Page 62 of Found in Wild Sage

I don’t remember the last time I was this sick. I’m so grateful for how Dec’s taking care of me, and he’s keeping me updated on Charlie, too. The fact that I’ve hardly thought of my son in my state of fevered delirium tells me exactly how ill I’ve been and how much I trust Dec.

When rays of sunshine slice into the room on what I think is the third morning of being sick, I blink my eyes open to the blessed absence of pain. No cruel pounding in my head, no nausea, no hit-by-a-truck feeling, and I would bet, no fever.

Still cautious, I move slowly sitting up, sliding my knees to the side, then gingerly putting weight on my legs until I feel my muscles and joints successfully activate. Yes! This is happening.

I make it to the bathroom on my own, and I’m feeling so fancy-free, I even shower. Granted, about four minutes in, I’m all but out of energy. That’s likely due to the lack of an appetite these last few days, but washing my hair is heavenly, despite the cruel inconvenience of having to hold my hands above my head for so long while I do.

A few minutes later, I’m dressed in clean clothes, and my wet hair is combed back from my face. It’s not my best look, but Dec has just seen me at what’s arguably some of my worst moments, so I choose not to grimace at my reflection and head downstairs.

“Charlie, look who it is!” Mary Ryan points at me, and my sweet boy squeals.

“Mama!” His little legs go wild, kicking and wiggling as he reaches for me.

I rush down the last few stairs and right to him. “Hi, sweet love. How are you? I missed you.”

Charlie talks rapid-fire with new words and more words strung together than I’ve heard. Did he really hit more milestones while I was sick? He’s amazing, and he’s growing and learning so fast.

“Dec help Charlie.” He pats his chest, his name that precious, rounded sound in his little voice—Chow-ee. “He running.”

I look to Mary, who nods.

“That’s right, Charlie. Dec is on a run. I’m just here to help with breakfast while he gets cleaned up.”

“Gammy help Charlie, too!” His legs wiggle and he gives me a smacking kiss when I reach down and nuzzle him.

When I look up, Mary’s face holds concern.

“The little ones all call me Grammy, but if you’d rather he not, I⁠—”

“Of course he can. I love it.”

I’m choked up from seeing my son after so long without, from knowing how well Declan has cared for him, and hearing the clear affection Mary has for him, too. I’ve never had a family to ask for help, but of course Dec would call in reinforcements. Of course he’d bring in his lovely mother who has helped with at least four other babies he’s related to, and of course Charlie should call her Grammy.

“He’s such a smart boy. We’ve had lots of fun together. But how about you, dear girl? How are you feeling?”

I clear my throat, unwilling to blubber-sob all over this woman in front of Charlie. “I’m feeling so much better.”

Her smile is open and soothing. “Wonderful. Let’s get food in your belly to get your energy back.” She guides me with a warm, comforting hand on my back to a chair at the table next to Charlie.

I sit and talk with Charlie, wondering at how many words he’s added to his vocabulary in just a few days. The front door swings open, and my gaze lifts to see Declan step inside the door and yank his shirt over his head.

Of course he would.

He hasn’t seen me yet, so he has no idea he’s putting on a little show for me. It was brutal seeing him shirtless holding Charlie a few days ago—was that really only a few days? But now? After he’s taken care of me and my son for days and been so completely wonderful?

It’s not fair. It’s not right. It’s… deadly.

“Dec, your wife is awake and downstairs!”

Mary’s voice carries from the kitchen to where he stands at the entryway, and he freezes.

His eyes slide up to meet mine, and he gives me a small smile and immediately strides toward me, yanking his earbuds out as he comes.

“Hey. Your color looks good. How’s your head?” He drops to a crouch in front of me, inspecting my eyes and reaching for my wrist where he presses his fingers into my pulse and checks his watch.

It all happens so fast, I’m still fluttering from even seeing him, let alone seeing him shirtless once again, and now having him touch me. It’s a few seconds before I manage to squeak out, “Good. Head is good.”

He nods, still looking at his watch for another few seconds, then gives a more definitive jerk of his head. “Yes. Heart rate’s good and I bet your fever’s totally gone. Have you eaten?”