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The storm outside had rolled in quickly; black clouds moving in as loud thunder grumbled low over Tulsa like it was grieving something unspoken. It was already cold outside, and the rain would surely bring in yet another cold front. Inside the small Curtis house, the air was thick with worry and heat.
Ponyboy had started coughing two nights ago. At first, it seemed like a cold. He had shrugged it off with a hoarse, "I'm fine," and buried himself in a dog-eared copy of The Catcher in the Rye. But now, he was shivering violently under three layers of blankets on the couch, sweat soaking through the pillow against his cheek, skin blazing with fever.
Darry paced.
“I don’t like this,” he muttered. He stood in the corner of the living room, tense, arms crossed so tight his knuckles had gone white. Worry radiated from him, despite the way he was trying to keep his composure.
Soda, kneeling beside Pony, looked up. “He’s never been this sick before, has he?”
Darry paused, running a hand through his hair, thinking. “Not since-” His throat tightened. “Not since Mom and Dad...” he stopped talking.
Soda lowered to his knees on the floor by the couch next to Pony’s head, trying to coax him to take a sip of water again.
“Come on, baby bro,” Soda said softly, his hand under Pony’s neck for support. Soda could feel the intense heat from Pony’s neck on his hand. “Just a little.”
Pony attempts to sip the cool water, but swallows it wrong, resulting in a harsh cough that makes droplets go flying onto the top of the quilts covering him. “Sorry,” he said hoarsely, laying back against the pillow behind him.
“Don’t worry about it, kid,” Soda said gently. He took the dish towel that lay over his shoulder and mopped up the little bit of water that had landed in Pony’s lap. Behind him, he could hear Darry’s frustration at not knowing how to make the situation better. He dropped down to his knees next to Soda, laying a hand on their baby brother’s roasting forehead. Pony whimpered, then leaned into the coolness of Darry’s palm, slightly relaxing. Soda could almost see the wheels in Darry’s head turning. He stood and walked over to the phone on the wall between the kitchen and the living room, picking up the receiver.
Soda continued mopping Pony’s forehead with the damp cloth. Ponyboy had his eyes closed, muttering unintelligible things that Soda couldn’t understand. He could hear Darry muttering over the phone behind him.
“I called Mrs. Mathews,” Darry announced as he walked back to his little brothers. Soda looked up at him.
“Why?” he asked, eyebrows raised in confusion.
“She used to be a nursing assistant,” Darry said, already heading for the phone. “She’s also a mom, she raised Two-Bit. That alone makes her qualified.”
xxx
Fifteen minutes later, the front door banged open, and in swept Mrs. Mathews; she was wearing a raincoat two sizes too small, her hair in curlers under a scarf, and a grocery bag under one arm.
“Where’s my boy at?” she asked Darry and Soda, who led her over to the couch where Pony was fitfully sleeping. He had burrowed down into the quilts wrapped around him, clutching the edge of one of them as if it were a lifeline.
“Well, hell,” she barked the second she saw Ponyboy, “poor kid looks like he’s been boiled alive.” She pushed the coffee table so it was inches from the couch and sat on its edge. She ran a gentle hand over Pony's sweating forehead.
“Hey there, sweet pea,” she cooed, her voice switching gears like a well-oiled transmission. “Let’s see what kind of trouble you’ve gotten yourself into.”
“Mrs. Mathews-” Darry started, unsure of how to help but not wanting to be useless. But she held up a hand.
“Shh. Go get some stuff for your brother: I need clean cloths, ice water in a bowl or cup, and your sharpest kitchen knife.”
Darry froze and his eyes widened.
She smirked. “Kidding about the knife, honey. Mostly. Go!”
Soda scrambled to help, throwing Darry a look of surprised admiration.
Ponyboy stirred weakly. “Too loud…”
“Sorry, baby,” Mrs. Mathews said, her voice softening again. She peeled back the blanket and placed the back of her hand against his chest. “You’re hotter than a stolen stereo.”
Though the air in the house was not cold, Pony shivered violently as it touched his now exposed skin. With gentle hands, Mrs. Mathews slipped a glass thermometer under the boy’s arm and waited. Pony moaned in pain, then opened his glassy eyes slightly, looking at the woman next to him.
“Mama?” came his hoarse, slurred voice. The confusion was evident in his eyes as well as his voice.
Mrs. Mathews' hand paused on the warm boy’s skin; she blinked, then leaned in close. “Right here, sweetheart,” she said, not missing a beat. “Mama’s got you.”
Darry and Soda had been returning to the living room, Darry with the ice water and Soda with an armful of towels, when they froze. The words hit both of them like a gut-punch. Soda’s throat hurt as he tried to force down the sob that was fighting to come out. Mrs. Mathews didn’t let it faze her, turning back to Soda and Darry and motioning for them to come over with the items she had requested.
Then she turned back to her charge, reading the thermometer in her hand. “You got yourself a real fever, sugarbean. Let’s bring it down before your brain turns into scrambled eggs.”
Ponyboy smiled faintly, closing his eyes. Mrs. Mathews and the two boys set to work mopping Pony’s forehead and neck with the wet towels. This seemed to ease him, and he started breathing softly.
Mrs. Mathews stayed until well into the night; she periodically checked Pony’s fever, noting that it had started to lower little by little. Darry was secretly glad that the storm had started rolling through not long after Mrs. Mathews arrived, because he was not ready for her to leave yet. They had been without a mother figure for about a month at this point, and truthfully Darry had no idea what to do when it came to this stuff. Acting like a mother hen wasn’t something he was used to, and he couldn’t even pretend to do it; he hoped the storm would keep its momentum a bit longer so that Mrs. Mathews wouldn’t leave before Pony started to feel better.
Rain pattered the windows and the sound seemed to calm Pony even more. Darry and Soda were also exhausted, but breathed a little easier knowing their little brother was on the mend. Mrs. Mathews handed Darry a white bottle of ibuprofen.
“Give him one of these every four hours if the fever spikes again” she instructed. “His fever will break within an hour of taking it. You’ll know when it breaks too, because he’ll be drenched like he just spent the night outside.” She slung her bag over her shoulder.
“Thank you for coming over,” Darry started. He truly was grateful for Two-Bit’s mom coming over at the last second like this, and he was unsure of how to properly express his gratitude.
“Don’t get all mushy on me, Darrel.” she waved her hand in front of him. “You boys are doing your best. But it’s okay to ask for help. You don’t have to carry it all.”
Darry gave a single nod, eyes heavy. “I didn’t know what else to do.”
“You knew enough to pick up the phone. That counts for something.”
She headed for the door; the rain had slacked up just a few minutes ago, but thunder still rumbled, making its presence still known.
“Now I’m going home to kick Keith outta bed and remind him to take out the trash. Little punk thinks just ’cause he’s funny he can dodge chores.”
She paused and looked back at the two exhausted older brothers and the youngest one still sleeping soundly, wrapped up in quilts like he was in a cocoon.
“You boys are doing alright,” she said. “But don’t be proud idiots. You need help, you call. I mean it.”
Then she was gone.
Darry sighed in relief, exhausted but glad things were going to improve from here. Soda had climbed onto the couch next to Ponyboy and was holding on to his little brother tightly as they both slept. Darry smiled and pulled an extra quilt over them both, then got one for himself, getting comfortable in his recliner. As he leaned the chair back, he knew his back would give him hell at work in a few hours, but he didn’t want to be far in case either of his baby brothers needed him.