The Skylar Experiment : The "X" in Apex

Atlanta City, 2000

Harris bolted from the couch as the sound of retching filled the small house, leaving scattered paper offers on the table. The rail tremored under his grip as he jumped the stairs two at a time. Pushing the ajar door with a pink bow at the end of the hall, he stopped to witness the scene unfolding.

Jocelyn, on the edge of the rocking chair, with the baby sat on one leg and a basin propped to the little girl's mouth. Vomit lingered at the sides and on the basin's rim. The baby inhaled. Her lips smacked. Screams replaced the awful retches.

His wife looked up at him in the doorway. Tears glistened under the night light's glow. "She just fell asleep..."

"Did you forget the medication?"

"No," she said, rocking back and forth to the screams. She managed to lay the basin at her foot. "It's just getting worse again."

Harris crossed inside and knelt. For months, he hadn't felt joy. If he did, it was immediately followed by dread and sorrow.

Nothing in his life, none of the training, could have prepared him. Short bouts of joy when Riley's treatments were working and she had enough energy to play, followed by long sleepless nights as his wife tried her best to comfort him.

"You should get some sleep—"

"I can't sleep."

Harris wrapped a hand around hers, the other around the baby's head. "I got this."

He took the red-faced, bawling child from her mother and straightened. She seemed indifferent to the bounce in his stance or his gentle shushing. Nevertheless, he disappeared with her from the room.

A quick stop at the second bathroom allowed him to clean her up, then he brought her downstairs into the lowly-lit kitchen.

"O it was a fine and a pleasant day  
Out of Yarmouth harbor I was faring

As a cabinboy on a sailing lugger

For to go and hunt the shoals of herring."

As he sang to her the song of his childhood, he spun, extracting a mug and a tea box from the cupboards. The stove turned on while his voice and Riley's unsettled cries carried. He left the tea to simmer.

By then, the little girl's tears were drying, but the traces of pain were still clear in her sniffly pout.

Harris pinched her nose. It was all he could do to hold himself together.

"Now you're up on deck, you're a fisherman 

You can swear and show a manly bearing

Take your turn on watch with the other fellows

While you're searching for the shoals of herring."

He threw the bag into the trash can, still walking around with the child attached to his hip, and reached into his back pocket. The small plastic bag rustled, catching Riley's attention who otherwise couldn't see properly, but he didn't let her inspect that one.

The contents poured into the steaming red liquid. Harris masked the taste with some honey and lemon, then set out to bring it upstairs.

"This should help," he said to his wife with her hands extended.

She smiled faintly.

"Thank you."

He dropped into the bean bag near the crib. Twisting, he plucked a book with colorful cloths and feathers from the shelf and presented it to Riley. She loved these things—the textures, the crinkles, the pictures of animals. Any book did the trick.