Chapter 3 - A Mother’s Hollow Hands
The radiator in the hallway of 412 Elm Street had been banging like a sledgehammer for three winters.
Naen climbed the narrow, dimly lit stairwell, her thighs burning with every step.
The peeling wallpaper smelled of boiled cabbage, damp insulation, and stale cigarette smoke.
She had her coat zipped to her chin to hide the bloodstains from the neighbors.
She paused outside Apartment 3B, taking three deep breaths to steady her racing heart.
She wiped her wet face with her damp coat sleeve.
She could not let Leo see her crying.
She unlocked the hollow wooden door with a soft click.
Inside, the one-room studio was dark except for the dull blue glow of a portable space heater in the corner.
Sitting on an overturned plastic milk crate was Mrs. Gable, a retired seamstress with swollen knuckles and kind, tired eyes.
On the pull-out couch, five-year-old Leo was curled into a tight ball beneath a mountain of mismatched blankets.
His small face was flushed dark pink, and his breathing came in short, raspy wheezes.
Mrs. Gable stood up stiffly, wincing as her arthritic knees popped.
“How is he?” Naen whispered, crossing the room on her toes.
“The fever went up to a hundred and three about an hour ago,” the old woman whispered back, handing Naen a damp washcloth.
“He wouldn't take any water.”
“Kept pulling at his left ear and crying for you.”
Naen sat on the edge of the mattress and laid the back of her cold hand against her son’s forehead.
The skin burned against her fingers like an iron skillet.
Leo stirred weakly, his swollen eyelids fluttering open.
“Mama?”
His voice was a dry, broken squeak that shattered Naen’s heart into dust.
“I’m right here, baby.”
She smoothed his sweat-soaked hair away from his temples.
“Mama’s home.”
“My ear is buzzing, Mama.”
Tears leaked from the corners of his shut eyes.
“It hurts really bad.”
“I know, sweetheart.”
She kissed his hot cheek.
“I’m going down to the pharmacy to get the medicine right now.”
“The pink medicine that tastes like strawberries.”
“It’s going to make the buzzing stop, I promise.”
Leo curled back into the blankets, whimpering softly as he drifted back into feverish sleep.
Naen stood up and reached into her pocket, pulling out the damp envelope Kesler had thrown onto the floor.
She pulled out twenty dollars from her purse—the last of her emergency cash—and handed it to Mrs. Gable.
“Thank you for staying late, Martha.”
The old woman looked down at the twenty-dollar bill, then gently pushed it back into Naen’s hand.
“Keep it, child.”
“Go buy the boy his medicine.”
“I’ll sit with him until you get back.”
Naen choked back a fresh wave of tears and squeezed the old woman’s frail hands.
“I won't forget this, Martha.”
She grabbed the paycheck, tucked her phone into her pocket even though it was useless, and dashed back out into the rain.
The 24-hour Walgreens was four blocks away, its bright red neon beacon glowing through the freezing mist.
She pushed through the automatic sliding doors, shivering uncontrollably under the bright fluorescent ceiling lights.
The warmth inside made her skin prickle with pain.
She walked straight to the pharmacy counter in the back.
The clerk on duty, a middle-aged woman with glasses hanging from a chain, looked up from a computer monitor.
“Can I help you?”
“Yes, please.”
Naen laid the crumpled prescription paper on the counter, along with the brown company check.
“I need to fill this prescription for amoxicillin for my son.”
“And I need to cash this paycheck to pay for it.”
The clerk picked up the prescription slip first.
“We have the suspension in stock.”
“That will be twenty-two dollars with your copay, or eighty-five without insurance.”
“I don't have insurance,” Naen said quietly.
“That's fine, I have my paycheck right here.”
The clerk picked up the check David Kesler had given her.
She typed the routing number into her terminal and tapped the enter key.
The machine gave three sharp, angry beeps.
The clerk’s eyebrows pulled together.
She tried again.
Three more beeps.
“Ma’am, this check is showing a stop-payment hold.”
Naen felt the floor tilt beneath her feet.
“What?”
“A stop-payment.”
The clerk turned the monitor slightly toward her.
“The issuing company, Laura Hospitality Group, placed a fraud alert on this check sequence twenty minutes ago.”
“The funds are locked.”
“No, no, that’s impossible!”
Naen grabbed the edge of the counter, her knuckles turning bone white.
“That’s my paycheck!”
“I worked forty hours for that money!”
“The manager just signed it an hour ago!”
“I’m sorry, ma’am.”
The clerk slid the check back across the laminate counter.
“Our system will not clear a flagged check.”
“If I process this, it comes out of my drawer.”
“Please, you don’t understand!”
Naen’s voice cracked, rising in pitch until several late-night shoppers turned to stare.
“My five-year-old is at home with a hundred-and-three fever!”
“His ear is infected!”
“He needs this bottle tonight!”
“Do you have a credit card?” the clerk asked, her tone hardening under the defensive reflex of retail workers.
“Or cash?”
Naen frantically emptied her purse onto the counter.
Old receipts, a broken hair clip, loose pennies, and the crumpled twenty-dollar bill Mrs. Gable had returned.
She counted it twice with trembling fingers.
Twenty-four dollars and sixty cents.
The medicine without insurance was eighty-five dollars.
“Can you give me half the bottle?” Naen begged, tears streaming openly down her face now.
“Just three days’ worth until the bank opens tomorrow morning?”
“This is an antibiotic, ma’am.”
The pharmacist stepped up beside the clerk, shaking his head.
“We cannot dispense partial courses.”
“It’s against federal regulations.”
“He is five years old!”
Naen cried out, hitting the counter with her flat hand.
“He is in agony right now!”
“If you cause a scene, I will be forced to call security,” the pharmacist said coldly, pointing toward the front doors.
“There is a county free clinic twelve blocks north on Henderson.”
“They have a charity dispensary.”
“Go there.”
Naen looked at the medicine bottle sitting on the high shelf behind them.
A small plastic bottle of pink liquid that cost three dollars to manufacture.
A bottle standing between her son and permanent hearing damage.
For a split second, the wild urge to leap over the counter and seize it flared in her chest.
Then she saw the security guard near the cosmetics aisle taking two heavy steps in her direction.
If she went to jail, Leo would be alone in that freezing apartment.
She swept her loose coins back into her bag with shaking hands.
May you like
“God forgive you,” she whispered to the pharmacist.
She grabbed the useless paycheck and ran back out into the freezing night.
