“Babe….” I reached across the seat and rested my hand on his thigh.
“Theo. Pull over.”
“What?”
“Pull over!”
I barely got the car to the side of the road before he opened the door, leaned out, and threw up.
And that was just the first time.
We made it through Security, but we’d no sooner gotten through than Wills bolted for the men’s room. I waited outside with the carry-on and the duffel and took out my cell phone. The number wasn’t logged in my address book, but it hadn’t changed in thirteen years.
“Hello?”
“Ma? It’s Theo.”
“Teo! I love the chocolates. But you must have spent so much on it.”
“I can afford it. Look, Ma, I’m sorry, Wills isn’t feeling well, so we’re not going to be able to visit this time—”
“What’s wrong?”
“I think he’s got a touch of stomach flu. You know you can pick up anything on these flights. I’m gonna get him home. I’m really sorry…”
“Enough, my son. I understand. It’s going to take more than an Easter spent together again to erase what your father did to this family.”
“Ma…” She was right, but I didn’t think she knew the whole of it. “We’ll try to come down another time, maybe for your birthday in June. But if not, we’ll see you at the wedding. Won’t we?” Poppa hadn’t said much when we’d called to let the family know, and he’d refused to talk about it at Easter.
“You will.”
I sagged, more relieved than I’d realized. “I have to go, Ma. Wills has just come out of the men’s room and they’ll be calling our flight soon.”
“Tell you’re your betrothed we wish him a speedy recovery.”
My betrothed. “I will. Happy Mother’s Day.”
“Thank you, Teo. God bless you.”
“Thanks, Ma. You too. Bye.” I turned off my phone and put it away. Wills came to me and leaned against me.
“Sorry, babe.” His eyes were red and wet, whether from vomiting or from crying I had no clue.
“Don’t be.” I adjusted the strap of the duffel over the handle of the carry-on and eased an arm around his waist. “Ready? Let’s go.”
* * * *
I was getting worried. Wills had spent a good portion of the flight in the jet’s restroom, and now he was on his knees in the bathroom at home. I held his head as dry heaves wracked his body.
“Wills—” My stomach hurt in sympathy. He sagged against my leg, but before I could tell him I was taking him to the emergency room, the buzzer sounded, signaling someone was downstairs, at the front door. “I’ll get rid of them, babe.” I ran gentle fingers through his hair, dropped a kiss on it, and left him swallowing convulsively and shivering.
It had to be emotional—he hadn’t had anything solid on his stomach since before we’d caught our flight to Florida—but I hated seeing him like this. I’d opened a can of Coke and was letting it sit on the countertop in the kitchen, going flat. That should help settle his stomach. Then I’d make him munch on pretzels and suck on Dum Dum lollipops.
I went to the foyer and pressed the button on the intercom. “Can I help you?”
“Theo? It’s Jack.”
“Jack? Is everything all right?” I didn’t give him a chance to answer. “Hold on a second.” I pressed the release, opened the apartment door, and waited for my lover’s father to arrive, trying to figure out what he was doing here on Mother’s Day.
Wills found me standing there. “Theo?”
“We’ve got company, Wills.”
“Oh, God. Is it Mr. Vincent? I feel like shit, and the last thing I want to do is entertain.”
I brushed the hair out of his eyes, pleased he wasn’t looking so gray. “No. It’s your dad.”
“What? What’s he—what’s wrong? Jill? The baby?”
“Take it easy. He wouldn’t have flown down to DC if there was a problem with Peter.”
Of course the baby was a boy. There were still about four months until his birth, but Jill had gone for an ultrasound a few days after Easter, which had confirmed what we’d all taken for granted.
“No, I guess not, but why is he here?”
“We’ll find out when he gets up here.”
He nodded jerkily and we stepped out into the corridor. Jack appeared at the top of the stairs, flushed and slightly out of breath.
“Dad, are you all right?”
“F-fine. Were those stairs as steep the last time I was here?”
“Same as always.” Wills breathed through his mouth.
Jack stared at us, and I could feel my face heating up. We still wore the clothes we’d had on the day before. Wills’s hair was damp, and while his color was better, he still didn’t look a hundred percent. I knew I didn’t look much better. Neither Wills nor I had managed more than an hour or so of sleep at a stretch.
He studied Wills’s face. “You haven’t been well.”
“You could always tell, even though I wasn’t sick that often.” He sighed. “Something disagreed with me.”