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Sometimes she was too busy showing him the inside of her nose on the video screen.
He never missed a call.
Not once.
On the final Thursday before he came home for good, Emma got a fever.
Not terrible.
But enough to make her glassy-eyed and clingy.
Rachel was at my house when it happened.
I reached for the thermometer.
Rachel reached for Emma.
Then stopped.
She looked at me.
“May I?”
That question.
Still asking.
Still respecting the invisible lines.
I nodded.
Rachel gathered Emma gently into her lap.
Emma curled into her without hesitation.
“Nana,” she mumbled.
“I’m here,” I said, sitting beside them.
“Daddy?”
“We’ll call him.”
Rachel held the cool cloth against Emma’s forehead while I called Jackson.
He answered on the first ring.
“What happened?”
“Low fever,” I said. “She’s okay.”
“I’m leaving.”
“No, you’re not. You have your final evaluation in the morning.”
“Martha—”
“Jackson, listen to me. She is safe. I am here. Rachel is here.”
Silence.
Then his voice lowered.
“Rachel is there?”
“Yes.”
More silence.
“Put me on speaker.”
I did.
Rachel looked terrified.
“Jack,” she said, “her temperature is 100.8. She drank some water. No rash. Breathing is normal. She’s sleepy but responsive. I wrote down the time.”
Jackson did not speak for a moment.
Then he said, “Good.”
Rachel’s face changed.
One word.
Good.
From him, it was a medal.
Emma lifted her head weakly.
“Daddy?”
“Hi, Bug.”
“I’m hot.”
“I know. Nana and Rachel are helping you.”
“Come home?”
His face on the little screen crumpled.
“Tomorrow, baby. I’ll be there tomorrow.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
Rachel looked down.
Her mouth trembled.
After the call, she stayed until Emma fell asleep.
Then she gathered her things.
At the door, she turned to me.
“Thank you for not hating me forever.”