At that moment, I had a two-year-old burning against my shoulder, a half-zipped diaper bag, and a cup of apple juice he’d refused six times. His temperature was 103, but it wasn’t only the number that worried the nurse. Silas had become unusually sleepy, and he wouldn’t drink.

“Take him to the emergency room,” she said.

“On my way.”

I carried him toward the garage. My SUV was gone.

I actually looked behind me, as though it might be hiding in the laundry room. Empty garage. Trent’s car wasn’t there either, because it had been at Miller’s repair shop since Wednesday.

Then I remembered his weekend. He’d been looking forward to Friday through Sunday at his friend Dave’s house for a game and a fishing trip, and Dave was supposed to pick him up. I’d been happy for him. Really. We had a toddler, breaks were rare, and I believed we were pretty good about giving each other one when we could.

“Figure It Out”
I called him. Rejected. I called again. Rejected.

Then a text appeared.

“Took your SUV. Dave didn’t feel like driving out to get me, and we needed the trunk space for our extra gear anyway.”

I stared at it, then at Silas, then at the empty garage. I typed with one thumb.

“Trent, Silas has a 103 fever. The nurse says he needs to be seen. You are twenty minutes away. Bring the SUV back now.”

The typing bubbles appeared.

“I just sat down on the couch and the game is starting. I’m not driving back because you can’t handle a basic toddler cold. Give him Tylenol.”

I read it twice. Silas whimpered and pushed his face into my neck.

“He won’t drink and he’s barely staying awake. I am completely stranded. How am I supposed to get him to the emergency room if he gets worse?”

This time, Trent answered immediately.

“Stop trying to sabotage my weekend with your hysterical drama. You’re a mother. Figure it out. 🤷🏻‍♂️”

I stood there long enough for the garage light to switch itself off. Then I turned it back on.

The Car Seat in the Corner
Beside a box of Christmas decorations sat our spare toddler car seat. I’d bought it for my sister to use whenever she watched Silas, and Trent had once complained that we didn’t need two. That afternoon, it was the most useful thing in my house.

I didn’t text him again. I ordered a rideshare.

The driver pulled up eleven minutes later and watched me wrestle the seat into his back seat while Silas cried against my shoulder.

“You need a minute?”

“Probably six.”

He waited. I got the seat secured, buckled Silas in, and climbed in beside him. Only when we pulled away did I realize I was still wearing slippers.

At the emergency room, Silas threw up on my shirt. After that, the slippers bothered me considerably less.

The doctor examined him, got fluids into him, and told me his symptoms were consistent with a viral infection. We left with medication instructions, hydration targets, and a list of warning signs that meant we should come back. By then, Silas had finally taken a few sips of juice. I could have kissed that cup.

He fell asleep against me while I waited for another ride home.