Page 46 of Rent Free

Because the familiar voice of the woman trying to get to her child belonged to a woman I knew well.

Biblically.

Emory.

I turned back to the baby, and that’s when I saw the birthmark on his rib cage.

I had the same one on my own.

My stomach sank.

“You aren’t getting anywhere close to him,” I heard another woman say. “You made us think that you’d gotten him out of the car!”

An ice cold bottle of water was given to me, and I picked the baby up in my arms like he weighed nothing.

I gently tried to give him sips of water, not wanting to give him too much so he wouldn’t throw it all back up.

There was dried vomit on his face from where he’d likely already evacuated his belly once.

“I was parked under a tree!”

A man said, “It’s a hundred and fucking eleven degrees outside, you stupid cunt! Trees don’t matter in the middle of August!”

I agreed.

But my mouth wasn’t working.

My eyes were so focused on the child that I couldn’t think about the woman.

Another commotion.

I heard another officer respond, but I was too focused on the way my world was falling apart to notice who’d arrived on scene.

A child.

I had a child.

A two-year-old, who’d been left in a hot car while his mother fucked off in the air conditioning for who knew how long.

“Do something!” Emory cried. “He won’t give me my baby!”

“Back the fuck off!” I heard the officer respond. “Give us room!”

The medics came.

I tossed my keys to the cop I didn’t know, then got into the ambulance and rode to the hospital.

“Sir,” the doctor said. “I need some space.”

I didn’t want to give him that space.

In fact, I wanted to give him less space than I was already giving him.

“Come on,” a female nurse urged. “Come on.”

“Now, sir,” the social worker urged. “Please?”

It was only when I was kicked out of the room by the doctor and the social worker to perform a couple of exams when I saw them.

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