In some strange way, the closer I got to Ramsey, the lonelier I felt. Every free second we had, we talked or texted each other. He still came by to bring me my afternoon coffee, even bringing a second one for Jane after she was there one day and tried like anything to flirt with him. But he wouldn’t look away from me. Jane was loaded with money. And beautiful. And had no kids.

Yet Ramsey never broke his attention from me.

Sam even asked about Ramsey, wanting to know when he was coming over again. Wanting to know when they could work on more art projects. I hung up the hand turkeys in the dining room where Sam wanted them to be hung. The first set was the family of turkeys. Sam carefully pointed out the dad, the mom, and the kid turkey. Which was Ramsey’s hand, my hand, and Sam’s hand. Seeing those paintings side by side by side made me smile, but also made it hurt. I wanted that for Sam. I wanted him to have the most normal family I could provide.

Which for the moment was me working two jobs and him going to daycare. Which was how things were supposed to be anyway. He was learning all he could to get ready to start kindergarten. That alone blew my mind. How fast time had gone by with Sam. I still remembered like it was yesterday when I was eating an ice cream sandwich and I went into labor.

I hadn’t had an ice cream sandwich since.

I had just finished up a conference call meeting with Mike when the office phone rang. It was Miss Beth calling. She said she had tried my cell a couple of times, but I had left it on my desk while I was taking notes for Mike’s meeting.

She said Sam had been complaining of not feeling well and his temperature was rising. They had him in another room, coloring, meaning they needed me to come get him. I gave Mike no choice, and he knew better than to say anything to me when it came to Sam. I promised him I would type up the notes from the meeting and send them to him later when I got Sam settled.

Of course, it was Friday. Of course, it was Keith’s weekend.

I drove to the daycare center and the second I looked at Sam, I knew exactly how this was going to go. He was sick. Keith didn’t know how to handle a sick kid. And Sam wouldn’t want to go anyway.

I faked a smile as I touched his forehead.

He was burning up.

“Shoot,” I whispered.

“He seemed fine this morning,” Miss Beth said. “Then right around snack time, it was like a switch flipped. Poor guy.”

“Thank you for calling.”

“I hope he feels better. He kept mentioning his throat too. I wish there was more I could have done for him.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” I said.

“Maybe some hot soup and tea,” she said. “And a favorite pillow and blanket.”

“What about that Sam?” I asked with an even bigger fake smile.

Miss Beth laughed. “Well, I hope to see you Monday, Sam. Feel better.”

Sam frowned and nodded.

I had to carry him, which he would never normally let me do in public and in front of the other kids he went to daycare with.

I got him home and on the couch. I made him soup. I made him tea. He wanted nothing to do with either. I checked his temperature and it was high enough that I gave him some children’s fever medicine. He had his favorite blanket, pillow, and his favorite cartoon playing.

“Let me know if you need anything else, Sammy,” I said as I looked down at him.

He nodded.

He didn’t look good at all.

I called the pediatrician and they had no appointments open for the day. Which meant my only option, if things got serious enough, was the ER. I tried calling two other pediatricians in the area and they didn’t take the insurance I had for Sam. Not that I expected them to actually want to see him without his records.

This was just another part of single parenting that made it so rough.

I paced the kitchen, waiting for a pot of coffee to finish. I had to pause and laugh for a second, realizing my new coffee addiction in the afternoon was Ramsey’s fault.

I looked at the counter and exhaled. My cheeks flushed.

It was almost like a dream, picturing myself sitting on that counter, his hands all over me.

It was our weekend to be together too.

Not that I expected Ramsey to get upset or anything. But I knew in my heart there was a time limit on that kind of thing. Even the most decent of guys would only be able to handle it for so long. Which put my heart directly in the crossfire of a heartache I knew would come soon enough.

I made myself a cup of coffee and readied myself for my next phone call.

To Keith.

I walked through the living room and stopped to check on Sam. His eyes were half open, dazed, glued to the TV screen.

“I’m going to call Dad,” I said. “Let him know you’re sick. You’re supposed to go to his house this weekend.”

“I want to stay home,” Sam said.

“Are you sure? I can send all your stuff with you. I’ll make sure Dad has everything you need.”

“I want to stay home,” he repeated in a weak voice.

I swallowed hard. “Okay. I’ll talk to Dad.”

The front porch was my escape for the ensuing argument.

I put the coffee mug on the railing and looked at the leaves that littered our front yard. The trees were mostly bare now and the threat of frost was almost every night. So far we’d been lucky enough to not see any snowflakes, but they were most certainly on their way.

I was doing everything possible to avoid calling Keith.

I touched my forehead and took a deep breath.

A sudden and crazy thought came to me.

Why couldn’t I have been with Ramsey when I was younger?

* * *

“Are you busy at work?”

“No,” Keith said. “Half day today if I normally worked an eight-hour shift. Went in at six and got out at ten.”

“Oh. Okay. Good.”

“Good?”

“Uh, well, Sam isn’t feeling good,” I said.

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning I had to leave work early and get him out of daycare. He’s on the couch with a fever and not feeling well at all.”

“And you’re calling about money?” he asked. “Because you’re missing hours at work?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Then why are you calling?”

“To tell you your son is sick.”

“Okay. I’m sorry to hear that. I’m sure he’ll be fine. Kids get sick all the time. It’s part of being a kid, right?”

“Right. But it’s your weekend to take him and he wants to stay home.”

“And there it is.”

“There what is, Keith?”

“You have him all wrapped up and sleeping to avoid coming here.”

“No,” I said. “I asked him-”

“You asked a sick kid,” Keith said, laughing. “Rather than just telling him what he’s going to do.”

“He can’t move off the couch right now.”

“Because you baby him.”

“Are you serious right now?” I asked.

“Are you?”

“Keith, do you even have medicine for him there?”

“I can stop and get some,” he said.

“You should have that stuff just in case. Just like when he cut his finger.”

“Is that what this is about? He cut his fucking finger carving a pumpkin and now you’re pissed at me?”

“Keith, I promise you, this has nothing to do with a pumpkin. Or his finger. He’s actually sick. If you want, you can stop by and see him. I’m sure he’d like that.”

“So, I drive all the way there to do what? Sit on your couch with my sick kid? And then just leave?”

“You make it sound like Sam did something wrong.”

“Not Sam,” Keith said.

I raised my eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“This is my fault?”

“What kind of daycare is he going to? Huh?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Is it clean? Is it safe?”

I laughed. “You’re questioning me on the daycare? Do you not remember the time in our lives when we didn’t need daycare?”

“I remember it, Jordyn. That was before you abandoned your family.”

“Fuck you, Keith,” I said, feeling a sense of relief surge through me.

But it was only for a second because the anger swelled right back.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he said. “You can’t even defend that.”

“Our son has a one-oh-two fever and you want to pick a fight about the past?”

“I want to come pick my fucking kid up like I’m supposed to do. Am I going to have to call a lawyer?”

“A lawyer? For one weekend? Jesus Christ, Keith. You can take him next weekend. And the weekend after that. Then we’re right back to normal.”

“I can’t take him next weekend. I’m busy.”

“I don’t know what else to say right now,” I said. “He’s sick. He’s on the couch. You want to come by and ask him yourself if he wants to go with you? Have at it.”

“Yeah, right. He’s brainwashed by you, Jordyn. Kid gets a little fever and he’s rushed home and babied. When I was a kid and I got sick-”

“Oh, give it up, Keith. Nobody cares about when you were a kid. Or when I was a kid. Do you really want to be like your father? Oh, wait, you already are.”

“Fucking bitch,” Keith growled. “Don’t ever compare me to him. I’ve never put a hand on Sam and never would. You know that.”

“Do I?” I asked, taking another low blow. “Do I know that, Keith?”

“You really want to do this? You were never able to be a mother and a wife. That’s why you left.”

“I was never your wife,” I said. “I may have been dumb, but not that dumb.”

“Just a whore, right? Legs wide open for anyone who wanted it.”

I laughed again. “You were the only guy I was ever with when we were together.”

“Except when we weren’t.”

“Oh, so you left for a summer and fucked your way along the coast to find yourself and I was supposed to just sit on the porch like a loyal dog and wait?”

I shut my eyes.

Are we doing this? Are we going back to when we were eighteen? Our son is sick on the couch and needs us…

“You want to fuck with me, Jordyn, I’ll fuck right back.”

I sighed and shook my head. “I’m not fucking with you. I called to talk to you. Sam isn’t feeling good. He’s on the couch and he’s going to stay there. You can come by and see him if you’d like. If you don’t, I understand. If he feels better tomorrow, you can pick him up.”

“For one night? All that driving for one night? Bullshit.”

“So, he’s not worth it?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth. I never said that.”

“I would do anything for him, Keith. I’m doing everything for him right now. And you’re being a selfish asshole.”

“Yeah. You just stand on your pedestal and wait for your trophy,” he said. “I’ll fucking spit shine it for you.”

My throat squeezed with emotion.

No matter how hard I tried to keep up hope for Keith, it always fell apart.

“I’m going to go back inside now,” I said. “I’m standing on the porch so Sam doesn’t hear this.”

“Maybe he should,” Keith said. “Stop coddling him, Jordyn. Let him see real life and what it’s like.”

“He made hand turkeys in daycare last week,” I said. “And he came home so proud of them. Tracing his hand, painting and coloring. That’s what he deserves in his life. Especially this time of the year. He’s a kid.”

“No. He’s your baby.”

“He’s our son,” I said. “And that pains me because you’re not much of a father.”

“Enjoy your weekend, Jordyn.”

Keith hung up.

A couple of years ago I would have called him back. And I would have kept calling each time he hung up. Because that was the routine. We’d just battle and battle and battle until there were no more words, only tears. Hiding the fights from Sam. Hiding all my fears and doubts. And even before I left Keith, during the nights I worried about Sam. The arguments with Keith that got to a point where I started to get scared he’d go too far and do something stupid.

I realized the hard way that calling him back meant nothing. It did nothing. He would just go about his day and night and weekend like nothing mattered. He’d trash me to anyone who cared enough to hear about it. And part of me just wanted the world to know the truth, whatever that was. I wasn’t sure if I could blame him for being who he was when I knew it all along and stayed until it got to be too much. He had been the coolest guy in the world, standing in the girl’s bathroom, smoking. When I asked him why he was in the girl’s bathroom, he said so nobody would blame him for smoking. I fell for that kind of crap so hard. After living through my parents splitting up when I was a teenager, that world was my escape. Changing my clothes and my hair. Smoking cigarettes. Smoking something else. Letting Keith take charge in more ways than one. Trying to feel alive. And somehow, time sped up way too much and before I could catch myself from falling too far, I was suddenly holding a baby named Sam and my entire world revolved around loving and protecting him.

I started to put my phone down but then pulled it right back up again. I bit my bottom lip as I wanted to call Ramsey. I wanted to hear real roughness in his voice. A man that lived through real stuff in his life. A man who respected me and anything I wanted or needed.

Except Sam wasn’t his burden.

I settled for a text message.

Sam came home sick. Fever. I’ll talk to you later or tomorrow if that’s okay.

It made me jumpy when I sent the text. Like I was giddy and flirty about it.

All that did was remind me how serious things were starting to feel with Ramsey. And I wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.

I put my phone down and sipped my afternoon coffee.

My eyes followed a stray leaf as it finally let go, one of the last few remaining. It danced to a silent song, twisting and turning until it came to its resting place on the ground.

My phone buzzed on the railing.

It was Ramsey.

Damn, darling. I’m sorry. Hope he’s feeling better soon. Let me know if you need anything.

The simple response almost brought tears to my eyes. A man who put Sam first and then made sure I was okay too.

Was that so hard to ask for in life?

It was right there, on the other side of the text message.

I just needed to go get it and never let it go.

* * *

It was around nine when Sam started to stir on the couch. At some point between five and seven he finally shut his eyes. He rolled over and faced the other way on the couch, which meant I was able to finally change the channel. His fever had been low grade and steady, so I had a little relief that whatever this was, it was just something going to pass in a day or two.

I hoped he’d feel better by morning and I could convince Keith to come get him. Then they could have at least one night together. And I could have a night with Ramsey. Although it really didn’t matter since Ramsey had met Sam. I still wasn’t sure on letting Ramsey come over whenever he felt like it. Or having him sleep over.

Sam was on his back and his eyes slowly opened.

“Hey, Samm-”

He let out a cry and grabbed his throat.

Shit.

I darted from the end of the couch to the floor, on my knees next to him.

“Hey, I’m right here,” I said. “Does your throat hurt?”

“Bad,” he said, tears already running down his cheeks.

Shit.

“Okay, take a breath. Let me check your…”

The second I touched his forehead, I just knew.

He was beyond burning up by then.

Shit.

I didn’t even bother checking his temperature right then.

“Where does it hurt?” I asked.

Sam clutched his entire throat and cried.

“Okay, Sammy, I need to look inside your mouth. Can I do that quick?”

He shook his head no which meant it would take me a while to coax him to sit up and let me shine the light from my phone into his mouth.

I was frustrated and almost sweating by the time I got him to put his head back and stick his tongue out. When he did, I gasped. I wished I hadn’t looked.

Shit.

I quickly stood up and looked for my keys.

I needed to get him to the hospital.

There was something very wrong and fever medicine and hot tea wasn’t going to do a thing to help him. And it was the weekend and his pediatrician wasn’t open until Monday. I was not going to let him sit on the couch in pain until then.

“Sammy, we have to go for a ride,” I said. “We’re going to see the doctor.”

The word doctor normally kicked up a wild tantrum of fear, but Sam looked right at me and nodded.

He was feeling it.

I touched my forehead, wondering if I should have done more earlier. I should have checked his throat when I picked him up.

I found my keys and scooped Sam up off the couch and carried him out to the car. His blanket in one hand, a dirty teddy bear in the other. His head on my shoulder. Walking in the dark, in the cold air, the crunch of leaves under my shoes.

My eyes filled with tears.

I was scared. And I had nobody with me.

I wrestled to get Sam into his booster seat and rushed around the car.

When I opened the door and sat down, I caught sight of the interior light. I put my key into the ignition and turned it as I remembered something… I never turned the light off from before when I got home. The car made a clicking sound and nothing happened.

Click, click, click…

“No, no, no, no, no,” I whispered.

I turned the key over and over, thinking that would do something.

Could a car battery die that quick? It had only been… eight hours? Maybe less?

I thought to over the summer when the battery died, and I had to have Brenda’s husband, Charlie, help me jump it. He said it was old and corroded and I needed a new one. I didn’t have any money hanging around, so I didn’t worry about it.

“Fuck,” I whispered under my breath.

“Mom, it hurts really bad,” Sam said.

My heart raced and shattered. My hands shook with anger and fear.

I felt like the worst fucking person in the world. A mother that couldn’t take care of her own son. He was in pain with a fever, sitting in a cold car on a cold night, in need of medical attention. And my car wouldn’t start.

I started to cry, but needed to pull myself together.

I needed someone.

There was only one person I could think of calling to help me.