Page 4 of Matteo

I spot the keys to his truck on the table. It’s more than ten years old, with almost a hundred thousand miles on it. The truck is in my name because when he wrecked his after a night of drinking, I was the only one who could be financed for it. When my car died, there was no money for me to finance another. Yet I was never allowed to drive it—not even for a late-night run to get formula or diapers. Despite the age and miles, I know it could get me out of here, away from Danny.

Layla cries in fear when I put her down on the couch. For the first time, I ignore her cries and run to the bedroom. Packing up her stuff takes less than ten minutes. My things take about the same time as I jam everything into two suitcases. I grab the miserable nine hundred dollars. It’s not enough, only there’s no more time left to get more.

Putting the truck in gear, I squeal out of the apartment complex and head for I-35. I don’t know where to go. Right takes me south to Austin, left takes me north to Dallas. Indecision has me slowing down. Fate decides for me. There’s a wreck on I-35 South, so I turn left, north to Dallas, and pray it isn’t worse than what I’ve left behind.

CHAPTER 2

Amy

Almost three months later, I’m not sure if this is better than what I left behind.

When I drove into Dallas, I didn’t know where to go. I chose the exit for downtown. My first stop was at a convenience store to get gas and ask the cashier if they could tell me somewhere I could rent that wasn’t too expensive.

She looked me up and down with dull brown eyes and shrugged. I tried again at a small grocery store down the road and had better luck.

Looking around the tiny motel room, I’m not sure the word I should be using is luck. I’d managed to get a job as a housekeeper at the place in exchange for a tiny salary and a place to sleep. The only good thing about it is I can bring Layla with me while I clean.

Whatever luck I had, I’m now out of it. I’m sick. I’ve tried telling myself over the last week that I was wrong. It’s allergies. Except my sore throat has gotten worse every day, and the fever that started four days ago tells me I’m wrong. Since I didn’t need to clean yesterday, I spent all day in bed—hoping it would help me get better. It didn’t.

The owner of the place eyes me as I go in to collect the cart and towels. “You sick.”

He’s not exactly a warm guy. Somewhere between fifty and eighty, his eyes don’t miss much. I shrug. “I think so.”

He sighs heavily. “There’s a new medical clinic opened up a few weeks ago down the street. A walk-in place. They don’t charge nothing. Hours are eight to eight. When you get done, head on over there. I don’t need you getting me or anyone else sick.”

I nod as I try to focus on staying on my feet. Putting Layla on the cart, I keep my eyes on her and remember she needs me. This should only take five or six hours. As soon as I’m done, I’ll go. I don’t want to get Layla sick, too.

Three hours later, the room swims around me as I try to straighten from bending over to make the bed. Layla claps and speaks gibberish to me. I work to focus on her. I’m almost done. I repeat over and over to try to keep going. It doesn’t help.

The owner is in the open doorway of the room shaking his head. I’m not sure how I came to be on the floor. “Go on, get to the doctor. I’m docking this from your pay. The place is two blocks up and to the right.”

Closing my eyes, I repeat the instructions until they’re in a loop, even if I don’t understand them. Two blocks? Two blocks from where?

Layla squeals. The sound pulls me from the dark. I just want to sleep. I’m so tired. Everything hurts, especially my throat. Two blocks up and to the right. Once I go two blocks and turn right, I’ll feel better.

Oh god, I almost drop Layla in her car seat carrier. She laughs, thinking it’s a game as she plays with my purse. Two blocks up and to the right. I make it to the truck and strap Layla in. She pats my cheek. I grasp her hand and hold it against my cheek, grateful for the cool touch.

Two blocks and to the right. I find it. It’s busy. In the time it’s taken to get here, Layla’s car seat has somehow become ten pounds heavier—I almost drop her again. All I can do is drag her seat. It’s too heavy to carry.

The receptionist’s eyes go wide when she sees me. “Are you okay?”

I shake my head and run my hand over my throat. “Hurts.” I croak out at her.

“Do you have a fever?”

I nod. Talking hurts too much.

“Let me get you into a room. We don’t want you out here getting others sick.” She’s around the desk, taking the car seat from me. “Got you, sweetie. Let’s get you and Mommy to a room.”

Everything happens from far away. She helps me onto an exam table, readjusting the pillow beneath my head and pushing the table a few inches so it’s pressed against the wall. “We don’t want you falling off. I’ll tell the doctor you’re in here.”

I made it. It’s safe here. I could hear it in the woman’s voice. Everything will be okay. It’s my last thought as I let the darkness overtake me.

Matteo

“Doctor, I put a patient in room five. She’s probably got strep. The poor thing is out of it. She has a baby, too. Might want to check her and make sure she’s not sick also.” Willow informs me as I pass her in the hall.

“What?” I’m trying hard to keep my temper. “Why didn’t you let Camilla triage?”

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