Chapter 6: Hot Ears

The judge gave me Poppy and gave Wyatt Saturdays.

Ten in the morning until six at night, for now. The order was two pages long and took ten minutes to read aloud.

He took the news with a small nod. He looked, if anything, pleased.

The first Saturday, I handed Poppy over in the St. Anne's parking lot, because Marit refused to let him on her porch.

Poppy held her rabbit and a little backpack. She looked back at me twice.

"Be good, baby," I said. "Mama will be right here at six."

"Right here," Wyatt agreed.

He buckled her into his SUV and drove away.

I went into work and triaged a broken wrist, a kidney stone and a man who swallowed a battery.

I did not look at the clock more than forty times.

At three-forty, my phone rang.

"We're early," Wyatt said. "Poppy was tired. I'm dropping her at your aunt's."

"I'll meet you there."

I was in Marit's kitchen when his SUV pulled up. I watched through the window while he carried her up the walk.

Her head was on his shoulder. Her cheeks were red.

I was out the door before he reached the porch.

"Give her to me."

"Nina, don't make a scene."

"Give her to me."

He passed her over with a faint sigh.

Poppy was warm all over. Her hair was damp at the temples and her breath was coming a little fast.

I put my lips to her forehead the way my own mother had. It's more accurate than any wrist.

She was hot.

"What did you give her?" I asked.

"Nothing. She's tired."

"What did she eat? When did she last drink?"

"Orange juice." He checked his watch. "At eleven, I think."

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