“She won’t—”
“No,” Isabelle whimpered, proving she wasn’t sleeping, after all. “No doctor.”
“She gets practically hysterical every time I even suggest seeing a doctor,” Nathan muttered, spreading his hands in a helpless gesture. “I don’t even know if she’s sick enough to call a—well, you know.”
Caitlin looked doubtfully at the little girl. What constituted “sick enough” to call a doctor?
“I don’t know, Nathan. Isn’t there someone else you can call? What about Mrs. T.? Surely she would know what to do. She seems to know pretty much everything.”
“I tried calling her just before you got here. When I didn’t get an answer, I remembered she said something about visiting some friends out of town with Irene after church. I don’t know how to reach her.”
“Surely you know someone with children you can ask. If not, you’re simply going to have to call a…you know.”
Isabelle twisted her head petulantly, her lower lip protruding. “I don’t want a doctor. I don’t like doctors.”
Sitting on the edge of the couch, Caitlin smoothed a strand of limp hair away from Isabelle’s hot little face. “Why don’t you like doctors, sweetie? Some doctors are very nice.”
Isabelle climbed onto Caitlin’s lap and burrowed into her throat. “Aunt Barb went to a doctor and he made her sick and she couldn’t come home. She had to stay in the hospital.”
Caitlin wrapped her arms around the small trembling body, her throat going tight. “No, baby, the doctor didn’t make your aunt sick. She was already sick when she went to the hospital.”
Isabelle was crying now, huge tears rolling copiously down her face and dampening Caitlin’s sweater. “I’m sick. If you take me to a doctor, he’ll make me stay at the hospital. I don’t want to stay at the hospital, I want to stay with Nate.”
Caitlin looked over Isabelle’s head at Nathan. It was going to take some time to straighten this out, and in the meantime, Isabelle wasn’t getting any better. “Call someone,” she mouthed.
He shoved a hand through his hair. And then he snatched a cordless phone from a table, pushed a speed-dial button and held the phone to his ear.
Caitlin’s eyebrows rose in surprise when he spoke. “Mom?” she heard him say. “I’m sorry, but I really need your advice.”
Chapter Thirteen
Nathan opened the door when his mother rang the bell. Nerves that were already frayed from a morning of worrying about Isabelle were pulled tighter by the scowl on his mother’s face.
“Thank you for coming.”
Still dressed for church in a starkly tailored navy dress with a white lace collar, she moved brusquely past him, carrying a tapestry tote bag in her white-knuckled right hand. She didn’t bother with greetings but asked flatly, “Where’s the child?”
“She’s in the den with Caitlin. I don’t know what’s wrong with her, Mom. She’s running a fever, and she said her head hurts and her throat hurts….”
Lenore was already making her way toward the den. “There’s a flu-like virus going around in the preschools. Didn’t you get a notice about it?”
“A virus? I don’t think so.”
“All the parents were supposed to be notified. You should complain to Miss Thelma if you didn’t receive a note about what symptoms to watch for.”
Though he was aware that she had just indirectly referred to him as a parent, he was more concerned about Isabelle. “This virus—how bad is it? What does it do?”
“It makes little children feel lousy. Adults, too, if they’re unlucky enough to get it.” She moved straight to the couch where Caitlin still sat with Isabelle in her lap. “Let me see her.”
Caitlin sat Isabelle on the couch and moved aside. Isabelle blinked blearily up at Lenore. “Hi, Nate’s mom.”
“Hello, Isabelle.” Her voice more gentle now, Lenore rummaged in her tote and pulled out a digital thermometer. “Would you mind if I put this in your mouth for a couple of minutes?”
Isabelle looked from the thermometer to Lenore’s face. “Are you a doctor?”
“No, dear, I’m a mother.”
Nathan noticed that Isabelle seemed to find the answer satisfactory. She promptly opened her mouth, and Lenore slipped the thermometer inside. “How long has she been ill?”