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“The Beaumonts certainly have the money and the power,” Ashton says, her expression pensive.
“Yep. The judge will readily give them custody if I’m in prison. Unless . . .”
“Unless what, Will?”
I cut my eyes at her. “Unless you raise them.”
My sister smacks her chest. “Me?”
“Yes, you. Now’s your chance to have the family you’ve always wanted.”
“What’re you talking about? You know I decided a long time ago not to have children.”
I angle my body towards her. “And you recently admitted that was your biggest regret in life. Now’s your chance to remedy that. I’ll still be their father, and I’ll offer full financial support. As much as I can from prison.”
“This discussion is pointless, Will. You haven’t been, and probably won’t be, charged with a crime. But I will help you find a child custody lawyer. And I’ll help you fight Tracy’s parents.”
I didn’t expect my sister to take the bait right away. She’s starting over after an unhappy marriage. I don’t blame her for not wanting to be burdened with two young children at age fifty. But if I work on her, she’ll eventually change her mind.
Sophie runs over to my sister. “Aunt Ashton! I don’t feel good,” she says without so much as a glance in my direction.
I’m invisible to my children. They know I’m useless when it comes to taking care of them. “What hurts, sweetheart?” I ask.
Sophie pats her belly. “My tummy,” she says to Ashton, as though my sister had asked the question.
Ashton presses her palm against Sophie’s forehead and then the backs of her hands to her cheeks. “I don’t think you have a fever.”
“It’s probably something she ate,” I speculate. “What did you have for breakfast, Sophie?”
“Um . . .” Sophie lowers her eyes as she bites down on her lower lip.
“I made blueberry pancakes, but she didn’t want any,” Ashton explains.
“She would never willingly pass up your blueberry pancakes. I’d better take her home.” Getting to my feet, I brush sand off the back of my shorts. “Come on, Caroline. We need to go home. Sophie doesn’t feel well.”
Caroline stomps her foot on the hard sand. “Aww. Do we have to? Can’t I stay here with Aunt Ashton?”
“It’s fine with me,” Ashton says. “I’ll bring her home later this afternoon.”
“All right. If you’re sure?” I lift Sophie into my arms and carry her to the car. We’ve no sooner left the driveway when I hear my daughter retch and smell the stench of vomit.
I slam my foot on the gas and drive as fast as I dare back through town. My entire back seat is covered in vomit, and I nearly gag at the odor as I remove Sophie from her car seat. We make it to the bathroom, but as soon as I set her down, she throws up all over me, the wall, and the floor.
She looks up at me with a pitiful expression that breaks my heart. “Daddy, I need to go poop,” she says, but before I can lift her onto the toilet, diarrhea runs down her leg.
The pooping and vomiting go on for hours. When the virus appears to have run its course, I clean Sophie up as best I can and carry her to her room. Stripping off her soiled clothes, I slip a clean nightgown over her head and tuck her into bed with a plastic wastebasket on the floor beside her.
Smoothing back her hair, I kiss her forehead. “Try to get some sleep,” I say and wait until I’m certain she’s asleep before beginning the arduous process of cleaning up.
I’m outside scrubbing the back seat of my truck around six o’clock when Ashton’s convertible pulls into the driveway.
The top is down, and Caroline waves at me from the back seat. “What’re you doing, Daddy?”
“Cleaning my truck.”
Ashton gets out of the car and peers over my shoulder at the back seat. Pinching her nose against the stench, she says, “I’m guessing Sophie didn’t make it home. How’s she feeling?”
“She was violently sick earlier, but she’s been sleeping for a while. I should check on her,” I say, gathering up my cleaning supplies.
