Little Miss Maisy; Deleted Scenes

Throwbacks: 15-16

Fifteen:

Another Cold

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"Come on, not even fruit snacks?" Miles cocked his head at Maisy, wondering what could be wrong with her. What child refuses fruit snacks?

The good ones, too!

"You really don't want a snack?" Miles was so confused. He wouldn't let up a chance for a snack, even as a (technically) adult. Even if he doesn't always act like one.

Maisy just shook her head no and rested her head down on the table, not even verbally answering her brother.

"You feelin' alright, Mais?" Miles' tone changed slightly, still his usual friendliness but with the smallest parental edge.

She only shrugged at his question, tracing little lines onto the table with her fingertip. She didn't really know what was wrong.

"You know what, sit tight for a minute." Miles got up from the table and jogged upstairs to go look for the little first aid kit they have hidden in a cabinet somewhere. And Maisy, well, she didn't even bat an eyelash.

Miles dug through all the junk in their cabinet, racking his brain and trying to remember which one the thermometer was in. Jeez, for how organized the cabinets are, everything is sure hard to find.

"Aha!" Miles grabbed it out of the bag, pressing the button to make sure it worked. He really didn't want to use the one that goes underneath the tongue, he had a hunch Maisy wouldn't like that one.

"Mais?" He called her name as he jogged back down the stairs, making sure she was still okay.

When he reentered the kitchen, Maisy was exactly where he had left her.

You see, you can just tell when a young child is sick. Flushed cheeks, not hungry, quiet behavior, continuously resting their heads down. It's just . . . Out of the ordinary.

"Can you sit up for me, sweetheart?" Miles motioned for her to lift her head off of the table, even if it caused Maisy to give him a protesting pout.

"I know, but it'll only take a second, love." Miles sat on the chair next to her, understanding the look of disgust on her face. But he still needed to make sure.

After sticking it in her ear, and a long couple of seconds while they waited for it to calculate everything, Miles' suspicions were confirmed. A low-grade fever, nothing too serious.

"Oh boy . . ." Miles' eyes lingered on the numbers, knowing what that meant. He had to let one of the adults of their family know. Well—Either Beau or Cassidy.

"Why don't you go hang out in the living room, yeah? I'll be right in there." Miles reached out and rubbed her shoulder, hoping she was doing alright.

Maisy reluctantly climbed down from the chair, stalking off to the living room. Really, she would feel sucky no matter where she is.

Once she was out of the room, Miles made a quick phone call to Beau. Just explaining what was wrong, and that he has everything under control.