Then, a few feet away, thrashing arms and legs rose from the water. He rushed toward her, hampered by yet another, smaller wave. When he caught hold of one of her arms, the other smacked him in the shoulder.

"Sweetheart." Her eyes were tightly closed, and she didn't seem to hear him. "Honey-pie!"

Her wet lashes blinked open. He yanked her against him, and she latched onto his body. "You're okay," he said, keeping her close. "You're fine."

"I almost died!" she said, in Rebecca-like tones.

"Not even close." Her hair was sodden, and he finger combed it off her forehead.

Her breath was sawing in and out, and he just held her, waiting for her to calm as he kept one eye on the incoming waves. Finally, she shuddered, and her head dipped, her forehead against his chin. "I feel like an idiot."

"It was my fault," he said, moving a little closer to sh.o.r.e, Jane still in his arms. "I wasn't paying attention."

"I was thrashing."

"More like floundering."

Her head lifted. "Gee, thanks, I feel so much better now."

"It's no big deal."

"I don't like looking foolish," she said. "You didn't panic."

Only when I thought I might have lost you. He shook the words out of his head. "You don't have to corner the market on competence, Jane."

"Funny you should say that." She wrinkled her nose, then her pretty, clear eyes gazed past his shoulder at the horizon. "My father told me not long ago it was better to be competent than lovable."

"Jesus," he muttered, then he drew her head to his shoulder, holding her cheek to his salty skin. "You're a pain in the a.s.s, Jane, you know that? But somebody's going to find that lovable about you. Somebody's coming along real soon and you'll know just how lovable you are."

She was still for a moment, her mouth touching his wet shoulder, pressing it there in the semblance of a kiss.

The water, the world, swirled about them for a quiet few moments. Then Griffin cleared his throat. "Want to go any farther, Jane?"

"No." She had begun to shiver, but he didn't think it was from the sixty-eight-degree water. "I'm afraid I'm already out of my depth."

EVERY PARENT KNEW the worst day in a normal family household was the day when all the kids were hit with the flu at the same time-and then the mom was struck down too. Tess tried telling herself that wasn't happening, though. It was the washing out of the barf bowl for the tenth time that was making her nauseous. She was only burning up one moment, then shivering with cold the next because one minute she was running to her room where she'd placed the two middle boys in her own bed, and the next she was sitting with the baby on her shoulder, trying to console his unhappy whimpers.

She and Russ were the only ones who hadn't disgorged the contents of their stomachs. But she had a terrible feeling it was only a matter of time.

The sounds of retching reached her. Duncan or Oliver-too sick to be counted on to make it to the bathroom-was making use of the big plastic bowl that she planned to never see again once this was over. Closing her eyes, Tess willed her legs to move. When they didn't obey, she raised her voice. "Rebecca, do you think you could-"

The remainder of her sentence was drowned out by the pitter-patter of her daughter's feet on a mad dash from her "bower of death"-the teen's own words-to the bathroom across the hall.

There would be no help there.

She pushed off with her bare feet and managed to stand. A short spin of her head later, she stumbled toward her needy children. Women manage alone all the time, she reminded herself. It's good preparation for your life ahead.

Tears gathered, but she blinked them away. She needed to be clear-eyed to wash the despicable bowl. Next she wiped down Duncan's and Oliver's faces with a cool, wet cloth. When she asked them if they could take a sip of water, they didn't bother answering. She was a little more forceful about offering the pediatric drink that she tried to foist off as "juice," but they both turned their faces away.

In a last-ditch effort, she dangled the image of cold cola-a rare treat-and it was testament to how ill they felt that neither gave a twitch.

Rebecca's footsteps sounded zombielike as she moved from the bathroom back to her bed. Tess wet another washcloth and bathed her daughter's face as she lay sprawled on the mattress. The cell phone on the small table beside Rebecca's pillow started a little dance. Things were serious when the teenager didn't even reach for the device to check the sender of the text.

"I want Daddy," Rebecca moaned, her eyes squeezed shut.

Things were serious indeed. Her daughter hadn't called her father "Daddy" since her thirteenth birthday. David, Tess thought, then pinched off the fruitless longing. He was somewhere pushing pedals in circles or lifting a weight that wasn't the weight of their family's situation.

She stood over her daughter, rocking the baby back and forth. Perhaps the movement would counterbalance the seasick feeling in her stomach. Her decision-making process felt just as unbalanced as she pondered her options. "Maybe I should call Uncle Griff," she said.

One of Rebecca's eyes opened. "You called Uncle Griff. He said he was rushing right over...to put a quarantine sign on the door."

"I didn't tell him we needed help." That had been eight hours ago, when she'd thought the kids were suffering from a mild tummy bug.

"If you call next door again," Rebecca said, "ask for Jane. Men aren't any good at caretaking."

More tears burned behind Tess's eyes. Her lovely, sweet, trusting little girl had already been disappointed enough to internalize that message. Men aren't any good at caretaking. Hadn't her father given up on that job during the past few months?

Anger added itself to Tess's mix of sickness and sadness. David had done this! David had fractured Rebecca's faith. The thought put a bit of steel in her spine, and she sought to rea.s.sure her teenager. "I'm here to take care of us. We don't need anyone but me."

One-handed, she pulled up the covers around Rebecca's neck while the other hand balanced Russ, draped over her shoulder. Then she put the drowsing baby down in his crib and ignored her own queasiness to gather the clothes and towels strewn around the house. She filled the washing machine and pressed Start, just as she heard yet another round of retching.

Duncan or Oliver or possibly both had missed the bowl. Standing in the doorway of her bedroom, holding on to the jamb to keep herself upright, she stared at the miserable children and the messed sheets. For just a moment she envisioned that other life she'd stopped fantasizing about the night David had dropped by with his carton of files. It beckoned more seductively than before. Shared custody-and they'd be sick on David's watch. Hours of blissful alone time. A different man with whom she could play on the beach while her children were someone else's responsibility.

"Mommy," Duncan whispered.

The plaintive word broke her heart. She hurried toward her little guy. "Mommy's here," she a.s.sured him, as she moved forward to tackle the task of changing sheets and pajamas. "Mommy will always be here."

A couple of hours later a knock roused her. She'd been half-asleep on the living room couch, the baby slumbering on her chest. Her movement woke him, and he started to cry a little.

Tess just managed not to join him as she pulled open the door. Her brother stood on the doorstep. "Plague over?" he asked. "I've brought provisions for you and the minions." He waved a greasy bag in her face that was branded with the golden arches.

The smell of the burgers and fries-usually one of her favorites in the whole world-wafted in on a briny breeze.

Tess felt herself go green. Then, Russ still in her arms, she slammed the door in Griffin's face and ran to the kitchen sink where she left the contents of her stomach and entered the eighth circle of h.e.l.l. According to Dante, the eighth circle was the provenance of Fraud, which made perfect sense because she'd have brief moments of elated good health following a trip to the bathroom before queasiness rose up once again.

Now she was glad she was alone with the kids because she couldn't imagine wanting anyone to see her like this: worn down, lank-haired and sweaty around the edges.

There wasn't a name for the next level of h.e.l.l, the one in which the baby finally caught up with the rest of them and started throwing up too. It was his first experience with the oh-so-unpleasant activity, and clearly it frightened him, even though Tess had been prepared enough to unearth another plastic bowl.

He cried through the whole procedure.

Sitting on the living room couch, she cried afterward, silently though, so as not to frighten the kids. Mom needs to be strong, she reminded herself. Mom can go it alone. While Russ kept up a low whimper, she half dozed and held him close to her heart, the bowl in her lap at the ready.

When the baby's weight lifted from her chest, she thought the sudden change was part of a dream. Since David's fortieth birthday, rarely had anyone taken Russ from her when he was fussy-and she'd asked for help even more rarely. An almost-fatherless baby shouldn't have his mommy pa.s.s him off too.

Time pa.s.sed. Minutes probably as she drifted into the dream where there was a male voice murmuring and a male presence moving about the small house. Occasionally a note of a child's voice would spike through her slumber, but that couldn't be real either, because there was no one home to take that responsible shh-shh tone of voice. She allowed herself to fall into sleep because she knew she needed her strength. And because she knew that her kids would make a riot if Mom was really needed. They only had her.

Then a new sound poked her into wakefulness. Baby Russ was retching again, and her hands registered he wasn't with her. And that his bowl still lay in her lap. What?

Tess lurched from her sprawl on the couch. Her eyes opened as she stood and there was a figure in front of her. She blinked a few times to put it into focus. Her husband. David. He was holding her baby.

She might think it was still a dream, but little Russ's body was moving, undulating in that way- "The bowl," she said, holding it out.

But David ignored her, murmuring to their baby and cradling him close as their smallest son puked all over David's favorite high-tech, fancy-fiber, sweat-wicking spin shirt.

She stared. "The bowl."

"It's all right. He's not so scared when I'm holding him like this."

Another moment pa.s.sed, then she heard sounds from her bedroom. With her hand on one wall, she made her way to her other sons. Looking more bright-eyed, Duncan and Oliver were propped up on pillows and watching cartoons on the flat-screen TV across the room. Each had a gla.s.s of what looked to be water in hand, a bent straw ready for a small mouth.

Oliver noticed her, sketched a wave. "Mommy."

She echoed the movement. "Sweet boy."

Duncan sipped his water and then glanced over. "Daddy's home."

"I see that," she said. Then a wave of sickness slammed into her, and she ran for relief.

Bout over, she checked in on Rebecca. There was a gla.s.s of water and a bent straw beside her cell phone. The teenager was sleeping. The sound of a shower running drew her to the end of the hall. Through the half-open door, she saw her husband holding her youngest in the shower, both of them fully dressed.

"What are you doing?" she croaked out. But she realized he couldn't hear her over the rushing water and his own crooning voice as he sang to their son.

"*Hush little baby don't say a word, Daddy's goin' to buy you a mockingbird.'" David had sung to all their children when they were small. A story, a song, and then good-night. Once Rebecca had begged for "A Hundred Bottles of Root Beer on the Wall," and she'd made it to twenty-seven remaining before dozing off. He'd never fallen for that again.

Watching him now, Tess was absolutely positive she'd never fall for anyone else besides him.

She pushed open the door the whole way as he stepped onto the bath mat in his dripping clothes. "Give me Russ," she said, reaching for a towel.

David shook his head and took the terry cloth out of her hand. "I've got him."

With her energy at an all-time low, she could only watch as he stripped himself and the baby out of their wet clothes. Then, with a towel around his waist, he found the boys' room and quickly diapered Russ and put him in a soft onesie. Russ's eyes closed. Tess watched from the doorway. "He's almost asleep. You can put him in the crib."

"Think I'll hold him awhile," David said over his shoulder. "You're almost asleep too. Go lie down."

The suggestion was nearly irresistible. Nearly. "You'll stay with the kids?"

He hesitated. "I'm staying with all of you. Always."

It was enough to get her moving in the direction of an empty bed, even though the stranger of the past few months wasn't a man she'd want with them for always. If that was who was in the house, then once she was better, he'd just have to leave again.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

IT WAS EVENING and the kids had all kept down water, chicken noodle soup and soda crackers for hours by the time David saw his wife peek into the living room where the older boys and Rebecca were crowded together watching a Disney movie. He'd had time to dry his clothes, and though he was holding Russ again, he managed to pour her a mug of the soup he'd kept warm. "Drink this," he said, crossing to her, "and then go take a shower."

"Thank you." Her hand trembled a little as she reached for it.

Seeing her like this made him want to kick his own a.s.s all over again. In using distance to try to save himself, he'd allowed Tess to get overtired and sick. If Griffin hadn't called him...

His wife took a tentative sip from the mug, then seemed to think it was going to stay down and so took another. "Rebecca, are you kids okay?"

"Yeah." She didn't take her gaze from the screen. "Daddy handled things."

Tess glanced over at him, her expression unreadable. "Will you be all right with Russ while I take a shower?"

"Yes." That she felt she had to ask twisted his gut. "Take your time."

When she next appeared in the living room, the four kids were in bed asleep. Tess's hair was still slightly damp, and she was dressed in a pair of plaid flannel pants and a sweatshirt proclaiming Happy Mom from Eaglewood Elementary. There was a little more color in her cheeks, but her blue eyes still stood out too brightly against her pale features.

He reached in the oven. "Hungry? I made mac and cheese."

Her gaze jumped to his. "You made your mom's mac and cheese?"

"My specialty." He smiled a little. "That and hot dogs."

She sat gingerly in a chair at the kitchen table, as if maybe her bones hurt. As he placed a plate and gla.s.s of water in front of her, he wanted to lift her from its hard surface and cuddle her on his lap, whispering promises that he would always cushion her, that he would always be what she needed.

But when he'd shown her the cushion of their financial situation, she'd thrown it back in his face. And as to always being what she needed...if he'd done that she wouldn't be sitting in that chair, shivering.

"I'll light a fire," he said, though the pressed-sawdust log wouldn't give off much heat. On his way back toward the kitchen alcove, he grabbed a small blanket hanging over the arm of the sofa. He draped it over her shoulders while she sat staring at the steaming mound of pasta.

"Would you rather I put it away?" he asked. "I can make you something else."

She shook her head and managed to eat a few bites. Then she downed the entire gla.s.s of water. It revived her a little, and when he thought she was through, he encouraged her to stretch out on the sofa.

He tucked the blanket around her.

"Thank you," she said.

So polite again. He sat on the coffee table in front of her, his elbows on his knees, his hands dangling between them. Now that they had privacy and time, he couldn't seem to get his tongue to wrap around the words he'd been planning since walking into the house and finding his family looking like ghosts.

Tess pushed at her hair, her wary gaze on him. "David-"

"Come home." The words burst from his mouth. "Please, come home. I'll step up. Change more diapers. Make more mac and cheese. When Russ wakes up in the night, I'll get up with him."

"He sleeps through the night, now. He's slept through the night for months."

"I knew that." Not exactly. "I just meant...if he has nightmares or..." David looked away, scrubbed a hand through his hair, faced his wife again. "I'll do just about anything to have you all home again."