Lucy by Laurence Gonzales Read Free Book Online Page A

God, you’re burning up.”
    “I’m cold.”
    “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”
    “I am in bed.” And Jenny went still with some emotion that she could not quite place. It sounded so odd to hear the girl say that. But why? There was no time to think it over. She had to get her down.
    “Can you climb down? I have to take your temperature.” Lucy didn’t move. “Come on, honey, climb onto my back. I’ll take you down.”
    Jenny managed to get Lucy draped across her shoulder. “That’s it. Hold my neck.” She felt Lucy’s arm come to life and grip her neck. Jenny gingerly picked her way from branch to branch. At the bottom she held Lucy’s arm and led her inside. She urged her up the stairs and into the bed, then pulled the covers up without bothering to undress her.
    By the time Jenny had found the thermometer, Lucy’s temperature was 103 degrees and her teeth were chattering.
    “Am I going to die now?”
    “No, no, of course not. You just picked up a bug.”
    “Bug?”
    “I mean, you must have the flu or something. You’re sick. You’ll get well.” Lucy’s hair was matted with sweat. Her green eyes glistened as she glanced around in fear, fixing on the tree outside the window where birds were calling. “Harry is a doctor. Remember Harry? I’ll call him.”
    “But what about the London Zoo?”
    Jenny assumed that she was delirious. “I’ll be right back. I’ll get ibuprofen. Don’t worry. Try to sleep.”
    Jenny went down the hall to her bedroom to phone the hospital. “Could you page Dr. Prendeville, please?” she asked the nurse. Jenny thought, It was those long airplane rides with all those people breathing one another’s air. But she still felt personally responsible. Harry came on the line at last, and Jenny explained the situation.
    “Over in a flash,” he said, and hung up.
    Jenny waited forty-five minutes for the ibuprofen to take effect, but when she checked Lucy’s temperature again it had gone up to 104. Jenny undressed the girl as gently as she could. Lucy’s body was almost like that of a boy. Fourteen years old, on the cusp of womanhood. Her breasts were small, her belly concave. But her pubic hair, though wispy, was such a dark brown that it appeared almost black. Her limbs were faintly furred with dark hairs and cabled with muscles and veins that contrasted with the soft feminine appearance she had in clothes.
    Jenny wet a washcloth and sponged her all over. Lucy whimpered at the touch of the cold water and shivered violently. But half an hour later her temperature had fallen to 102. Her muscles seemed to convulse now and then as if from a startling dream. Twice she gave a weak cry.
    The doorbell rang, and Jenny hurried to let Harry in. He stood in the doorway for a moment, holding a red motorcycle helmet in his arms with the bearing of a knight. Jenny’s hair was awry, her face flushed and seamed with worry. She wore a sweatshirt that said, “Point Beer: Not Just for Breakfast Anymore,” along with battered old jeans and filthy jogging shoes.
    Harry cracked a smile and observed, “Basic black and a string of pearls. Very elegant. I’d reconsider the shoes, though.” Jenny pulled a face and turned toward the kitchen with a squeak of her heel. Harry put his helmet on the oak island in the middle of the room and sat on one of the stools. He was a tall man in his fifties with salt-and-pepper hair and a sad smile. He looked as if he’d slept in his clothes. A stethoscope dangled out of his jacket pocket. He’d probably forgotten that it was there. But he was the best diagnostician that Jenny had ever met and a kind and thoughtful soul. It was Harry who had helped her to get to Congo in the first place.
    Ever since Jenny was in grade school, she had intended to become a registered nurse. She met Harry while doing an internship after graduating from college. She was twenty-two, and Harry was a passionate doctor in his mid-thirties. He swept her off her feet. He had the