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several times that night, but I couldn’t bring myself to answer the phone, so she took it on herself to come by around seven. She let herself in the front door and walked right into my bedroom. Charlotte was in the living room watching television. I was lying in my bed with the night-table lamp still on. I’m certain that my face was as puffy as a bag of marshmallows.
    â€œOh, baby,” she said when she saw me. She sat on the bed next to me, her legs dangling from the side. “Are you okay?”
    â€œI made him leave,” I said hoarsely.
    â€œOf course you did.”
    â€œCharlotte was so upset.”
    â€œYou did the right thing.”
    â€œCharlotte’s still sick.”
    Roxanne shook her head. “Baby, when it rains it pours. That’s why you got me. I’m your umbrella and your galoshes.” She gently ran her hand over my cheek. “I called Ray and told him I wouldn’t be home tonight. What have you got for dinner?”
    â€œI’m not hungry. Charlotte . . .”
    â€œDon’t worry about a thing, I’ll make Charlotte a grilledcheese, she loves those. Then I’ll give her a bath and get her ready for bed. You just rest.” She slid from the bed.
    â€œRox.”
    â€œYeah, baby.”
    â€œThank you.”
    â€œWhatever I can do, baby. That’s what I do, whatever I can do.”

We still don’t know what’s wrong with Charlotte. I’d like to cry a swimming pool, but then I’d probably drown myself in it.
    Beth Cardall’s Diary
    Roxanne stayed until midnight, maybe later, I’m not sure. She was there when I fell asleep. Charlotte slept in my bed with me. The next morning felt dark, even though there were finally blue skies. I felt like I had woken with a bag of concrete on my chest.
    It was Valentine’s Day, which felt like a cruel, cosmic joke. I couldn’t imagine a greater irony. I rolled over and held Charlotte. She woke an hour or so later. I could see in her face that she still felt sick.
    Roxanne had come in after Charlotte’s bath and asked about a rash she’d found on her legs. The rash was something new. Oddly it gave me hope. Perhaps it might be a clue to what was wrong.
    â€œI want Daddy,” Charlotte said.
    â€œI know.” My eyes watered. “But will you be my Valentine?”
    â€œAnd Daddy’s.”
    I rubbed her cheek. “Do you still feel sick?”
    â€œYes.”
    I sighed. “I guess we’re going to see some doctors today.”
    A half-hour later I forced myself out of bed. I wasn’t hungry,but I hadn’t eaten since lunch the day before and felt weak, so I made myself some coffee and toast, then got myself ready. As I put on my makeup, I started to cry again. I felt like I could cry a swimming pool. But I felt stronger than I had last night and stopped myself. I didn’t have the luxury of collapse. Charlotte needed me.
    I finished my makeup, doing my best to disguise my puffy eyes, then walked back into my bedroom to find that Charlotte had fallen back asleep. I woke her again, dressed her, then carried her out to the kitchen and made her cinnamon toast for breakfast. She didn’t want to eat, but I insisted. She had already lost too much weight for me to let her skip meals. Then I drove her up to Primary Children’s Medical Center. We sat in the waiting room for more than an hour before a nurse took us back to an examination room.
    â€œHow long has”—she looked down at the chart for a name—“Charlotte been ill?”
    â€œSince Thursday. But I think she’s been losing weight for the last few weeks.”
    â€œIs this the first time you’ve seen someone about it?”
    â€œNo, I saw my doctor a couple days ago. He told me to come see you if she hadn’t improved by now.”
    â€œCould you go over the symptoms for me?”
    â€œShe’s had an upset stomach with vomiting and diarrhea