Page 2 of Cash
The small figure in the bed almost disappeared among the white sheets and blankets.A little girl, maybe five or six years old, curled into herself.Her right arm was encased in a bright pink cast that looked enormous against her tiny frame.Her left thumb was firmly planted in her mouth, tears streaming down her face as she stared at the blank television screen on the wall.
When she noticed me in the doorway, her crying paused momentarily.Wide eyes, wet with tears, she assessed me from beneath a fringe of light brown hair.She didn’t seem frightened by my appearance, just curious through her misery.Before I’d gone to prison, I’d had tattoos, and I’d gained several more in the years since.While I didn’t look as hard and frightening to a kid as some of my brothers, I didn’t have the same good looks I had when I was the hot up and coming star.
“Where’s my mommy?”Her voice was small and raw from crying, the question hitting me with unexpected force.
I looked around the room, noting its emptiness.No jacket draped over the visitor chair, no purse tucked in the corner, no half-drunk coffee on the side table.Just medical equipment, beeping softly, and the sterile hospital furnishings.The absence felt wrong, like a puzzle with a crucial piece missing.
“I, uh, I don’t know, kid.”I stepped fully into the room, feeling oversized and out of place.My boots seemed too loud on the linoleum floor.“You want me to find a nurse?”
Fresh tears welled up in her eyes.“No.The nurse said Mommy had to go talk to people.But she’s been gone so long.My mommy wouldn’t leave me alone at night.She always sings me to sleep.No matter what.”Her lower lip trembled, and she clutched a threadbare stuffed rabbit closer with her good arm.
I stood awkwardly at the foot of her bed, unsure what to do.I’d seen the same anxiety in the faces of most of the kids who came through Haven with mothers who’d been beaten down by life in one form or another.But something about this little girl’s distress pulled at me, making it impossible to simply walk away.
“What’s your name?”I asked, moving a step closer.
“Lily,” she whispered around her thumb.
“I’m Cash.”
She sniffled, studying me with surprisingly direct eyes for a child her age.“Why do you have pictures on your neck?”
Despite everything, I felt my lips twitch.“They’re called tattoos.Got a bunch of them.”I tapped my covered arms.“All over.”
“Did it hurt?”
I gave her a small smile.“A bit.”
The small conversation seemed to distract her momentarily from her distress.I took the opportunity to really look at her.She was tiny, frailer than a kid should be.Her skin was pale against the white hospital sheets, almost translucent with blue veins visible at her temples and wrists.The hospital gown swallowed her small frame, making her appear even more vulnerable.Dark circles shadowed her eyes, telling a story of more than just today’s tears.
I noticed multiple bruises on her thin arms, some yellowing with age, others fresher.My jaw tightened.I’d seen enough abuse in my life to recognize its markers.But something felt off.The way she looked directly at me, the way she didn’t flinch when I stumbled, moving toward her suddenly.Most abused kids I’d known, including some of the brothers in the club who had survived vicious childhoods, either jerked or shied back.This girl actually grinned a little.Who didn’t love a little slapstick comedy once in a while?
Setting aside my questions, I made a decision and lowered myself cautiously into the visitor chair beside her bed.It creaked under my weight.
“Your mom will probably be back soon,” I said, trying to sound reassuring but feeling completely out of my depth.“Sometimes grown-ups have to talk about boring stuff for a long time.”
Lily’s thumb came out of her mouth with a small pop.“The doctor said I have to stay here more days.I don’t like it here.It smells funny.”She wrinkled her nose delicately.
I nodded, finding unexpected common ground.“Yeah, it does smell funny.”
“And the food tastes bad.”
“Hospital food always tastes bad.Rules of the game or something.”
A tiny smile flickered across her face before disappearing again.She shifted, wincing as her cast bumped against the bed rail.
“Does your arm hurt?”I asked, noticing how she cradled it against her chest.
She nodded, fresh tears gathering.“They gave me medicine but it still hurts.”
Without thinking, I carefully adjusted her pillow, trying as gently as I could to help her find a more comfortable position.Lily didn’t flinch at my movements, trusting me enough to accept my help.No way was this kid abused.
“Better?”I asked.
“A little.”Her voice was getting shaky again, the momentary distraction wearing off as her pain and loneliness returned.“I want my mommy.”
The naked vulnerability in her voice cut straight through me.This wasn’t the kind of problem I could solve with my fists.This was a frightened child in pain, missing her mother, and all my usual defenses and skills were useless.
“She’ll come back,” I said, wishing I felt as certain as I tried to sound.“You want me to stay until she does?”
