Wildest Dreams. Робин КаррЧитать онлайн книгу.
young man she’d loved when she was in high school. The young man who had played rugby, graduated with honors, had a fancy family name and dated Lin Su for months. His parents were friendly with hers; Marilyn Simmons greatly admired the boy’s mother and was thrilled that they were dating. She whispered that it spoke well of them that they could accept an Asian girl as their son’s choice.
But when she had told him she was pregnant, he had said, “Sorry, baby, but I’m going to Princeton.”
She was standing on the deck with Winnie when she heard talking and laughter coming from the house next door, but there was no one on the deck. Winnie was sitting at the outdoor table enjoying the sunshine while she played solitaire to try to keep her fingers nimble. Lin Su looked over the deck rail and saw that Charlie was balanced atop one of Blake’s bikes while Blake appeared to be tightening something on the wheel. Then Blake stood up and Charlie took off down the beach road.
Like a bat out of hell.
Lin Su gasped. Her son flew on that bike. Flew as though he was racing!
“Winnie, will you be all right for a moment? I should talk to Mr. Smiley about Charlie riding.”
“I’ll be fine,” she said. “I’m not going anyplace.”
“I’ll be right back,” Lin Su said, heading for the stairs to the beach. By the time she got to where Blake stood on the road, Charlie was out of sight across the beach.
“Mr. Smiley, it’s so nice of you to let Charlie have a turn on your bicycle. But maybe that’s not such a good idea.”
“It’s Blake. And why is that, Lin Su?”
“For one thing, it’s a very expensive bicycle. At least, that’s what Charlie tells me.”
“It is. It’s not my primary bike.” He tossed a tool in his open toolbox. “He’s safe. He’s wearing a helmet. We talked about the rules of the road and he understands.”
“Did Charlie happen to mention—he has asthma?”
“No. Is he on medication?”
“Yes.”
“Does he have an inhaler?”
“He’s supposed to have it with him at all times. And sometimes exertion brings on his asthma.”
Blake gave a little shrug. “Then if he gets winded, I guess he’ll stop.”
“Where is he going?”
“I have no idea, Lin Su. I told him not to be gone long. He really likes that bike. He’ll probably ride around awhile.”
“He could get too far away!” she said.
Blake wiped his hands on a rag and contemplated her. “He’s a big boy. He knows how to manage his asthma, doesn’t he?”
“Sometimes he’s not as careful as he should be!” she said emphatically.
Blake dropped a casual arm over her shoulders and turned her in the direction of the town across the bay. He pointed. “See that building over there?”
“Which building?” she asked.
“The one that says Clinic on the sign. If he has an asthma attack, this is a good place to have one. But I bet he doesn’t. You know why? Because I bet he doesn’t like asthma much and he’s fourteen—it probably embarrasses him. Don’t worry. In a few minutes he’ll either come riding across the beach at breakneck speed or he’ll be flushed and walking the bike.”
“You’re a little too casual about this for my tastes, Mr. Smiley. You don’t seem to understand how difficult something like this can be. And I’m the parent here—I’m a nurse, a mother and very well acquainted with Charlie’s condition.”
He took a deep breath and frowned. “Lin Su, my name is Blake not Mr. Smiley. As far as I know there is no Mr. Smiley. And I take things like this very seriously. At the end of the day it could be more beneficial to Charlie to have respect for the asthma, work with it, refuse to let it stop him and get to know his body if he doesn’t already. Being overprotective isn’t going to help. Knowledge helps. Fear doesn’t.”
Lin Su felt her hackles rise. She wanted to take him down. She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. “Fantastic little lecture, Mr. Smiley. You should do a TED Talk someday. You have no idea what it was like sitting up through the night when he was three years old, doing breathing treatments every couple of hours, holding him while he strained to get a breath, watching him get that blue tinge, putting him in the ambulance. He has to be cautious!”
She saw what clearly looked like sympathy come into his gaze. “You must have been terrified,” he said. “The good news is, he isn’t three anymore.”
Lin Su’s anger grew even though Blake’s voice was gentle.
“Ah, there he is,” Blake said. “He’s really moving.”
Charlie was speeding, head down, peddling madly. He slowed as he came upon them, his grin wide as the sky. He had his mother’s perfect, straight white teeth.
“That was awesome,” he said to Blake. He was huffing and puffing a little. “Mom, what are you doing here? Winnie all right?”
“She’s fine. Are you having trouble catching your breath?” Lin Su asked.
“I’m winded,” he said. “I rode hard. Not long, though. I’ll be fine in a second.”
“Do you need your inhaler?”
“Mom,” he said. “I’m fine.” But then he coughed.
“Charlie, I don’t want you...”
“Charlie, do you have any major plans for that laptop of yours for tonight?” Blake asked, cutting her off.
Charlie shrugged. “No, why?”
“I think you should research famous athletes with asthma,” Blake said. “You’ll run across some familiar names and get some good ideas.”
* * *
Charlie coughed on and off through the rest of the afternoon and because of that Grace offered to settle her mother in for the night so Lin Su could take her son home. On the way home she lightly berated him. “You shouldn’t have taken the hard ride. A long walk or a ride on a paddleboard is one thing—a burst of exercise could haunt you.”
“It’s not an asthma attack. Trust me, I’d know.” He coughed again. “It’ll pass.”
“We’ll do a breathing treatment,” she said.
“I’ll do it,” Charlie said. “I just wish you liked him. Because he’s a good guy.”
“Mr. Smiley?” she asked, though of course she knew. “I like him fine. He was being very neighborly, loaning you the bike for a ride. But he didn’t know about the asthma. That’s your responsibility, Charlie.”
“Then let me have it,” he said tersely.
Mr. Smiley, she found herself thinking, is going to be a problem. He was encouraging this free thinking, letting Charlie learn from his consequences, and he didn’t understand that in Charlie’s case the consequences could be fatal.
Well, probably not, she relented. Worst case, a manageable asthma attack, relieved by a nebulizer and maybe some oxygen. But she was suddenly desperate that Charlie listen first to her.
“It’s not going to kill me, you know,” Charlie said as if reading her mind. “Sometimes I have a little breathing thing, not very often. I haven’t had one of these in a long time.”
“May,” she said. “When everything was in bloom. And it got a little dicey.”
“Because it turned into a cold. This could be just a cold, you know. I felt a little stuffy before I took the bike out.”