Romantic love story

Chapter Fourteen: When the Subject is Madison

When Terry returned to find her napping half awake on the bench outside the church, Madison thought for sure he was angry. He said nothing, but helped her to the minivan while John and Izzy strapped the triplets into their boosters in the back.

Izzy watched as Madison slowly climbed into the middle row of seats. "You're right, Terry, she doesn't look very good. Madison, Sweetheart?" Izzy left her daughters to move past Terry and help Madison buckle her seat belt. "Are you okay?" Izzy put a hand to Madison's forehead. "Hmmm, no fever. Terry, I wish you'd stop hovering."

"Are you certain she doesn't have a fever?"

"Reasonably so." Izzy turned to give him a patient smile. "I'll check with a thermometer when we get home, but I don't think she's coming down with something."

"So you don't think it's the flu?"

People moved past the minivan's open door, more than a few of them eyeing Madison as she lay on the middle row of the vehicle's seats.

Her ears rang. She felt sick.

"Madison?" Izzy's gentle voice coaxed her to attention. "Sit up so Terry can climb in. We'll be home soon."

She heard the words and struggled to obey without throwing up. An arctic draft swept through the side door, slapping her hard in the face with ice and the pungent smell of exhaust as John started the engine.

Terry climbed in beside her, slid the door shut while the children in the back chatted like the little girls they were.

The vehicle started moving. They merged on to the road, and when she watched the pavement, the yellow center divider blurred and dizzied her.

Izzy pulled out her purse and began to dig through it for something.

Her stomach kept gurgling, though not from hunger. Smell, sound, motion assaulted her at the same time. A hand rested on Madison's shoulder.

"Izzy?"

"I know, I'm looking."

"Maddie, try to calm down." The hand squeezed her shoulder. "Do you want John to pull to the side of the road?"

"Yes," welled within her, caught in her throat and burned along with the bile that wouldn't be held back a second longer. Something passed to Terry; he opened it, then swung it in front of her as the nausea had its way.

"Ewww!" came from the back seat, followed by, "Is she dying?"

"Just a little car sick," Terry said, rubbing a hand on Madison's back.

Only after the fact, did she realize Terry held something in front of her-- a plastic baggy inside a small, discreet paper bag.

"Are you done?" he asked.

After one last lurch into the bag, she weakly nodded.

"Here"-- he pulled out a handkerchief-- "wipe your mouth. Don't worry, it's clean."

She didn't care if it was clean or not, only that the nausea had backed off. The handkerchief smelled lightly of Terry, a trace of his soap scenting the material. She wiped it across her mouth, folded it and squeezed it to her nose.

"How's she looking?" John asked.

"Better, I think." Terry kept rubbing her back as though she were contemplating more of the same. "Do you feel better now?"

She nodded, leaned her head against the window and watched as he zipped the baggy shut, then rolled the paper bag closed so no one could see what she'd done.