Way Down I'll Go

Rather, Ten Times, Die in the Surf

"Jo. The baby's crying."

Jo stirred and began to cough. He'd been so exhausted that he'd fallen asleep and hadn't heard the congested cries next to him. He scooped up the squirming child and rocked him back and forth, unable to tell if the radiating heat was coming from his own body or from the little body in his arms.

That thought managed to penetrate his sleep-deprived brain. An 8-week-old baby shouldn't have a fever. Rising shakily and ignoring the nausea that passed over him, he found the thermometer and checked.

101.8. 

Way too high.

He ran his hand over his sweaty forehead, considering his options. They should go straight to the Emergency Room, but he simply could not afford another medical bill. There was a free urgent care clinic not too far away, but there was no way they were still open 10 PM. 

In the end, he decided to go to the clinic. If it was closed, he would suck it up and take Johnny to the ER. He'd figure out the money later.

Jo's feet on the pavement felt as if he was slogging through mud. His body couldn't figure out if it wanted to be hot or cold and his chest felt tight. A spell of coughing overtook him and he leaned over, spitting out the secretions. 

They were tinged with blood.

Perfect.

A cold drizzle had begun to fall, and Jo shrugged off his jacket to shield the baby. Rounding a corner, the clinic came into view, it's light a gleaming beacon. As Jo hurried toward it, he saw the light go out and a woman exiting the building. She walked with her head down, hand in her purse, completely unaware of her surroundings.

"Excuse me, ma'am."

Her head snapped up and she froze. Jo stopped in his tracks. He didn't know if it was the fever or the stress or if he was hallucinating, but her eyes shone neon green. And terrified.

"Don't come any closer. I have mace." Her words were breathy and panicked.

For some reason, Jo couldn't formulate a response. He simply stared back at her. Johnny chose that moment to let out a strangled, wheezing cry. Jo glanced down at the baby's pale face, mostly obscured by the ragged jacket, and remembered why he was there in the first place.

"He's sick."

She didn't move.

"He hasn't stopped crying since yesterday and today he didn't want to eat much. Now he has a fever."

"You should take him to the ER." Her expression was difficult to discern, but Jo sensed judgement in her tone. He tried not to let his disappointment show.

"I figured as much. Thanks anyway."

He turned to leave and had only taken a few steps when she called to him.

"Wait."

He turned.

"Why didn't you take him there in the first place?"

Jo paused, his fevered cheeks coloring further. He glanced at the woman again, but noticed that judgement wasn't present in her gaze. Only curiosity. So he answered her honestly.

"It's expensive."

"They can't refuse you treatment, even if you don't have insurance. And there are programs. Social workers..."

He simply nodded. She didn't understand. Even with the abatements and the children's support at the hospital, the remaining costs put a colossal dent in their nonexistent budget. He had started jogging to work rather than paying for the bus, picking up extra hours at the factory, had cut back on every aspect of their monthly spending, as scant as it already was, and had skipped more meals than he had eaten in the past month. If he had another bill to pay, there was only so much he could do before the lack of funds began to affect to boys.