Jonathan
Here come the screams again.
The whining.
Sally starts throwing everything onto the floor, and her brother Max mimics her while little Tom wails at the top of his lungs from his high chair.
I close my eyes.
I count to 10.
Then to 100.
—“Sally, sweetheart. Don’t do that,” I plead in a whisper.
—“Bad Daddy!” If only my daughter knew that every time she says that, it’s like a dagger straight to my heart.
—“Sweetie, please.”
—“No!”
We don’t know how long we’ll last in this place, so everything is still packed in boxes, including the toys. Sally hates having her toys stored away.
I get up when I see my little girl’s face turn red from crying. I grab the box, open it, and let the toys spill onto the floor. Almost instantly, her sobs start to fade, though her little chest still heaves with hiccups.
—“I’m sorry, my love. I’m sorry for being bad.” I kneel down, hugging my daughter as she rests her tiny head on my shoulder. “Do you want something to eat?” She nods. “Cereal?” She pulls back, looks into my eyes, and touches my cheeks with her small hands.
—“Daddy’s not bad.”
—“Thank you.” I smile as she kisses my cheek before running off to her toys.
Tom starts squirming, wanting to be on the floor. I pick him up and set him down with his siblings, who are now playing with their toys.
I haven’t been able to find a job—or rather, I haven’t been able to look for one because I have no one to leave my kids with.
I don’t know anyone in this city, and I can’t trust just anyone to take care of them. Plus, my kids are so particular—they don’t let strangers get close to them.
Even back in our small town, my parents and siblings struggled to connect with them.
That’s why I can’t afford to leave them with just anyone.
I need to do something. My money is running out, and I can’t keep relying on my family back in the town to send me cash.
My parents run a small farm, and my brothers help out there, but they also take on other jobs like construction and ranching. They each have their own families, and I can’t keep asking them for money.
My savings are dwindling, and moving from place to place has drained my funds even faster.
I rub my forehead. We just got to this place, and we’re already having issues with the neighbors—especially the building superintendent, a man who seems to despise children.
—“Daddy, Max is hot.” I jump up at my daughter’s words and, when I pick up my son, I realize he’s burning with fever.
—“Oh my God, you’re on fire.”
Max’s cheeks are flushed, and his little eyes look dull.
I thought it was just from crying.
I start pacing back and forth, unsure of what to do. My kids have been sick before, but I always had my parents by my side to help. This is the first time I’m dealing with it completely on my own.
I give him the syrup I have on hand and lay him down on our bed.
Should I bathe him?
I start undressing him, but Max breaks into uncontrollable sobs. I quickly dress him again and decide to take him to the ER.
I grab the diaper bag, my wallet, the stroller, and the baby carrier.
I put Tom in the carrier, Max in the stroller, and carry the kids’ stuff.
We head down in the elevator and catch a taxi. Max won’t stop crying, and now Tom has started whimpering, clearly scared.
God, please let it be nothing serious.
We arrive at the hospital, and I get out with my kids, frantic. Sometimes I can’t manage the stroller, the carrier, and the bag all at once, and I end up tripping.
—“Sir, you can’t bring children into the hospital.”
—“My son, he has a fever.” A nurse approaches, looks at Max, touches him, and picks him up. Max starts squirming, trying to break free from her arms, crying even louder. I follow the nurse, who ignores my son’s tantrum.
—“You know bringing kids here can expose them to viruses. It’s dangerous.”
—“I’m sorry, I didn’t have anyone to leave them with,” I say, my voice filled with anguish.
—“Where’s their mother?”
—“Dead,” Sally answers for me, and immediately the nurse’s expression softens.
—“I’m so sorry. Come, sit down, and I’ll take care of the boy.”
—“He…” My voice fades, on the verge of breaking down. “He doesn’t like strangers.”
—“Then stay close while I get the doctor.” I nod and approach my little boy, whose face is covered in tears. He raises his tiny hands for me to pick him up.
I’ve got Tom in my arms, so it’s hard to hold Max too. I lean in close and soothe him. Sally looks around nervously, and my youngest has started crying, seeing his brother upset.
—“What a racket,” a woman says as she enters the cubicle. “What’s going on?”
—“My son, he’s sick.” She looks me up and down, and her expression shifts.
—“Their mother?”
—“He’s a widower, Doctor,” the nurse interjects. I want to roll my eyes at the woman’s sudden smile. She apologizes and begins examining my son.
Both Tom and Max quiet down. The doctor orders some tests while we wait, seated on a chair next to the bed.
I have my two kids sitting on each of my legs, and Max, on the bed, has fallen asleep after being given medication. His fever has gone down.
My little ones have dozed off on me. I lean back in the chair, trying to get more comfortable, but it’s impossible. I’m pretty tall and broad, and my backside barely fits.
On the bright side, several nurses have been attentive to my kids, bringing them gelatin, which they love. They ignore the fruit but eat the pudding.
—“Mr. Smith,” the doctor says, pulling back the curtain as she enters the cubicle.
—“Doctor.” I try to move to greet her, but it’s impossible.
—“Don’t worry, I just came to tell you the results are in.”
—“What’s wrong with my son?”
—“It’s a viral infection, but what concerns me is his low weight and weak immune system.”
—“I’m sorry, Doctor.” I lower my gaze, unable to meet her eyes. “My son has taken his mother’s death really hard.”
—“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she says, her tone softening. “Let me prescribe some vitamins, and with the medicine we’re giving him, he’ll be fine.”
—“Thank you.”
—“You have beautiful children,” she says with a sigh, looking me up and down. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to let me know.” I press my lips together at her suggestive tone. “Anything at all.” She winks before saying goodbye.
—“Daddy?”
—“Yes, sweetheart?” I look down as Sally rubs her eyes with her little hands.
—“You owe a penny to the jar.”
—“Why’s that?”
—“You lied,” she says in her tiny voice, looking into my eyes. “My brother isn’t like this because of Mommy. He doesn’t even remember her.”
—“Sally.”
—“Lying is bad. You said so yourself.”
—“Yes, I’m sorry… I…”
—“It’s okay, just pay the jar,” she whispers, closing her eyes and resting her head on my shoulder again.
I let out a deep sigh. I wasn’t ready for the doctor to point out what a terrible, neglectful father I am to my kids.
I need to feed them better, but first, I need to find a place to live and a daycare to help me out.