“Excuse me, Ms. Blanket Thief? That’s you projecting, that’s what that is.”
“Ugh.” She covered her mouth. Winced. “Projectile vomiting. Excuse me.”
He watched her exit, frowning. Maybe he should call Dr. James and see if he made house visits. She seemed a lot worse than when he’d left four days ago.
He tapped on the toilet door. “Sarah? Are you okay in there?”
“I’ll be out in a few.”
Hmm. That wasn’t convincing.
He got his phone, found James’s number, and dialed. “James? It’s Dan Walton. Hey, sorry to bother you, but I was wondering, do you do house calls at all?”
“What’s happened?”
“It’s Sarah. She’s been exhausted for weeks, and I’m getting concerned, especially now she’s vomiting.”
“Ah. Okay. Well, there have been some cases of the flu around here lately.”
That must be what it is.
“Unless you think she might be pregnant.”
His heart thudded. “What? No. She was bleeding last week.”
James paused. “Are you using contraception?”
“What?”
“Is she pregnant?”
“Wouldn’t she know?”
“Get her to take a test. Then you’ll know.”
“’Kay. Thanks.” He ended the call. Felt like a fool, even as a tiny hope started dancing in his soul.
He knocked on the door again. “Sar? Have you got a minute?”
She flushed the toilet, and opened the door, her eyes blotchy, as if she’d been crying.
He moved to hold her.
“Don’t touch me. I was sick again.”
“I don’t care.” He held her. “I love you.”
She clung more firmly. “I’m so glad you’re home.”
He led her to the sofa and helped her sit again. “Sar, how long have you been feeling like this?”
She pressed a hand to her forehead. “Since we had dinner at Jackie and Lincoln’s.”
He nodded. He didn’t want to freak her out, he had to stay calm. But now he thought about it, these symptoms weren’t that dissimilar to what she’d experienced in the past. “How did the fundraising meeting go?”
“It was good.” She glanced up at him, her face pale. “I think getting involved is a good thing.”
“Me too. I’m glad you went.” He gently cupped her cheek in his hand. “Especially when you haven’t felt well.”
