Chapter 4 - Sidney
Morning light filters through unfamiliar curtains, and for a moment, I forget where I am.
The bed beneath me is soft, too soft after nights in the cramped back seat of my Honda. My hand reaches under the pillow, fingers curling around the handle of my small pocketknife. The reassuring weight of it grounds me as reality comes rushing back.
Dean's house. Blackwater Falls. The motorcycle club.
I sit up slowly, my back protesting but nowhere near as painfully as yesterday. A real mattress makes a world of difference. Max is still asleep in his portable crib, one arm thrown over his head in that carefree way only children can manage.
His cheeks are flushed, and I notice the slight swelling along his jaw. The toothache that's been plaguing him for nearly two weeks now.
A proper mother would have taken him to a dentist immediately. A proper mother wouldn't have let it get this bad. But proper mothers don't lose their jobs and apartments. Proper mothers can afford basic healthcare for their children.
I have exactly forty-three dollars and seventeen cents to my name—scrounged and saved from returning bottles and selling my last pieces of jewelry. Not enough for a dental visit, but I'd been hoping to at least buy children's pain reliever. The bottle we had ran out three days ago.
Max stirs, his little face scrunching up before his eyes flutter open.
"Mama," he says, reaching up to be lifted.
I scoop him up, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "Good morning, sweetheart. How's your tooth feeling?"
He points to his jaw and frowns. "Owie."
"I know, baby. We'll get something to make it better soon." Another promise I'm not sure how to keep.
I change his diaper and help him into clean clothes—a dinosaur t-shirt and tiny jeans that are getting too short for him. We need to be quiet; it's barely 6:30 AM, and I don't want to wake Dean. Not after imposing on him so completely yesterday.
But when we tiptoe downstairs, I'm surprised to find the living room empty.
The blankets on the couch are neatly folded, and the smell of coffee fills the air.
Dean is in the kitchen, already dressed in jeans and a black t-shirt that stretches across his broad shoulders.
He's scrambling eggs at the stove, his back to us.
"Good morning," I whisper.
He turns, spatula in hand.
"Morning," he replies, then looks at Max in my arms. "Hey, buddy. Sleep okay?"
Max, suddenly shy, presses his face against my shoulder.
"Sorry," I say. "He's always quiet in the mornings."
Dean nods, turning back to the eggs. "Made coffee. And breakfast, if you're hungry."
"You didn't have to do that."
He shrugs. "Gotta eat anyway."
I set Max down on a kitchen chair, boosting him up with the same cushion we used last night. "Thank you. It smells good."
"Just eggs and toast. Nothing fancy."
But it is fancy to us. Hot breakfast we didn't have to scrounge for or stretch to make last. The simple luxury of it brings a lump to my throat.
"Do you have any children's pain reliever?" I ask, watching Max rub at his jaw. "He's been having tooth pain."
Dean's brow furrows. "Don't think so. What's wrong with his tooth?"
"I'm not sure. It's been bothering him for almost two weeks. I think it might be an infection, but..." I trail off, not wanting to get into the financial details.
"He needs to see a dentist," Dean says, stating the obvious.
"I know." My voice comes out sharper than intended. "I just… I haven't been able to afford it."
"Sorry. Didn't mean it like that." He sets a plate in front of Max, the eggs cut into small pieces. "There's a drugstore a few blocks away. I can get something for the pain after breakfast."
"I have some money," I say quickly. "For medicine. You don't need to—"
"I want to." His voice is firm but not unkind. "And I know a dentist in town. Good guy. Owes the club a favor."
I should be relieved. Instead, I feel a fresh wave of shame. Not only have I failed to provide basic necessities for my son, but now I'm accepting charity from a man who didn't even know he had a child until yesterday.
"I can pay you back," I say, knowing it's an empty promise. "Once I find work."
Dean shakes his head. "I’ve told you. He's my kid too, Sidney. That means I help with expenses."
I open my mouth to argue but stop myself. He's right. And Max needs a dentist.
We eat in awkward silence, broken only by Max's occasional babble about the eggs being "yummy" and questions about where the "bike man" keeps his motorcycle.
"It's at the clubhouse," Dean tells him. "Maybe I'll show it to you sometime."
Max nods enthusiastically, then winces, his hand going to his jaw again.
"Owie," he whimpers.
"I know, sweetheart." I smooth his hair back. "We're going to get medicine soon."
"I'll go right after breakfast," Dean says. "What kind does he need?"
"Children's ibuprofen or acetaminophen. The liquid kind."
He nods, making a mental note. "I have to go to the clubhouse this afternoon. Meeting at three."
"That's fine. We won't be in your way." The last thing I want is to interfere with his life more than I already have.
"Not what I meant." He frowns. "Just letting you know my schedule. Thought maybe we could take him to the dentist this morning, before my meeting."
"Oh."
The "we" catches me off guard. I expected Dean to help financially, sure, but not to actively participate in Max's care so quickly.
"Yes, that would be good."
Dean finishes his coffee and stands. "I'll make the call, then run to the drugstore. Anything else you need while I'm out?"
The list of things we need is endless: diapers, wipes, clothes that fit, proper food, a real bed for Max, a job for me, a permanent home. But I just shake my head. "The medicine is enough. Thank you."
He grabs his keys and wallet, hesitating at the door. "Make yourselves at home. There's not much in the fridge but help yourselves to whatever."
After he leaves, I clean up breakfast while Max plays with a toy truck on the kitchen floor. The scene’s domesticity feels strange: me in Dean's kitchen, our son playing at my feet. Like we're a family, which we absolutely are not.
I think about last night, when Max woke crying from tooth pain.
I heard Dean's footsteps on the stairs, pausing outside the bedroom door.
For a moment, I thought he might come in, might offer to help.
But after a brief hesitation, the footsteps retreated.
I wasn't surprised. This is all new to him—overwhelming, probably.
One day he's a single biker with no responsibilities beyond his club, the next he's faced with a child he never knew existed.
It's a lot for anyone to process.
I finish the dishes and join Max on the floor, helping him line up his few toys. The truck, a stuffed elephant, two action figures with missing limbs, and a soft ball. The sum total of his possessions.
"Where Daddy?" Max asks suddenly, looking toward the door.
The question startles me. Max has never called Dean "Daddy" until now.
"He went to get medicine for your tooth," I explain. "He'll be back soon."
Max nods, accepting this with a child's simple faith that adults will do what they say they'll do. I envy that faith. Life has taught me that people rarely keep their promises, that help comes with conditions, that nothing is permanent, especially not happiness.
Dean returns faster than I expected, a plastic bag in hand. He kneels beside Max, his large frame awkward as he tries to make himself smaller, less intimidating.
"Hey, buddy. Got something for your owie." He pulls out a bottle of children's ibuprofen and a brightly colored sippy cup. "And this, thought you might need a new cup."
The sippy cup is decorated with motorcycles, of course. Max's eyes light up.
"Bikes!" he exclaims, reaching for it.
I take the medicine, reading the dosage instructions. "This is perfect. Thank you."
Dean watches as I measure out the medicine and mix it with a little apple juice he also bought. Max takes it without complaint, too thrilled with his new cup to fuss about the taste.
"Dentist can see him at ten," Dean says. "That work?"
I nod, relief washing through me. "Yes. That's great."
"It's Dr. Harrison. His office is downtown."
"What kind of favor does he owe the club?" I can't help asking.
Dean's mouth quirks in what might be a smile. "Nothing illegal. We provided security for his daughter's wedding last year. Rival family was causing trouble."
"Oh." I'm not sure whether to believe that's the whole story, but it doesn't really matter. Max needs a dentist, and beggars can't be choosers.
"Should I wear something..." I gesture vaguely at my worn jeans and faded t-shirt. "I don't want him to think..."
"You're fine," Dean says. "Harrison's not judgmental. And you look..." He pauses, seeming to search for the right word. "You look good, Sidney."
The compliment, however awkward, warms me unexpectedly. It's been a long time since anyone has noticed me as a woman, not just as Max's mother or a person in need.
"Thanks," I murmur, suddenly self-conscious. "I should get him ready. And myself."
Dean nods. "I'll be downstairs when you're ready to go."
I gather Max and head upstairs, digging through our meager belongings for the least worn-out clothes I can find.
For Max, it's easy. He has few options, so the dinosaur shirt and jeans will have to do.
For myself, I settle on jeans without holes and a blue blouse that's only slightly faded.
My hair is a lost cause, so I pull it into a neat ponytail.
When we return downstairs, Dean is on the phone, his voice low and serious.
"Yeah, I'll be there. Just have this thing with the kid first... No, it's fine. I can handle both." He notices us and quickly ends the call. "Ready?"
I nod, hoisting Max onto my hip. The medicine seems to have helped; he's not rubbing his jaw anymore.