Free Toxin by Robin Cook Page B

home.”
    Neither Becky nor Ginger responded.
    â€œDamn!” Ginger exclaimed. “This thing is a piece of trash.”
    â€œWhat’s the trouble?” Kim asked as he stepped over to Ginger. Ginger had abandoned her efforts with the can opener and had her hands on her hips. She looked exasperated.
    â€œI can’t get this can open,” she said petulantly.
    â€œI’ll do it,” Kim said. He picked up the can, but before putting it under the opener, he looked at the label. “What is this?” he questioned.
    â€œIt’s chicken broth just like it says,” Ginger replied.
    â€œWhat are you doing with chicken broth at nine o’clock in the morning?” Kim questioned.
    â€œIt’s for Becky,” Ginger said. “My mother always gave me chicken broth when I had the runs.”
    â€œI told her I wasn’t hungry,” Becky called from the couch.
    â€œMy mother knew what she was doing,” Ginger said.
    Kim put the can of broth back on the counter and walked around the central island and into the family room. When he got to the couch, he put his hand on Becky’s forehead. Becky moved her head to try to keep the TV in view.
    â€œFeeling any better?” Kim asked. She felt warm, buthe thought it might have been because his hand was cold.
    â€œAbout the same,” Becky said. “And I don’t want anything to eat. It makes my cramps worse.”
    â€œShe’s got to eat,” Ginger said. “She didn’t eat much dinner.”
    â€œIf her body is telling her not to eat, she shouldn’t eat,” Kim said.
    â€œBut she threw up,” Ginger added.
    â€œIs that right, Becky?” Kim asked. Vomiting was a new symptom.
    â€œJust a little,” Becky admitted.
    â€œMaybe she should be seen by a doctor,” Ginger said.
    â€œAnd what do you think I am?” Kim responded hotly.
    â€œYou know what I mean,” Ginger said. “You’re the best cardiac surgeon in the world, but you don’t have much chance to deal with children’s tummies.”
    â€œWhy don’t you go upstairs and get me a thermometer,” Kim said to Ginger.
    â€œWhere would I find it?” Ginger asked agreeably.
    â€œIn the master bath,” Kim said. “The top drawer on the right.”
    â€œHow about your cramps?” Kim asked.
    â€œI still get them,” Becky admitted.
    â€œAre they any worse?”
    â€œAbout the same,” Becky said. “They come and go.”
    â€œWhat about your diarrhea?” Kim asked.
    â€œDo we have to talk about this?” Becky asked. “I mean, it’s like embarrassing.”
    â€œOkay, Pumpkin,” Kim said. “I’m sure you’ll be feeling your old self again in a few hours. But what about eating?”
    â€œI’m not hungry,” Becky said.
    â€œOkay,” Kim said. “Just let me know when you want something.”
    Â 
    I t was dark by the time Kim turned into Tracy’s street and pulled to the curb at the base of her lawn. He got out and went around to the passenger side to open Becky’s door. Becky had herself wrapped up inside a blanket so that it formed a hood over the top of her head.
    Kim helped his daughter out of the car and up the walkway to the front door. She’d spent the entire day on the family-room couch in front of the TV. Kim rang the bell and waited. Tracy opened it and started to say hello to her daughter. She stopped in midsentence and frowned.
    â€œWhat’s the blanket for?” she asked. Her eyes shot to Kim for an explanation and then back to Becky. “Come in!”
    Becky stepped inside. Kim followed. Tracy closed the door.
    â€œWhat’s going on?” Tracy asked. She turned back the edge of the blanket from Becky’s face. “You’re pale. Are you sick?”
    Single tears formed in the corners of Becky’s eyes. Tracy saw them and immediately enveloped her daughter