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“Reception told me. He’s eight-oh-three.”
“Oh. The boy with the asthma?”
I nodded.
“They’re friends of yours?”
“Yes.”
She clucked her tongue in that disapproving way I’d grown used to as a child.
I sighed. “What, Mom?”
She shook her head. “Nothing. But you always did pick the strays as a child. Nothing seems to have changed as an adult. That family looks like they came in off the streets.”
“They did. I drove them here from the homeless shelter. Was that wrong? Should I have left him to die in a gutter somewhere?”
She scowled at me. “You’re so overly sensitive. I have work to do.”
I shook my head, and she hurried down the hall away from me. I followed, because that was the direction of Daniel’s room, but at a much slower pace, putting some distance between my mother and me.
At the entrance to room 803, I smiled at Daniel propped up in a bed and watching the tiny TV that hung above it. He put a finger to his lips and pointed at his youngest brother, asleep in a stroller, and then at his mom who had her arms folded on the end of her bed, her head down on top of them. She breathed evenly, fast asleep.
“They were real tired,” Daniel informed me as I edged around his two snoozing family members.
“Where’s your other brother?” I questioned.
Daniel pointed to the doorway. “Toby’s out there somewhere. A nurse lady came and took him to play. She said Mom looked like she’d had enough.”
I nodded in understanding. “Hospitals are tough for parents.”
“Especially when you only have a mom.”
I nodded and patted him on the leg. “Especially then. But your mom is a tough one. Don’t you worry about her. You just worry about getting better.”
His eyes drooped and he nodded.
“You tired, too?” I asked him.
“I guess.”
“No one got much sleep last night,” Tammie said softly.
I glanced over at her, cringing apologetically. “Sorry if we woke you.”
She stood and moved to her son’s side, smoothing back his hair as his eyes closed. “You didn’t. Sleep now, baby. Rest.”
Daniel snuggled into the pure-white hospital sheets and drifted off.
Tammie sat back down in the hard plastic chair beside mine and sighed.
I reached over and squeezed her fingers. “You’re doing great.”
But tears filled her eyes. “I’m not, though.” She buried her face in her hands. “I’m so ashamed.”
I grabbed her hands, pulling them away from her face. “Hey, why? You’ve done nothing wrong. The only thing wrong here is your boss for not being flexible enough to give single parents a go, and the abysmal state of our healthcare system which doesn’t protect our most vulnerable.”
She lifted her head with tears rolling down her cheeks. “It’s not just that. I need to go to confession. I’ve done something I’m not proud of.”
