The babysitter

Bad to worse

Two hours later, Tim was seriously worried. Lucy hadn't been able to keep anything down—not water, not the ginger ale he'd brought her, not even ice chips. She'd thrown up so many times that now she was just dry heaving, her body wracked with painful spasms that left her gasping and shaking.

Worse, her ankle had swollen significantly. The combination of being on her feet all day caring for sick children while injured, and now the constant trips between their bedroom and bathroom, had aggravated the sprain beyond what it had been that morning.

"Lucy, we need to go to the hospital," Tim said, crouching beside where she lay curled up on their bed, a basin within arm's reach.

"I'm fine," Lucy protested weakly, though her pale, clammy appearance said otherwise. "It's just a stomach bug. It'll pass."

"It's been hours and you can't keep anything down. You're getting dehydrated, and your ankle—" Tim gestured to where her foot was propped up on pillows, visibly swollen even through the elastic bandage. "Lucy, you can barely walk."

"The kids—"

"Will be fine. I'm going to call someone to watch them." Tim was already reaching for his phone. "What about Tamara?"

"No!" Lucy said quickly, then immediately regretted raising her voice as it triggered another wave of nausea. When it passed, she continued more quietly, "She has her finals this week. I told you not to bother her with our stuff."

Tim paused, phone in hand. Lucy was right—she had mentioned Tamara's exams, and he knew how important they were. But looking at his wife, who was now shivering despite the fever flush on her cheeks, he knew they were past the point where this could wait.

"Okay, not Tamara," he agreed, scrolling through his contacts. "Angela?"

Lucy started to shake her head, but another dry heave cut her off. When it passed, she was too exhausted to argue.

Tim hit Angela's number and waited, pacing beside the bed while it rang.

"Bradford? What's up?" Angela's voice came through clearly.

"Hey, Angela. I'm sorry to bother you, but I need a favor." Tim glanced at Lucy, who was trying to sit up and failing. "Lucy's really sick—caught whatever bug the kids had—and I need to take her to the hospital. Could you possibly come watch Emma and Evan for a few hours?"

"Of course," Angela said immediately, and Tim felt a rush of relief. "How sick are we talking?"

"Can't keep anything down for hours, dehydrated, and her sprained ankle is much worse because she's been overdoing it while sick. She needs IV fluids at minimum."

"I'll be there in twenty minutes," Angela said. "The kids are feeling better?"

"Yeah, they're actually doing great. Playing quietly, no fever. They'll probably be ready for dinner soon, and then hopefully an early bedtime."

"Got it. I'll grab some takeout on the way over. Don't worry about anything—just take care of Lucy."

"Angela, I—"

"Tim," Angela interrupted gently. "It's what we do for family. I'll see you in twenty."

The line went dead, and Tim felt some of the tension in his shoulders ease. He turned back to Lucy, who was watching him with glassy eyes.

"Angela's on her way," he said, sitting on the edge of the bed and smoothing her hair back from her damp forehead. "She's going to watch the kids while I take you to get some IV fluids."

"I feel awful," Lucy whispered, and Tim could hear how much it cost her to admit it.

"I know, sweetheart. But we're going to get you feeling better, okay? No more trying to be superwoman."

Lucy managed a weak smile. "Says the man who tried to take care of two sick kids all by himself last night."

"Yeah, well, we're both idiots who don't know when to ask for help," Tim said, leaning down to kiss her forehead gently. "Good thing we have friends who don't wait for us to ask."

From the living room, they could hear Emma's voice chattering to Evan, punctuated by the baby's happy babbling and Kojo's occasional bark at their games. At least the kids were healthy and content—that was one less thing to worry about.

"Can you walk to the car?" Tim asked gently.

Lucy considered this, then shook her head. "Don't think so. The ankle, and I'm so dizzy..."

"Okay," Tim said, already formulating a plan. "I'll carry you. Angela can help me get you to the car when she gets here."

"Tim, you can't carry me down the stairs with your back—"

"My back is fine," Tim said firmly. "And even if it wasn't, I'm not letting you try to hobble to the car while you're this sick. We're getting you the help you need, Lucy. No arguments."

Lucy was too exhausted and miserable to fight him anymore. She just nodded and closed her eyes, trusting Tim to take care of everything else.

Twenty minutes later, the sound of Angela's key in the front door announced her arrival, followed by Emma's excited voice calling out, "Aunt Angela!"

Tim squeezed Lucy's hand. "Ready?"

Lucy nodded weakly. It was time to stop trying to tough it out and get the help she needed.