Her stepdaughter looked down at her chest as if to make sure she knew what Loralee was referring to. “I fell asleep in the armchair in the corner. Owen was worried about you, so I promised I’d sleep in your room to make sure you were all right. I just woke up, too.”
Loralee felt her eyes fill, so she turned to the side to put the roll of Tums back on her nightstand. “Thank you. Although I told Gibbes I would be right as rain this morning and making breakfast for everybody. I must have been more tired than I thought.”
Merritt sat down on the edge of the bed. “You were very sick. Gibbes told us that you have some stomach problems that you need to take medicine for, and you forgot your medicine when we went to the church ruins. I wish you’d told me—we could have come right back.”
Loralee managed to smile. “It was stupid of me, and I’m sorry if I made you worry.” Before she could talk herself out of it, she pushed herself up to a sitting position, then waited a moment for her stomach to settle. “It’s too late for breakfast, but I can make us up a brunch.”
Merritt stood. “Don’t be silly. You should stay in bed and let Owen and me bring you something to eat.” A half smile crossed her face. “Gibbes and I both think you’re too thin and we need to fatten you up. My dad taught me how to make his famous French toast, and I think we have all the ingredients. . . .”
Merritt must have sensed the nausea rising in Loralee’s throat, because she stopped.
“Or I can just make you some plain toast. You should have some food in your stomach. And I’ve heard chicken soup is good for you, too—that it’s not just an old wives’ tale.”
“You know how to make chicken soup?” Loralee asked, her stomach threatening another protest.
“No. But I know we have some cans in the pantry. It just takes a minute to heat up.”
“Just toast is fine. But I can go get it. . . .”
She was saved from the effort of standing by Owen bursting into the room, holding up a spiral notebook. “Mama!” he cried, rushing over to the bed and throwing his arms around her. She ached everywhere, it seemed, and her stomach was less than settled, but she wouldn’t complain. He smelled of soap and baby shampoo—something he hated but continued to use because that was all she bought, since she loved the smell of it—and his shoulders seemed broader than the last time she’d hugged him. The greatest moments in life are usually the smallest. Her mama had told her that once, and in hugging her son, Loralee knew she was right.
Owen pulled back and put the spiral notebook on the bed next to her. “There’s my report on William Bull. Merritt told me that if I woke up first, I should work on it. I found a lot of information online, so you don’t have to take me to the library.”
Loralee hid her smile as she flipped through the pages. “This looks real good, sweetie. I’ll grade it later, all right? I’m still a little tired.”
Merritt took the notebook and put it on the dresser. “Let’s let your mother rest a bit while we go make her some toast. Have you eaten, Rocky? I could probably figure out how to scramble some eggs.”
“Dr. Heyward made me pancakes with blueberries. And he let me drink a Coke with it, seeing how it’s Saturday.”
Loralee wasn’t sure whether she was more shocked that a pediatrician would allow a child to drink Coke first thing in the morning or by the fact that Gibbes had come over to make breakfast.
“He made you breakfast?” Merritt asked.
“The refrigerator wasn’t running again, and the ice in the freezer was melting down the sides. You left your phone in the kitchen, so I used it to call him,” he said, looking at Merritt. “You shouldn’t leave it lying around all the time—that’s how things get lost. Anyways, Dr. Heyward already took the food out and put it in coolers, but he said the fridge is a dead duck. And then he made me breakfast.”
The sound of pans clattering in the sink came from downstairs.
“He’s still here?”
Owen shrugged. “Somebody had to clean the dishes.”
Merritt looked down at her sweatshirt again, and apparently didn’t like what she saw. “I’ll be right back.”
Just as she reached the door, there was a light tapping on the other side. “Is everybody decent?”
“Hang on a second,” Loralee said as she pulled herself out of the bed and made it to her dresser. She grabbed the first tube of lipstick she could find and turned to Merritt. “Hike,” she said, tossing it and hoping Merritt knew enough about football to know she was supposed to catch it. And if she didn’t, then Loralee made a mental note to give her a crash course. Owen would need his sister to know these things.
Merritt caught it cleanly in her right hand, and then Loralee pantomimed putting it on her lips, just in case she wasn’t sure.
What? Merritt mouthed.
She wants you to put it on, Owen mouthed back, imitating his mother.
Merritt rolled her eyes, then yanked off the top and brushed the tube against her upper and lower lips in a straight line instead of following the curve of her mouth.