12th of Never

Chapter 48

I’VE BEEN MERE yards from the epicenter of a bus bomb. I’ve been a target in a shooting gallery in the ‘hood, and I’ve taken bullets and almost died.

But nothing was as scary or as emotionally devastating as my tiny daughter having a fever of 103.

The second I got home and read the thermometer, I called Julie’s pediatrician and insisted that she be paged, because I wasn’t getting off the phone until I spoke with her.

Dr. Gordon was very patient. She said that Julie’s fever meant that she was fighting an infection—that she could have an earache, for instance—and to give her a lukewarm bath followed by liquid Tylenol every four hours.

I made an appointment to bring Julie in to see the doctor in the morning. Then I sat in the bathtub with my baby in my lap. I desperately wanted to bathe away her fever without letting her know that I was scared out of my freaking mind.

Joe sat on the toilet seat, singing “Oh! Susanna” in the soft, slow way James Taylor recorded it. His singing was like a lullaby, but it didn’t soothe the baby.

She cried. She was limp. I wanted to take her to the hospital right then, but Joe said no.

“It’s too risky. She could pick up a worse infection in the hospital,” he said. “Let’s do what Dr. Gordon said.”

I sponged Julie down with the tepid water and when we were both wrinkled, Joe helped us out of the bath and we took her with us into bed.

Her temperature had dropped to 102. It was a change in the right direction, but still outside my comfort zone. I called Dr. Gordon again and she phoned back at just before ten that night.

“It’s probably nothing. Try not to worry,” she said.

“Right,” I said into the phone.

“If her temperature goes to a hundred and four, take her straight to the emergency room.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll see you in the morning. Try to get some sleep.”

“Thanks, Doctor,” I said.

No one slept at our house except Martha, and we were at the doctor’s office as soon as the doors opened.

Dr. Gordon weighed Julie, examined her, made notes on her chart. The doctor’s expression was so neutral I couldn’t read it, not even between the lines.

“I wish she’d put on a little more weight,” she said.

“She’s been fussy from the beginning,” I said.

“I’m going to draw some blood. Standard procedure,” said the doctor. “Just to get a baseline.”

Joe held Julie as the stick pricked my daughter’s tiny pink heel. Julie howled, of course, and I just hid my face until it was over.

I asked the doctor to tell us everything. “Don’t hold anything back.”

Finally, Dr. Gordon cracked a smile.

“She’s got a fever, but it’s not abnormal. I’ll call you when I get back her blood work. Meanwhile, you should all get some sleep.”

As soon as I hit the sheets, my cell phone rang. I read the caller ID and then told Brady, “Whatever it is has got to wait. I need four hours of sleep. Just four.”

Brady ignored me.

“Boxer, that streetcar driver on the F line?”

“What? Who?”

“Your professor said a streetcar driver was going to be shot, remember?”

“Oh. No. Don’t tell me.”

“We’ve got a female streetcar driver who took a bullet about an hour ago. Right between the eyes. Just like the professor said.”