Page 47 of The Party Line

“That’s a fancy name for a little bitty thing like you,” he said. “I expect you’ll want me to take off my sweater and roll up my sleeves?”

She lined all her equipment up on the stainless steel table. “Yes, sir.”

I helped him with his sweater, but he rolled up his sleeve. He glared at me while she drew two vials of blood.

“Thank you,” she said as she put the needle in a separate disposal container and the rest of what she’d used in the trash.

“I wish we still had party lines,” he said.

“Why’s that?”

“Because then I could call Gracie and tell her about all this.”

“If she was still with us, you could do that on a landline or a cell phone,” I reminded him.

He grimaced and sighed. “But if it was a party line, someone would be bound to listen in, and they would tell someone else, and pretty soon the news would be all over Ditto and Poteet.”

“Why would you want everyone to know?” I asked.

“Then they’d know not to come here,” he smarted off. “Them ain’t even good nurses. Didn’t neither one offer to give me a lollipop.”

“If you’ve never been to a doctor, how do you know about lollipops?” I asked.

“I heard the kids at school talking about it.”

We walked out of the hospital two hours later, and Jasper was still grumbling. “Are you happy now? I didn’t need no dang doctor to tell me that I have the croup.”

“Upper respiratory infection,” I corrected him as I helped him back into my vehicle.

“Just a fancy new word for croup,” he snapped.

I turned my phone back on when I was behind the wheel and wasn’t surprised to find several missed calls from my mother and one from Connor. I laid the phone on the console between me and Jasper and called Mama first on speaker.

When she answered, I said, “Sorry, I missed your calls. I’m on the way home from San Antonio. I had to turn my phone off in the emergency room, but don’t panic. Jasper just has an upper respiratory infection, not pneumonia, and we’re on the way to the pharmacy to get his prescriptions.”

“Which I am not taking,” he protested loudly.

“Yes, you will!” Mama declared in her best no-nonsense tone. “I won’t leave Texas on Monday if you aren’t feeling better.”

A rattly cough was all that kept Jasper from snorting. “One bossy woman is a cross to bear. Two is enough to drive a good man to drinking.”

“Which reminds me,” I said, “the doctor said no alcohol with your meds. That means two weeks at the least.”

“What he don’t know won’t hurt him,” Jasper groused.

“Quit your bellyachin’ and listen to me,” Mama said. “If I have to come stay with you every day until you are well, I’ll do it. This vacation can come later.”

He threw up his hands. “Okay, okay! I’ll take the medicine.”

“I’ll see to it that he does, Mama. I’ll take it all home with me and be sure he gets whatever he needs at the right times. And I’ll steal all his liquor.”

“Going to see Gracie and Davis is looking better by the minute,” he fussed. “And you will not steal my whiskey. I promise to leave it alone until I’m well, but I trust hot toddies more than I do pills. Besides, that man wasn’t old enough to be a real doctor. There wasn’t no gray in his beard or his hair.”

“If you don’t do what you are supposed to do for the next two weeks and you die, I’m going to take Sassy to the pound,” I threatened.

“And I’ll drive her,” Mama added.

He turned and stared out the side window. That’s when I knew he was really sick, because he always wanted to get in the last word.

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