise!"

Star stayed snuggled beside me as I lay down against the propped up pillows. I idly stroked his fur as I drifted off to sleep again.

I slowly made my way downstairs. I wanted some tea and Al had been running ragged all morning, so I determined not to call for him. Gripping the bannister railing tighter than I normally would, I made it to the first floor.

Al was in the study and Grace was apparently in there with him.

"Daddy, look what I drew!"

"Yes, that's nice. Daddy's on the phone, honey. ... Listen, tell Dr. Kister that he can kiss my keister if he thinks he can skip the line for that lab."

"What's a keister, Daddy?"

Al groaned and waved at her to go back to the other side of the study. "Fine, I'll tell him myself. Put him on!" He rolled his eyes and then caught sight of me. Al put his hand over the mouthpiece. "Beth, what are you doing up?"

"I'm just going to make myself some tea."

"No, I'll do it for you, honey, you should be resting. I—" He dropped his hand and his voice got hard again. "Yes, this is Captain Calavicci. We have procedures for lab time in place for a reason, Dr. Kister. ... Well, if it was your experiment running I'm sure you wouldn't appreciate someone else cutting in to use that lab, would you? ... Okay, if you— ... I understand that, but— ... Dr. Kister..." Al's face was getting red and his eyes widened. He pressed his lips together and forced a flat long suffering smile to his face. Covering the mouthpiece again, he quickly said, "Get Grace out of here. She doesn't need to learn words worse than keister. I'll make your tea when I get off this call." As soon as Grace followed me out of the study, Al drew the pocket doors closed and raised his voice.

Quickly, I suggested, "Gracie, why don't you go play with your toys for a while?" Theresa and Michele were having time on the sofa with the television, which would drown out overhearing the majority of Al's interaction with Dr. Kister.

Grace sighed but complied, marching up the stairs as she said, "If I had the flu, too, I wouldn't have to stay away from you all."

"I don't want you to have the flu, too, baby. Stay healthy for Mommy, okay?"

She frowned down at me and nodded before heading the rest of the way up.

I paused in the living room on my way to the kitchen. Michele and Theresa sat at opposite ends of the sofa, their feet meeting in the center as they shared a large quilt my grandmother had made. Both girls smiled weakly at me.

"How are you feeling, Mommy?" Michele asked.

"I'm all right," I said. "How about you two?"

Theresa coughed and almost rubbed her nose on her sleeve before remembering and grabbing a tissue instead. "Yucky still," she said. Michele nodded in agreement.

"It takes a few days to get over the flu, and it's really bad at the beginning," I commented. "I'm going to make some tea, do either of you want anything from the kitchen?"

"I still have the juice Daddy gave me earlier," said Michele.

"Me, too."

"Okay, you two enjoy your show then."

All our heads turned toward the study as even over the television and through the closed doors we could hear Al shout, "That is my final word! Go ahead and get the Senator involved, I'll tell him the same thing!"

Michele's eyes were wide. "I've never heard Daddy yell so much."

"He must have to work with some real nozzles," commented Theresa.

I laughed, triggering a coughing fit. The study doors opened and Al, apparently off the call, came out. He gave me a stern look.

"Beth, I told you I would make the tea for you."

Smiling at him, I said, "Fine, I haven't even made it into the kitchen yet. I'll let you fix it for me, but I'll have it at the kitchen table. I'm tired of being in bed."

"Gracie went upstairs, Daddy. Mommy can have downstairs time with us," said Michele.

Al pinched the bridge of his nose. "Okay. Fine. I'm fighting with the nozzles at work, I don't need to be fighting with you guys, too."

When he said "nozzles," Theresa bobbed her head as if to say "Told you!" and poked her lips out in a sassy pucker. I laughed again, which made me cough again.

"Off your feet, Beth," Al ordered.

I meekly followed him into the kitchen and sat in the chair he pulled out for me at the kitchen table. He filled the kettle and started it boiling on the stove. Rummaging in the cupboard he asked what kind of tea I wanted.

"First one your hand touches is fine."

He held up a bag of chamomile and I nodded approvingly. Al pulled down a teacup and dropped the bag in it, adding two spoonfuls of sugar without having to ask.

He moved to come sit at the table with me when he looked down at my bare feet.

"Where are your slippers?"

I rolled my eyes. "My feet were hot."

"Well, this floor is cold." Al got up and disappeared into the laundry room. I heard him open the dryer and he came back with two fuzzy socks of mine. They were from the same package but were different colors and patterns. He held them out to me, one in each hand. "Put them on, please."

I didn't argue. I took the socks from him and slipped them on. "Happy, now?" I croaked.

"As a matter of fact, yes."

The phone rang and Al tightened his lips, breathing in a stressful inhalation through his nose. He rose and smoothed his expression before lifting the phone. There was a chance that it wasn't work. A slim chance.

"Hello?" The way his face instantly hardened proved the destruction of that chance. "Yes, this is Captain Calavicci. I'm at home, Dr. Wharton, which since you dialed this number to reach me, bypassing my secretary, should have told you. What's so important?" He listened and nodded, balancing the receiver on his shoulder as he looked urgently around the kitchen, snagging the tablet I wrote the shopping list on and then yanking a drawer open searching for a pen. I got up and found one, handing it to him. He gave me a grateful smile as he began scrawling numbers and abbreviations down onto the pad as the scientist on the other end of the line talked nonstop. "I'll deal with it, Dr. Wharton. ... Yes, just give me an hour to—yes, an hour. ... Dr. Wharton, I'm home because I have sick family members. I'll call you as soon as I'm done." He hung up the phone and rested his head against it for a moment.

"Trouble at work?" I asked.

Al looked at me and shook his head. "Just another one of the scientists insisting they need equipment and materials now, when the new budget year doesn't begin until next month." He shrugged. "I can probably shift some things around to make it happen, but like I told him, it'll take time."

The kettle whistled and his eyebrows popped up. "Oh, your tea!"

"Thank you, sweetheart," I told him when he set it in front of me.

"Of course. You enjoy that, darling. I'm going to go look over this guy's 'emergency' and see if I can't work a miracle for him." Al waved the notepad as he headed back to the study.

He didn't make it because I heard a cry of dismay come from him as soon as he reached the living room. The first words out of his mouth were, "I've got it, Beth, you stay there! It's okay, Michele, it's just a nosebleed. Hold the Kleenex there and let me pinch the top of your nose. No, don't lean back, lean forward, honey."

After a few minutes he returned with handfuls of bloody tissues, which he threw in the trash. He washed his hands and, giving me a rueful look, he nodded gratefully that I was still slowly drinking my tea.

"Now I'm going to go work a miracle," he joked. He rubbed the small of his back as he left the kitchen.

I rose and watched him as he walked back into the study, looking as if he were about to step into the boxing ring. Tension radiated from his posture. I came to a decision and I kicked away the doorstop that was always in place to hold the swinging kitchen door open.

I didn't know the number I wanted, but I knew the numbers to Al's office by heart—his direct line as well as the one that would ring at Cynthia's desk. I dialed it and waited.

"Captain Calavicci's office, this is Cynthia. How may I help you?"

I cleared my throat. "Cynthia, it's Beth."

She sounded confused. "Beth? Is everything okay? Al's home with you, isn't he?"

"He is," I quickly said, "I'm calling because I need a favor. Could you connect me to Dr. Sam Beckett, please?"

"Dr. Beckett? Sure." Her confusion had deepened but she didn't press for an explanation. She rifled through papers for the number. "I'll transfer you over now, Beth. I hope you feel better."

"Thanks, Cynthia."

There was a moment of hold music and then I heard three dialing sounds before Sam answered in a distracted voice.

"Hello? I mean, uh, this is Sa—Dr. Beckett."

"Sam, hi, this is Beth. Beth Calavicci."

Pleasure filled Sam's voice. "Beth, hi. How are you?"

I tried to stifle it but I coughed before I could answer fine.

"Oh, Beth, you don't sound good." Silence as the proverbial light bulb went on over his head. "Wait—you're sick... and Al's home with you."

I laughed. Sam was the stereotypical absent-minded professor sometimes. "Sam, I'm really sorry to bother you at work. Goodness, Al would murder me if he knew I was calling you to ask for help."

"I'm all ears," he said, focus in his tone.

"Al's running himself ragged trying to take care of the three of us—plus Grace isn't sick, so he's having to keep her apart from us and take care of her, too. People from Starbright keep calling him." I took a deep breath. "Sam, I'm worried about him. He looked like he was walking into the lions' den when he went back into his study just now." I had to break off for a bad coughing fit.

"Say no more, Beth. After all the ways you two have looked after me since I got to California? I'll be over as soon as this holography test ends."

"Thank you, Sam. Thank you so much!"

"Beth, my mother told me in the last call I had with her that she didn't worry about me so much knowing I had you two for friends. Trust me, I'm thankful for the chance to give back to you."

I made farewells with him and hung up the phone. My joints still hurt, but I bent to arrange the doorstop into position propping the door open again so that Al would be none the wiser. He'd be upset with me if he found out I'd called in the cavalry, but I could deal with that.

Theresa was napping in her corner of the couch and Michele was sitting on the floor before the coffee table, halfheartedly coloring in a coloring book. At Al's urging, I had taken a seat in his recliner, and he'd covered me up with a blanket before once again heading into the study to put out the fires from work that kept cropping up. He'd fixed soup for all of us, and the mostly empty dishes were scattered around the living room.

Another wave of chills passed over me and I pulled the blanket tighter over my shoulders. We were all so quiet that the sound of Grace's crying was easily heard downstairs. Michele and I both turned our heads upwards at the same time, exchanging concerned glances.

Al was out of the study in an instant. "Oh, crap! I forgot— poor Gracie," he said. He rushed up the stairs and his voice crooning to her was barely audible. "Honey, I'm sorry I forgot to come up and play with you after that last phone call. Sheli threw up again and Dr.—well, never mind who. They don't matter. Come here, baby."

He came downstairs carrying Grace, who clung tightly to him. "Grace and I are going to be in here if you need anything, just call out," he said before ducking back into the study.

"Can we play Candyland?" Grace asked.

"Sure, that sounds great."

The doorbell rang and Star barked, and with extreme annoyance, Al rhetorically asked aloud, "What now?!"

I bit my lip because I knew the cavalry had arrived.

Utter shock struck him when he opened the door and Al said, "Sam? What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to help," Sam responded. He pretended to put on an invisible ball cap as he said, "I have my M.D. hat on and everything."

"Sam, you shouldn't be here. Theresa isn't the only one who's sick. Sheli's sick. Beth's sick."

Sam nodded. "And from the looks of you, Al, if you don't let me help, you're going to end up sick as well."

Al shook his head. "Sam, I can handle it."

Michele started coughing, which triggered her gag reflex and she ran behind Al for the bathroom at the same moment that Grace said, "Uh-oh" and the sounds of the Candyland game falling and scattering pieces and cards everywhere came from the study. Al folded one arm around his waist and buried his face in the other hand.

Sam stepped inside and closed the door behind him. "As I was saying, I'm here to help. I'll go check on Michele."

Her little voice, riddled with tears, said, "Hi, Dr. Sam. Are you here to take care of us, too?"

"I am," he said. "I came to help your Daddy take care of you all." The faucet turned on as he helped her clean up after vomiting.

Al looked curiously in my direction but didn't say anything as he walked into the study to help Grace pick up the game. She was also in tears, apologizing for making a mess.

"Baby, it's okay. Look, we've almost got it all picked up."

"Are you still going to be able to play with me now that Dr. Sam is here?"

He let out a soft laugh. "I'll be able to play with you because Dr. Sam is here now." Sam walked past the study carrying Michele to the sofa, and Al said, "Thanks, pal."

"Of course," Sam answered. He set Michele down and covered her up and then regarded me. "Hi, Beth. Are you hanging in there?" He lifted my wrist and pressed his fingers to check my pulse while he pressed the back of his other hand against my forehead.

I nodded. "Thanks for coming, Sam."

A cold washcloth being placed on my forehead startled me awake.

"Al?"

It wasn't Al, it was Sam. He smiled down at me where I still lay in Al's recliner blinking groggily at him. He held out a small glass of water to me.

"Drink this, Beth. Slowly."

My hand shook as I reached for it, and I frowned.

"Is Mommy okay now?" Michele's tremulous voice asked.

"Sweetie, what?" I asked. I froze seeing her wide-eyed tear-streaked face. She and Theresa clung to each other, and Al stood holding Grace. They all looked deeply afraid.

My brows came together as I stared at Sam. He urged me again to have a sip of water. He studied me as I put the glass to my lips and drank two swallows. Nodding, he took the glass back and set it on the end table.

"She'll be fine," he told them.

"I'll be... what happened?"

Sam adjusted the cool washcloth and checked my pulse before answering me. "You had a febrile seizure, Beth."

Incredulous, I looked to Al, who nodded. "It wasn't as bad as that time you went into shock, but it was scary as hell, Beth. You stiffened up and twitched for a minute or two."

I shivered and reached for the blanket again, but Sam pulled it out of my reach, tossing it to the floor beside my socks. "We need to get your body temperature down, Beth. That's the fever giving you a chill, you aren't actually cold right now." He looked at my family again. "I promise you, she's going to be fine. Her eyes look fine and she drank the water without any problems. We just need to get her fever down."

"How are Sheli and Resa's fevers?" I asked.

Sam laughed. "Typical mother. She's more worried about her kids than herself. Resa's fever is gone now." He got to his feet and took Grace from Al.

Al came next to me and held my hand. "Hey, you. Don't scare us like that, okay?"

"I didn't mean to."

He laughed. "I know. How do you feel?"

"Same as before, really. Except I'm so cold." Although I wasn't really cold. Sam was right, it was the chill from the fever. I looked at the girls. "I'm fine, girls, really."

A knock sounded at the door, and we all looked bewildered at each other until I caught a glimpse of the clock. The panic on my face triggered a similar response in Al and his jaw dropped as he said, "Bridget!"

He dropped my hand and flew to the door, pulling it open to reveal Bridget, flushed and with tears on her face.

"No one was waiting for me at the bus stop," she cried. "I know I said I was a big girl and I don't need anyone to wait for me, but I didn't mean it!"

Al knelt and drew her into a hug. "I'm sorry, Bree. It was an accident, sweetheart. I didn't know what time it was. But look, you got yourself home all by yourself! You are a big girl. That's great!"

Bridget shook her head. "I don't want to be a big girl like that yet!" She clung to her father. A moment later she noticed how frightened her sisters looked. "What's wrong? Why is Dr. Sam here?"

"I came to help your Daddy take care of everyone," said Sam.

"And it's a good thing he was here," Al added. "Mommy needed his help just a few minutes ago."

Michele nodded. "Bree, Mommy got stiff and shook, but Uncle Sam says she's better now."

"She is, I promise," Sam assured her.

Bridget nodded and darted as if to come hug me, but Al stopped her. "Honey, Mommy's sick. You and Grace need to stay away from everyone who's sick right now."

"It's okay, honey. I'm fine, I promise," I said. I was starting to feel better and I pushed the recliner up to a sitting position.

"Drink some more water, Beth," directed Sam.

I nodded and reached for the glass, glad to see that my hand wasn't shaking any longer.

Grace had been studying Sam and she picked up on what all of us had missed. She touched his chin and turned his head to face her, looking sincerely at him. "Sheli called you 'Uncle'—can I call you Uncle Sam, too?"

Al stood and tilted his head to one side, "She did call you that." He laughed. "Welcome to the family, brother."

Sam grinned. "I mean you and Beth have practically adopted me anyway."

I smiled at him. "Well, Uncle Sam, are you staying for supper with us?"