Amazingly, it worked. Mostly. Inhaling the scent of the thin soup sent a sharp hunger pang through Simone’s stomach. She picked up the spoon and scooped up the first bite. “What if this doesn’t work?”
Barbara pointed at the floor beside the bed. “Basin and plastic ready. Nothing to worry about.”
It took half an hour, but Simone finished every spoonful. Afterward, she scooted down onto the mattress and lay there frozen, afraid to move. “How long before you think it’s safe to get up?”
The nurse shook her head. “Sorry, love, but you can’t play that game. It might help the nausea, but your muscles will start to atrophy if we don’t keep you on your feet. Exercise can actually help nausea.”
The following few hours were a lesson
in patience. Barb unhooked the IV and hovered as Simone visited the bathroom. After that, the two of them managed a modified shower for Simone. She threw up twice in the process, but it wasn’t as violent as the episodes earlier in the week.
Once she was clean and dry, she felt as weak as a baby.
Barb beamed at her. “I’d say we did well, Ms. Parker.”
“Please call me Simone.”
“And I answer to Barb. Now sit in that chair for half a shake while I remake the bed. Nothing feels better after a shower than clean sheets.”
By the time Simone was tucked back into bed and the IV was reattached, she felt embarrassingly exhausted. “How long do I have to be hooked up?”
Barbara checked her blood pressure and pulse before answering. “That all depends on how much you can eat on your own. I’ll draw blood after lunch and send it off to the lab. Then again before dinner. Tomorrow, Dr. Hutchinson will read the results and assess how you’re doing.”
The nurse was right about clean sheets. Simone’s eyes were heavy. “Is it okay if I nap?”
“Definitely. Later, we’ll try a walk around the house. Don’t worry, Ms. Parker. You’ll survive this, I promise.”
Simone dozed on and off during the next hour, watching the patterns of light and shadow on the ceiling. All her problems hovered just offstage, but for now, she was content to drift. She vaguely remembered Hutch checking on her a couple of times last night after the acupressure incident, but they hadn’t spoken since. Beneath the sheet, she laced her fingers over her abdomen. Her stomach was flat and smooth, the muscles taut and firm. Though she had friends and acquaintances who had already become mothers, she had never thought much about the process. At least not until her grandfather died.
Suddenly, she realized she hadn’t looked at her email in over forty-eight hours. Stealthily, not wanting to incur Barb’s wrath, she reached into the bottom drawer of the bedside table and retrieved her laptop. Leaning on one elbow, she opened it up and turned it on. Fortunately, her battery charge was at 50 percent. She could do a few things quickly without asking for help.
Email was not a problem. She deleted the junk and replied to a couple of queries that needed an immediate answer. Then, with shaky fingers, she logged on to Facebook and checked the message box. A tiny numeral one appeared on the icon. Damn. Most of her friends texted her. The only recent Facebook message she had received was one from the mysterious Maverick. Maverick—the anonymous, eerie, dark presence who had threatened many of the citizens of Royal, one after another.
Simone’s first message had appeared two weeks ago. Since nothing bad had happened in the interim, she’d hoped the blackmailer had moved on to someone else. Apparently not.
The message was brief and vindictive.
Simone Parker, you’re a money-grubbing bitch. Enjoy life now, because soon everyone in town will know what you have done and why.
Maverick.
She shut the computer quickly and tucked it under a pillow. This time, the nausea roiling in her belly had more to do with fear and disgust than it did with pregnancy. All she could think about was the look on Hutch’s face if he ever learned the truth.
Unfortunately, Barb returned about that time and frowned. “You’re flushed. What’s wrong?”
Simone didn’t bother answering. She was afraid she would cry. The thought that someone in Royal hated her enough to blackmail her was distressing. She wasn’t a saint—far from it. But she tried to learn from her mistakes.
The nurse took her pulse and frowned. “You need to calm down, young lady. Stress isn’t good for the babies. What brought this on?”
Simone scrambled for a convincing lie. “I have so much to do at work. Each day I get farther behind. I need to make plans...to decide how I’ll manage three babies. It’s a lot, you know.”
Barb nodded sympathetically. “I understand, I do. But you can’t climb a mountain in bare feet. Baby steps, remember. First we have to get you stabilized and healthy. Then you’ll have plenty of time to plan for the future.”
“Easy for you to say,” Simone muttered in a whisper. Did no one understand what a colossal mess she had made of her life? It wasn’t as if she could wave a magic wand and get a do-over.
Lunch was not as successful as breakfast. Two bites of lemon gelatin came right back up. But Simone waited an hour and tried again with better results. Afterward, Barb brought in her tray of torture implements. Having blood drawn was no fun, but Simone knew she had to get used to it.
Next was another nap, and after that, Barb came in to say it was time for a walk around the house. Simone leaned on the older woman unashamedly as they made a circuit from room to room. Clearly, this was necessary, because already her muscles were quivering.