Chapter 3

Linda looked at her cell phone. She bounced Joseph on her shoulder, trying to decide if she should try Danny one more time. No matter how busy the store was, he always answered just in case his jerk of a boss, Vincent, was checking in. It was weird that he wasn’t picking up. Joseph moaned. She rubbed his back, feeling his quick, shallow breaths.

“I know, I know…” she said, bouncing him on her hip while she stuck her cell into the front pocket of her jeans.

Her shoes squeaked on the waxed floor as she walked from the vending machine area back into the waiting area. She laid her cheek against Joseph’s head and cooed. Danny knew how sick Joseph was. He probably wasn’t answering because he was already on his way over, bringing their insurance card. She lifted Joseph higher on her shoulder. The only thing that mattered now was getting a doctor to see Joseph. Fever heat came off him in waves. She bit her lower lip. Danny needed to hurry so they could get Joseph registered and have a doctor see him. But even without insurance, someone was going to have to see Joseph soon. A quick look around the emergency room reception area showed that it was packed with the same people she’d seen when she’d first arrived. She couldn’t help but feel anxious.

Why hadn’t the doctors seen any of these people? What was taking so long?

She stopped in her tracks. A huge woman wearing baby-blue stretch pants was wedged into the seat at the end of the row facing the receptionist’s window. The woman had taken her seat, the seat where she’d put Joseph’s stuffed bear, Mr. Bumbles, before walking over to the vending area to call Danny.

The woman tilted her head back, her eyebrows sliding up on her forehead to give Linda a “what’s your problem?” look before lowering her attention back to her magazine and turning a page.

Linda shifted her gaze to the floor. Mr. Bumbles lay face down about ten feet in front of the woman, next to a trashcan under the receptionist’s window. Walking over to trashcan, Linda smiled at the receptionist and squatted, picking up Mr. Bumbles. She clutched the stuffed bear by one dirty ear and turned to stare at the woman. The woman looked up from her magazine. Linda stepped toward her and held the bear out, drawing the attention of people around the woman.

“That was nice of you to throw my sick baby’s bear on the floor and take my seat,” she said. Waiting a beat, she shook her head. “Oh no, don’t get up. We’ll find another seat—really. But thanks for your help.” She tucked the bear under her arm and walked away as the woman licked a finger and turned a page on her magazine.

Carrying Joseph, her purse, and Mr. Bumbles, Linda searched for an empty seat, but saw nothing available. She walked by rows of dull-faced people, half of them bleeding or slumped over in their seats sleeping. The lights of an ambulance flashed through a window in the back of the room. Under the window, a homeless man was catching some shut eye in the seat nearest the exit door, but there were a couple open seats in the middle of the row. As she sat down, a man a few seats down stood. His right hand was cradled in a blood-soaked towel against his chest. She thought he might be a mechanic or construction worker by the dirt and grease smudged on his face and work clothes. Pale faced, he shook his head and mumbled, “Hope you ain’t in no hurry. Been here three hours and I’ll tell you what, if I’m going to bleed to death, I’ll do it at home.”

She watched him weave his way out of the hospital into the night. Letting out a long sigh, she cradled Joseph against her. It was the same all over. The world was tough and getting tougher for working people.

She settled into her seat, thinking of the story her next-door neighbor, Sheila, told her last night about her husband, Ray, a laid-off steelworker. It had been six or seven years since Ray worked steel. Nearly as long as he’d been working his new job as a cook at Banditos, a Mexican chain restaurant. Ray was solid. Ask him for help and you’d get it with a smile.

But the story Sheila told the other night wasn’t anything to smile about.

Ray had gone downtown the day before to argue a parking ticket he’d gotten for parking in front of a broken meter. After waiting a couple of hours in line at the county courthouse, Sheila said Ray finally made it to the front of the line, only to realize he didn’t have time to argue the ticket if he was going to make it to work. So, he just paid the ticket even though they didn’t have the money to spare. But the worst part, according to Sheila, was when Ray saw a parking enforcement officer walking around the courthouse, chalking tires. Linda remembered how Sheila laughed, describing how Ray must have looked, running toward his car with his big belly bouncing up and down. But, by the time he got to his car, bent over and breathing hard with his hands on his knees, the parking enforcement officer was already walking away, having left a brand-new parking ticket under the windshield wiper.

At that point in the story, Linda could’ve sworn that Sheila’s eyes welled with tears, but it had been hard to tell—Sheila ran inside, saying she had to check on her casserole. It didn’t matter anyhow. Tears or no tears, Ray had parked too long at the meter. Bad things happened when you didn’t pay attention. But with all the misfortune that had buried her and Danny recently, Linda was coming around to the idea that there were lower powers at work. Working people were hamstrung by more than just poor decisions and bad timing. She sat and looked at Joseph, his cheeks blotchy and red, remembering something her grandma used to say.

“Poor people are like crabs in a barrel. Anybody trying to get out of the barrel gets pulled back down by the other crabs. And then there’s always the people that own the barrel to make sure that once you’re in, you stay in. My advice is, never let yourself get thrown in the barrel, ‘cause once you’re in, you’ll have to fight two or three at a time to get out.”

Taking stock of her sweater with its hole in the elbow and her dingy white tennis shoes, a weight filled Linda’s chest. “I think I’m in the barrel Grandma,” she whispered. “Somehow I got thrown in and I never even knew it.”

She looked at the homeless man sleeping by the exit. A security guard came in through the door. Linda watched him adjust a silver badge on his shirt before poking the homeless man with a flashlight. The homeless man opened his eyes, stood, and then shuffled out the door under the guard’s disapproving gaze. It made her mad. But when the guard looked in her direction, she just looked away and crossed her arms to cover the hole in her sweater. When she looked up, the guard was already on his way toward the coffee vending machine. She twisted a finger in the hole in her sweater, mad at herself for being embarrassed at how she looked.

Careful not to wake Joseph, she laid him in the empty seat next to her and took off her sweater. She stood and tucked her white t-shirt into her jeans, put on a new layer of lipstick and checked her hair. Joseph didn’t stir when she sat and picked him up. She brushed a stray lock of hair out of her face.

Things are going to get better from here on out, she thought. They had to.

Joseph whined in his sleep. She rocked him until he quieted. Across the room, she could see the receptionist behind a glass partition. The lady was all business. Glasses. Gray hair. Eyebrows pinched together over a sharp-featured face. Fingers clicking away on a keyboard.

A door next to the receptionist’s booth swung open and a nurse walked into the waiting room with a clipboard. She glanced at the clipboard, looked up and said, “Mrs. Durbin?”

Linda watched the woman who had stolen her seat struggle to her swollen feet. Mrs. Durbin’s polyester baby-blue pants stretched mightily to cover a backside as large as a couch cushion as she walked over to the nurse.

Linda fumed. The woman had stolen her seat and now was being seen before Joseph. Great. She brushed sweat-plastered hair off Joseph’s forehead. Her fingertips lingered. The heat reminded her of the hood of a car sitting in the sun too long.

She stood, holding Joseph against her chest. He was too hot. She walked toward the receptionist. Her mind raced. Dammit Danny, where are you? I need you.

She stopped in front of the receptionist and tapped on the glass. The receptionist looked up with her pen poised in the air. “Can I help you?”

Linda relaxed the worry from her face. This was the same lady who looked put out when she’d said she’d forgotten her insurance card. This was the woman who’d made a point of telling her that without an insurance card, she’d be responsible for all charges. She’d said everything in a matter-of-fact tone, never once taking a glance at the feverish baby moaning in front of her. This lady wasn’t interested in helping. She was interested in following the book.

So be it.

Linda took her hand off Joseph’s forehead and put on her, “I need to confide with a fellow professional such as yourself,” smile.

“Excuse me, ma’am. I’m a little concerned about my son. Could you take a quick look and make sure I’m not overreacting?”

The receptionist took off her glasses. She slowly shook her head, talking in a tone suited for addressing a child. “Miss, it doesn’t matter what I think. You’re going to have to wait for a doctor to see him, just like everyone else.”

Going back to the paperwork in front of her, the woman methodically marked off check boxes on an admitting form. “It’s like I told you. Unless he’s critical, we take people on a first-come, first-served basis.” She stopped checking boxes for a moment to adjust her glasses and look at Linda. “And by the way, I noticed that your husband hasn’t brought your insurance card yet. Is he coming?” The woman looked Linda up and down and then added, “I just want to make sure you realize that emergency room care costs quite a bit more than a visit to your general practitioner. Just something to keep in mind.”

Linda’s smile faded. She glanced back into the waiting room and caught the amused looks of people. She aimed a stare at each person. A bearded hipster went back to picking lint off his coat. An old lady caught a sudden interest in her magazine. The rest looked down at their phones before she had a chance to burn a look in their direction.

Turning back toward the receptionist, she tapped on the glass. The receptionist looked up, her pen poised in the air over her forms.

“Excuse me,” said Linda. “I don’t think I made myself clear.” She stepped forward, her forehead nearly touching the glass as she looked down on the receptionist. “Let me start again,” she said, showing nearly all her perfect, white teeth.