Loralee shook her head. “No. He’ll know what to do.”
Merritt looked doubtful, but nodded. She shut the door, then climbed into the driver’s seat. “Owen, fasten your seat belt. I can’t promise I’m going to follow the posted speed limit.” She handed her phone to him. “And please dial Dr. Heyward—he’s in the contact directory—and see if he can meet us at the house in about thirty minutes.”
He glanced into the backseat with a worried expression. “Are you going to be all right, Mama?”
“Yes, sweetie. My stomach is upset is all. I figure a pediatrician knows all there is to know about tummy troubles.”
Satisfied with her explanation, he faced forward again and began scrolling through the contacts on Merritt’s phone, apparently a short list, since he found it quickly and hit the call button.
Despite the increasing pain, Loralee managed to smile to herself as she saw Merritt’s profile and the determined set of her jaw that reminded her of a bulldog. In a good way.
You are stronger than you think, she thought as she watched her stepdaughter and felt the surge of acceleration as they pulled out of the dirt parking lot and onto the asphalt road. A sharp pain radiated around from her stomach to her back, sucking the air right out of her lungs and making her recall something else her mama had once told her. What doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger. Loralee closed her eyes and listened to the sound of the tires on the road as they sped back to Beaufort and she prayed for the oblivion of sleep.
chapter 23
MERRITT
It was almost dusk by the time we returned to the house on the bluff, and I nearly sighed out loud with relief when I recognized Gibbes’s Explorer in the driveway, his tall figure leaning against the side. I pulled in behind him, then stole a glance at the backseat. Loralee was curled on her side in the fetal position, her eyes closed, her hands pressed against her stomach.
Owen’s head was pressed against the window, his glasses fallen to the tip of his nose, gentle snores telling me that he was sleeping. After turning off the ignition, I opened the door and bolted from the SUV.
“Thank goodness you’re here,” I said, happier to see Gibbes than I cared to admit, and not just because I was worried about Loralee. “She’s in the backseat and is in a lot of pain. She thinks it’s food poisoning.”
He was already walking toward the car and had pulled open the back door by the time I reached him.
He leaned in and gently touched her forehead. “Loralee? It’s me—Gibbes. We need to get you into the house, all right? I can carry you, but I’ve got to maneuver you out of the backseat first. Can you help?”
Her hands fluttered like lost butterflies, unable to land, then returned to her abdomen. She lifted her head, the effort too much for her as it quickly fell back onto the upholstery.
Gibbes looked at me. “Has she taken any medication?”
“I don’t think so. She forgot her purse here, which she didn’t realize until we were almost at the ruins. I know she carries medication in it.”
He nodded, then glanced at the still-sleeping Owen. “I need you to run inside and turn on lights so I can see. Find her purse and leave it on the bedside table so I can figure out what types of meds she has in there.”
“Do you think any of them will help with food poisoning?”
He sent me a sharp glance. “I won’t know until I look. Or maybe something she’s been taking is the cause of the pain—I just can’t say for sure.”
“I hope I did the right thing. I wanted to take her to the emergency room, but she insisted on calling you and coming here instead.”
“You did the right thing. If I can’t help her, then I’ll take her to the ER myself.”
He gently slid Loralee out of the backseat, and she began to mewl like a hurt kitten. Unable to stand by and do nothing to help, I headed inside, grabbed her purse from the hall table, then flipped on the outside lights and every single switch I passed as I made my way up to her room. Her bed was neatly made, and I carefully folded back the covers and plumped her pillows. I had just finished when Gibbes entered, carrying Loralee.
He laid her on the bed while I carefully took off her sandals and placed her feet under the covers.
“Does she have a nightgown you can put on her so she’ll be more comfortable?”
I thought of the leopard-print peignoir I’d just hidden under one of the pillows and knew that I couldn’t do that to either one of them. “No. But I have a bathrobe I can put her in.”