out?”
“Dylan isn’t well. I’m taking him to the medical center.”
Connor didn’t ask questions. “We’ll go in my car.”
When she looked like she wanted to protest, he added, “If I drive you can look after Dylan.”
She nodded.
Once he’d made sure she and Dylan were comfortably ensconced in the back seat of the Maserati, Connor pulled out his cell phone and made a call, before climbing into the driver’s seat.
“This isn’t the medical center I meant,” Victoria said sharply fifteen minutes later.
Connor felt the impact of her accusing gaze on the back of his head, but he didn’t shift his eyes from the road ahead. “I called a friend who’s a pediatrician. He’s meeting us at his rooms—he understands the background.”
Chuck had known Michael, and knew Connor had been named guardian of his child. Chuck even knew the truth about Dylan’s paternity. “If it’s necessary Chuck will admit Dylan to Starship,” he said, referring to the well-known children’s hospital.
“Chuck?” She sounded doubtful. “How do you know him?”
“His name is Charles Drysdale, if that’s any better. We play squash at the same club.” A stab of pain pierced Connor at the thought of visiting the courts without Michael. “And he’s one of the best pediatricians in town. You’ll be charmed—most women are.”
Charles—or Chuck—Drysdale had twinkling eyes and a way of putting patients at ease within minutes of meeting him. Victoria liked him at once.
“Tell me what you noticed, Victoria,” he asked when she’d taken Dylan out of the infant seat and sat down with him on her lap.
Victoria shifted guiltily in the chair, all too conscious of Connor hovering anxiously behind her. “Dylan has been a little crabby for a couple of days.”
Connor came closer and scowled. “You never let me know.”
“I thought he was missing his parents,” she said defensively.
“He’d certainly notice that,” Chuck said. “So two days? That’s how long he’s been crabby?”
Victoria thought back to how demanding the baby had been over the weekend, how only holding him had settled him. “Maybe a little longer—from Friday perhaps. The funeral was on Thursday and he seemed fine then. But I can’t say for sure.”
Chuck made a note on the pad in front of him. “Did you notice anything else?”
“Li called me at work earlier. Dylan had a temperature and—”
“Who is Li?” Connor paced closer.
Victoria shrank into the chair. “She’s one of the caregivers in the day care center.”
“Day care center? What’s Dylan doing in a day care center?” Connor’s eyes glittered with the kind of rage she’d never seen. “We’ve never discussed putting Dylan in a day care center.”
Chuck held up a hand. “Connor, save it for later. Let’s see what’s wrong with the baby first.” The doctor rose to his feet and crossed the room to an examining couch. He gave Victoria a sympathetic smile. “Why don’t you bring Dylan here?”
Victoria felt totally wretched as she laid Dylan down on the bed. Every doubt she’d ever had about mothering crashed in on her. “I’m not doing a good job, am I?”
“You’re doing just fine. Most new mothers feel a little frazzled and uncertain when their baby becomes ill.”
He asked some more questions while he examined Dylan. Finally he said, “Have you ever had chicken pox, Victoria?”
“Chicken pox? That’s what Dylan has?”
“Certainly looks like it. It’s not common for such young babies to get chicken pox, but it does happen, and the symptoms fit—the temperature, not drinking … and see here?”
She stared down to where he pointed to a small pink dot on Dylan’s chest. “And here.” He indicated another spot, this one with a small scab.
“I saw that—I thought it was an insect bite. But shouldn’t there be more spots?”
“Not necessarily. Some cases only have a few spots here and there.”
Lifting her head, she said, “But I thought chicken pox spots were watery blisters.”
“That one,” he gestured to the pink dot, “will blister soon. Then it will scab over.”
Victoria stared at Chuck, conscious of an overwhelming sense of relief. Dylan wasn’t going to die. It wasn’t scarlet fever or convulsions or some incurable disease. “He’ll be all right, won’t he?”
“Plenty of fluids, calamine lotion and cool baths. I’ll prescribe some acetaminophen for Dylan and a mild sedative for you. Is there anyone to help you with the baby? He’ll need to stay home for a week. And you need some rest.”
Oh, no. She gave a groan. “I need to go to work.”
“I’ll give you a note.”
What would Bridget and the rest of the partners say? “I can’t, I’ve taken too