Page 68 of Something Like Shelter

Alone with Willa’s father, I felt the weight of a million unsaid words filling the room.

The first one to escape him was, “Coffee?”

“Please,” I said, wiggling the bottle in Adelaide’s mouth until she finally latched.

“Been here a while, huh?” he asked, fishing like his wife had, but with a little more subtlety.

And I damn sure wasn’t going to lie to her old man.

“Yeah.”

He glanced over at me with piercing eyes. He gave me a nod. “So long as you treat her better than that asshole who helped make me a grandfather, I guess I have nothing against that.”

It was the first time I’d heard anyone mention Adelaide’s father. It seemed to be a touchy topic that everyone tiptoed around. I guess you could always count on a father figure to be blunt, though.

“Is it normal for Willa to spike fevers like that?”

“Unfortunately, yeah. Ever since she was Adelaide’s age. Had her mom and me sitting up worried lotta nights over the years. She can seem fine one moment, then be hallucinating from the fever the next. Any idea where they might have picked something up?”

“Um. I don’t know. Willa and I went to a work event a little bit back.”

“Heard about that from Gracie,” he said.

“And they came to my house for dinner. But I was the only one there. I think Adelaide had a doctor visit recently, though.”

“That’ll do it. Those places are petri dishes. I swear I brought one of my kids in for a well visit and they came back sick. Here,” he said when the baby gave up on the bottle. “Let me have her. I’ve got the magic touch when it comes to burping,” he said, swiping one of the many burp cloths scattered all around the house and pressing it to his shoulder before taking Adelaide from me and pressing her there.

“Interesting talent,” I said when, with two rubs down the baby’s back, he got a loud burp out of her.

“Couldn’t do the feeding with my kids. Had to pick up something else I was good at.”

With that, he rocked his granddaughter as I took instructions on how to make him and his wife a coffee. And made myself and Willa one as well.

Eventually, Elsie came down the stairs alone, fiddling around in a cabinet and the fridge.

“Owen, do you mind bringing this up to Willa?” she asked, putting a bottle of water and two pills down on the counter before reaching for the baby. “I’m going to snuggle my sick grandbaby.”

“I can—” Paine started.

“I need you to find someplace open and get some electrolytes and more medicine—infant and adult. And tissues. Vitamin C. Vapor rub. We both know this is going to turn into a whole thing eventually.”

“I can—” I started.

“No,” Elsie said, a little too quickly, making her husband’s lips curve up.

“I’ve got you blocked in,” he said, reaching for his keys. “I’ll be right back. You need anything?”

It took me a second to realize he was talking to me. “No, thanks.”

Elsie and I both watched him leave before I gathered the water and medicine.

“Between you and me, Willa can be very… fragile when she’s sick. She hates feeling crummy, and it makes her a little tender. Just a warning. But if you tell her I told you that, I will deny it,” she added with a smirk.

“Got it,” I agreed.

I made my way up the stairs toward the primary bedroom. Willa was sitting cross-legged on the bed, shoulders slumped, her face buried in her hands.

I sucked in a deep breath and moved into the room.