He isn’t getting it. “I have a fever, so that means I’m probably contagious. Even if I feel better, I can’t expose the family to whatever this is—especially the kids.”

“You’ve been really tired and now you’re throwing up and dizzy. Could you be … ?”

He doesn’t finish but I know what he’s thinking. I hate bursting his bubble. “Pregnancy doesn’t make you feverish.”

“Unless you’re pregnant and you have a virus.” Is he seriously wishing a pregnancy on top of this? I look up at him and my expression must convey my thoughts. “Don’t look at me like that. You were right there with me on that bathroom counter the night before the wedding. It could’ve happened. Plus, it’s not like we’ve been incredibly consistent in the birth control department lately.”

I want to ask whose fault that is but I keep that comment to myself. “My period should start anytime.”

He’s rubbing my neck. “Want to try to go back to bed?”

I’m minimally better so it seems a good idea. “Yeah. I think I’m finished for now, but give me a minute. I’ll let you know when I’m ready for you.”

He sighs, a sign he doesn’t appreciate my need for privacy, but I don’t care. I have business to tend and it doesn’t concern him. And I’m very glad I asked him to leave when I see the blood after I wipe. Talk about being on cue—my period has arrived so we won’t have to wait to know I’m not pregnant.

Seeing the evidence of what I already knew leaves me unsettled. I didn’t believe I was pregnant but I think I might have hoped, maybe somewhere deep in the back of my mind, that we had conceived. Is this disappointment I’m feeling?

I come out of the bathroom once I’m finished and he’s instantly by my side, helping me to the bed. “I started my period just now.”

“Oh.” I hear his disappointment and I’m not sure how to respond. Saying I’m sorry doesn’t feel right and neither does telling him we’ll try. The truth is that I’m not sure what I want. I only know I love him and want nothing more than to please him, but do I agree to have a baby when I’m uncertain because I want to make him happy? How can that be best for our marriage?

I told him I’d think about a baby—and I will—but not now. I don’t have it in me to do anything but climb into our bed and fall fast asleep.

6

It’s becoming clearer as the hours tick by that L and I will not be spending Christmas at my parents’ house as planned. I had hoped she would make a miraculous recovery so we’d be able to make it, but we’ve no such luck. If anything, she’s sicker.

I hate waking her again but it can’t be good for her to go so long without drinking. “L.” I lightly shake her shoulder. “Love, you’re going to get dehydrated if you don’t drink something else.”

She slowly wakes following a second shake. “I brought you some fresh water.”

She closes her eyes. “I don’t want anymore. I’ll throw up if I put anything in my stomach.”

I nudge her again. “Please try. Would you rather go to the hospital and get an IV?”

She puts her hand over her eyes. “I’m too sick to get up and go to the hospital.”

Even sick, she tries to be funny. “I can manage getting you there if it’s what you need.”

She sighs, or maybe huffs is a better word. “Fine. I’ll drink the damn water but bring me something to puke in. There’s no way I can run to the bathroom when it decides to come back up.”

I place a couple of pillows against the headboard and help her to a sitting position. She takes the glass from my hand but I don’t release it because I’m afraid she’s too weak to maintain her grip. “I’ve got it.” I’m not convinced but I let her take it anyway. “What time is it?”

I look at the clock. “Almost two. How do you feel?”

“I’m still weak but I think I feel better than I did this morning.” It’s small, but she takes a drink and it doesn’t immediately come back up. “We’re missing Christmas. Is Margaret terribly upset?”

Very much so, but there’s no way I’m telling L that. “She’s disappointed but understands it isn’t your fault you’re sick.”

She brings the glass to her mouth and takes another sip. “I think it’s a twenty-four hour bug or something since I’m feeling better.”

She has no idea how relieved I am to hear that. “I’m glad because I really considered gathering you up and taking you to the hospital.”

She isn’t too sick to give me her oh hell no look. “I think you know that wouldn’t have gone over well with me.”

She better figure out nothing will stop me from taking care of her. “It doesn’t matter when it comes to your well-being.”

“Good thing I’m better, then.”

“Think you’re good enough to open your Christmas present?”

She smiles and I’m reassured for the first time that she may actually be feeling better. “Absolutely.”

I’m excited like a little kid. “Be right back.”

“No. I want to come to the living room.”

“Sure you feel well enough?”

“I won’t be dancing a jig but I’m good enough to make it to the couch.” She slides to the edge of the bed. “Give me a quick minute to freshen up and I’ll meet you on the couch.”

She’s changed and freshened, looking quite different from the person I was so worried about twelve hours ago. She’s sitting on the sofa waiting for her gifts, and I can’t stop myself from wondering what her previous Christmases were like.

I remember last year. I found her alone when I drove from Sydney to Wagga Wagga and brought her home with me to Avalon—after Mum insisted. I was such a fool then. “Tell me what holidays were like for you growing up.”

She looks puzzled. “Why?”

I shrug. “You’re my wife. I want to know.”

“Terrible until my mom got clean. I’d classify them as tolerable after that. My grandparents were the only joyful part of the holidays for me.” That’s not much detail about what it was like, but I’m guessing this is as far as she wants to go today.

“I wanted this to be the most special Christmas you’ve ever had.”

She smiles and reaches out to touch my arm. “It is. I’m your wife and we’re together. Nothing could spoil that, not even me being sick as a dog.”