I didn’t notice the eerily quiet house when I got home. With Faulkner to read for English and my dress to work on, I grabbed a PowerBar and a vitaminwater and headed up to my room. My mom, believing it was important for Leira to get fresh air and be exposed to external stimuli, often took her on afternoon outings. When it got to be dinnertime and there were still no sounds in the house, I got suspicious and checked my — oops — dead cell phone. I plugged it in and, once it had a little juice, discovered I had three texts from my mom, all of them telling me to call her ASAP. The last ASAP had been two hours ago. Oops again.

“Hey, Mom, what’s up?”

“I don’t want to alarm you, but it’s Leira.”

“Why? What happened?”

“We had to take her to the emergency room. She was running a fever.”

“Is she OK?”

“They suspect an infection. Possibly pneumonia. The good news is that she’s stable now.”

“There’s bad news?”

“They admitted her, and she’s back on a ventilator. Her compromised lungs aren’t quite getting the job done.”

Of course it had to be lung related. It led me to fear that Leira — because of her special selkie ancestry — was never intended to have lungs. That her long-term prognosis on earth, even should I be successful in thwarting Marik, wasn’t good.

“Should I come to the hospital?” I asked.

Even through the phone, I could hear her release of pent-up air. “I don’t think so. It’s late. There’s nothing to be done here. I’ve even talked Stanley into going home; he has an early lecture. If she takes a turn for the worse, I’ll have Stanley wake you. But if she’s holding or improving, you should go to school, and then we’ll see what’s to be done tomorrow.”

“I don’t feel right carrying on if Leira is sick,” I said.

Following a couple more rounds of my mom and me debating this, I finally agreed to stay put. I had spent enough time at the hospital over the summer to know that the night shift was long and tedious.

Immediately after hanging up with my mom, I phoned Jack. It was an entirely spontaneous response, as reflexive as covering a yawn.

“I’m coming over,” he said, after hearing the latest.

“It’s late,” I said, sounding scarily like my mom. “Besides, you know the rule.” It was a stupid one, but Jack wasn’t allowed over unless my mom or Stanley were home.

“It’s an emergency situation, though. Martial law, right?”

“I’m not sure that applies when the emergency’s someone else’s,” I said.

“Well, then, we’ll make it a covert op.”

This disobedient side wasn’t like him. I kind of liked it. And I definitely liked the burly quality to his voice. I went all tingly just thinking about how, in person, he’d follow that up.

About twenty minutes later, as I finished a plate of cheese and crackers, I got what I was secretly hoping for: the real Jack, husky voice and all.

“Did anyone see you?” I asked, looking both left and right down the street.

“No. And I parked a block away.”

I pulled him inside quickly. Responding to my urgency, he backed me up against the front door and kissed me. I knew I should be thinking about Leira and all that she was going through. I also knew that Stanley was due home anytime. But with Jack’s mouth on mine and his strong hands raking through my hair, kneading my shoulders, and sliding down my back, every concern of mine spiraled away like water rushing down a whirlpool. And, yes, the tingles were back.

“Now tell me about Leira,” he said after pulling away and straightening my shirt with a swift tug.

With the abrupt separation, the worries his kiss had temporarily dispelled returned. As I parted my lips, intending to update him on her medical condition, what spilled forth was, instead, a sob followed by a sheet of tears washing down my face.

“Hey, there. It’s OK,” he said, folding me into his arms.

We stood there for a long time while I struggled to get a handle on my emotions. I sensed the frailty of so many things at that moment: of Leira’s hold on this world, of my own abilities, of the all-is-well façade I’d been faking since our return from Iceland, Greenland, and beyond.

“What can I do?” he asked.

“Nothing, but I’m glad you’re here. It does help.”

“I knew it.”

“Knew what?”

“That you needed me. You put up a tough front. Anyone else would be fooled.”

I gulped. Was he onto me? Did he know more than he was saying? If so, how much? Everything? I panicked momentarily but then thought of how Marik amused him. If he really knew, Marik would not amuse him. Just the opposite, in fact.

“But I can be tough, too,” he continued. “And behind that front, I got your back. Remember that.”

“I will,” I replied.

Jack led me upstairs to my room, where we lay on my bed simply holding each other. Once I had calmed down and my nose was all snotted out and my face looked like it had been used as a punching bag, he, rather diplomatically, segued into lighter subjects: my affinity for purple décor, my fondness for feather boas, and my overuse — in his opinion — of throw pillows. I demonstrated their multi-functionality by smacking him upside the head with a beaded one, after which we tumbled into a ticklefest. And I was back. Restored. Reinvigorated. Reminded of our bond.

Shortly thereafter, I heard Stanley knocking about the kitchen. I decided — based on the volume of his bangs — that he was not in the mood for company, not mine and certainly not rule-breaking Jack’s. We tiptoed down the front steps, avoiding the second-from-the-bottom creaker. I watched Jack slip out the front door as Stanley clattered pots and pans in the kitchen, presumably rustling himself up a late supper. Making my way back to my room, I pitied him. It must have been even more painful for him than it was for me, that Leira’s first few months of life were so difficult.