Page 12 of Never Too Late

“Zara?” I called.

It was then the first cough came.

And that wasn’t just a tiny, little, dry cough.

No, it was wet, and it hurt my chest just hearing the sound of it.

I put the dishes on the counter, not really looking where, and went to my daughter. She had her eyes fixed on the paper in front of her, her little hand holding a crayon, slacked on top of it, not moving.

I crouched beside her, noting a pale look on her cheeks, and touched her forehead.

I almost bit through my tongue so I wouldn’t let the curse that was dancing on my tongue out in Zara’s ear at the hotness and clamminess of her skin.

How the fuck had I missed this?

“Daddy, I don’t feel so good,” Zara wailed at the touch on my palm. She turned her head and looked at me. Her eyes also had a glassy look to them.

“I see that, baby girl,” I whispered and cupped her cheek. “Let’s get you to bed.” Just as I started to get to my feet, a violent lurch threw Zara’s body back and then forward. Her head hit my thigh and she threw up all over my jeans and shoes.

“Shit,” that time I couldn’t stop myself.

5

Sophie

“We have a full waiting room,” Christine said in her, what I learned was her usual cheerful voice. The girl was like a rainbow and sunshine all wrapped into one, nothing could bring her down. “This flu that hit the town has almost everyone in its clutches.”

“Hmmm…” I hummed my answer. I didn’t have the energy to be swept in Christine’s cheerfulness today. But that didn’t stop her from carrying on.

“First, we have little Zara,” she announced. “The poor thing got a fever Friday night and ended up throwing up most of the night according to her dad,” she said with a strange little sigh. She also didn’t wait for me to participate, but continued. “She also has a nasty cough—”

“Okay,” I cut her off. I preferred to get information from my patients, or in this case from their parents. They like to describe things in detail, and that gave a lot more information about the illness than they thought. “Do you have her file?” Even I could hear the flatness which borderlined on disinterest in my tone.

I needed to figure out what I was going to do.

I couldn’t stay in Hopeful. Not after learning that Dylan lived here.

But I also didn’t want to leave.

And also, that feeling was much more prominent after learning that Dylan was living here.

It was only that I wasn’t sure if that was out of spite or something else.

“Yep, right here.” Christine lifted her arm holding the file and went around my desk almost without stopping. It was a wonder that I caught the damn thing before it plopped on the floor.

As she went around the office, preparing everything for the busy day ahead of us, I swiveled my chair to look out the window.

I was so tired.

And the view of the mountains always brought me a sense of serenity.

After the way Dylan reacted in this very office, I was in a haze and finally, on Friday, decided I had enough.

I was going to leave.

I picked up my phone and with my heart in my throat, I set up an appointment with a realtor. I also asked the council for a meeting to which they reluctantly agreed. I didn’t tell them why I wanted that meeting, but they probably knew. It was either to resign or to demand more money. Neither of which they were happy about. And then I went out for a stroll on the main square. The holiday season was slowly pushing in, which meant the town was waking up and tourists had started to come. I told Mrs. McConnell what was going on and it was in that moment, when I voiced it, that my heart broke.

I spent the weekend restless, not knowing why I was in such despair. I mean, sure, I was abandoning something my grandmother wanted for me, but I could “live” anywhere. Just because I was leaving Hopeful didn’t mean I would go back to my old way of burying myself in work and returning to Nathaniel. I could never do that.