Chapter 18: Five

On Saturday morning Poppy's forehead was warm at breakfast and hot by nine.

I took her temperature in Marit's kitchen. The thermometer said 103.4.

"Marit, call Jonas," I said. "I'm taking her in."

"The order says handoff is at the lobby at ten," Marit said.

"Then I'll hand her off in the ER."

Poppy sat in my lap with her rabbit under her chin and her cheeks bright red. She was too quiet.

She did not argue about her shoes or ask for toast, and that frightened me more than the number.

We were in the lobby of St. Anne's at ten minutes to ten.

I laid my hand on her back and counted her breathing. It was fast and shallow.

The same volunteer was pushing the same cart of flowers. She saw me and her face changed.

Wyatt came through the revolving doors at ten o'clock exactly.

He was alone. He wore a gray overcoat, and his hair was combed, and he held a small stuffed zebra by the ear.

"There's my girl."

Poppy turned her face into my coat.

"Wyatt, she has a fever," I said. "A hundred and three point four this morning. Just now it's higher."

"May I see?"

He crouched in front of her and laid the back of his hand on her cheek.

"She feels a little warm."

"She's lethargic. Her breathing is fast. She hasn't eaten. I need to take her through triage now."

"It's my Saturday," Wyatt said. His voice was perfectly pleasant. "The court order says handoff here at ten, and then she's with me."

"The same order says either parent can seek emergency care."

"Then let's see if it is one."

He stood and took out his phone, the new black one.

"Poppy, sweetheart. Does your tummy hurt?"

She shook her head against my coat.

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