Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 106953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
Kinda like Bitsy, I guess.
I lift her up and carry her to the bathroom. She moans when I lay her on the floor.
“I’m just cleaning you up,” I tell her. I don’t have washcloths, so I use the end of a towel to wipe over her face and throat. She seems to enjoy that. I decide to soak the entire towel and lay it on her. But it’s not too long before she starts shivering. Whether it’s because she’s too cold or too wet, I have no clue. I whip off the towel and her jammies and carry her frail body back to my bed. I fit one of my T-shirts over her head.
“You’re going to be okay, Bitsy. You’re going to be okay.” I keep repeating myself. If I say the words enough, they’ll come true.
12
Leka
Mary shows up with a grocery bag full of drugs, crackers, and, thank fuck, a thermometer.
“How come you never told us you had a sister?” she exclaims as she bustles in.
I lock the door behind her. “Didn’t think it was necessary.”
I take the bag from her and dump the contents on the counter. “What do we give her first?”
“Oooh, she feels hot,” the waitress says.
No shit. I look up from the contents to see her sitting beside the mattress with her hand on Bit’s forehead. The urge to go over and yank Mary away fills my gut. It doesn’t seem right, anyone else touching my girl.
“You got something over here that’s going to make her better?” I wave my hand to the mess of stuff Mary brought over.
The woman looks over at me and then back at Bitsy. “Let’s take her temperature first.”
I rifle through the shit until I come up with the right package. I throw it to Mary.
“I can’t believe you don’t have a thermometer.” She rips open the package, shakes her wrist and then shoves the glass into Bitsy’s mouth. She glances down at her watch and then around the room. Her eyes grow judgmental as she takes in the small space. Even with Bitsy in my life, we don’t have much. There are some clothes, a couple pairs of tennis shoes, the two air mattresses and Bit’s tablet. Before, I didn’t feel like we needed anything more, but seeing our place through Mary’s eyes makes me stiffen defensively.
“You don’t even have a bed. This girl is going to need her own room. You two can’t share.” Mary shakes her head. “What are you doing with all the money that you’re making?”
None of your business. Stiffly, I explain, “Saving it.”
“You men can be so tight with your money. Getting Beefer to part with even one dime of his is more difficult than serving tables during the dinner rush. And it’s frustrating. Because I know you guys are pulling in some real good coin. Why you can’t spend even a little of it to make the women in your life comfortable, I will never know. I mean, I do so much for Beefer. So much,” she emphasizes with raised eyebrows. “You know?”
I give her a short nod hoping that will cut her off. I don’t need a play-by-play. “The thermometer thing done yet?”
Mary gives a little yelp of surprise as if she totally forgot why she was here. She pulls the thermometer out and looks at it, reading something in the markings. “Looks like she’s a little around 103.”
“That doesn’t sound good.”
Mary shakes her wrist. “No, it’s not real good. Let’s get some Tylenol in her and see if that brings down the temperature. If it gets any higher, though, we might have to take her in.”
“In where? Can Doc Read see her?” I dig through the pile again and find a bottle of thick pink liquid. Read is the man who stitched up my wounds before.
Mary flicks her hand down in disgust. “No. We are not taking this little girl to that quack. She needs to go to a pediatrician. That’s a children’s doctor,” she says, her nose sticking a little in the air.
She thinks I’m a dense motherfucker. Maybe I am, but even I know what the hell a kid’s doctor is called. I squeeze the bottle tight so I don’t strangle her. “How much of this?”
“It should say on the bottle.”
The bottle instructions say a “tsp and a half” for kids six and under. I don’t know exactly how old Bitsy is. She said she was five when I found her, but I know that was a guess. I could be overdosing her. Fuck. I go for the higher dosage. Despite not knowing what the hell a tsp is, I use the little plastic lines to measure out the appropriate dose.
Mary props Bitsy up and holds her hand out for the medicine. “How long have you and your sister been alone?”