Chapter 4 - Sidney #2
Dean drives us into town in his pickup truck. Max is secure in his car seat between us on the bench seat, chattering about the trucks and cars we pass. The ibuprofen has clearly kicked in, brightening his mood considerably.
Blackwater Falls looks different in daylight: a small, quaint town with a main street of brick buildings and locally-owned businesses.
People nod to Dean as we pass, some with respect, others with wariness.
The Savage Riders clearly have a presence here, though whether that presence is welcomed or merely tolerated, I can't tell.
The dental office is in a converted old house painted a cheerful yellow. Dr. Harrison turns out to be a middle-aged man with kind eyes and a gentle manner that immediately puts Max at ease. He examines Max's mouth while I hold my son's hand, Dean standing awkwardly nearby.
"He has an abscessed molar," Dr. Harrison explains. "It needs to be extracted. The good news is that it's a baby tooth, so it's not a permanent loss."
"Is it serious?" I ask, my stomach knotting with guilt.
"It's infected, so yes, it needs to be addressed. But we caught it before it could spread or cause other complications." He gives me a reassuring smile. "Kids this age get tooth infections more often than you'd think. It's not a reflection on your parenting."
The kindness in his voice nearly undoes me. "Thank you," I manage.
"We can take care of it today, if you'd like. He'll need antibiotics afterward, and soft foods for a few days, but kids bounce back quickly."
I glance at Dean, wondering if he needs to leave for his meeting, but he's already nodding. "Today is good."
Dr. Harrison looks between us. "He'll need to be sedated. It's very mild. He'll just be sleepy and won't remember much. One of you can stay with him the whole time."
"I will," I say immediately.
"We both will," Dean corrects, surprising me.
The procedure itself is quick. Max is drowsy from the sedation, curled in my lap while Dr. Harrison works. Dean sits beside us, his large hand covering Max's tiny one. When Max whimpers, Dean tenses beside me, his jaw clenching as if he's physically restraining himself from intervening.
It's over in less than an hour. Max is groggy but no longer in pain, a small gauze pad tucked against his gum. Dr. Harrison gives us care instructions and a prescription for antibiotics.
"He did great," the dentist assures us. "Give him soft foods today. Ice cream, yogurt, mashed potatoes. He'll be back to normal by tomorrow."
When I reach for my purse to pay for my part, Dr. Harrison waves it away.
"We're square. Tell King I said hello."
Dean nods, shaking the man's hand. "Will do. Thanks, Doc."
In the truck, Max dozes between us, his head lolling against my arm. The relief of having his tooth taken care of is overwhelming. One problem solved, a hundred more to go.
"Thank you," I say quietly. "For arranging this."
Dean keeps his eyes on the road. "Don't thank me for doing what I should have been doing all along."
"You didn't know about him."
"Still." His hands tighten on the steering wheel. "No kid should be in pain because their parent can't afford a dentist."
"I tried," I say, defensive again. "I was saving up, but everything costs so much. Rent, food, diapers..."
"I know." He glances at me briefly. "I'm blaming myself. And a system that leaves single parents with no safety net."
"We should get his prescription," I say, changing the subject. "And maybe some ice cream? The dentist said it would help."
"Yeah." Dean nods. "Good idea."
We stop at a pharmacy where Dean fills Max's prescription, then a small grocery store where he insists on buying not just ice cream but other soft foods—applesauce, yogurt, pudding, soup.
He also grabs diapers, wipes, and juice boxes without being asked.
I want to object, to insist I can provide for my son, but the truth is, I can't. Not right now.
By the time we return to Dean's house, it's nearly one o'clock. Max is more alert, asking for ice cream and showing off the sticker Dr. Harrison gave him for being brave.
"Ice cream for lunch?" Dean asks, looking to me for confirmation.
I nod. "Just this once, because he was very brave at the dentist."
Max beams, the gap where his infected tooth used to be visible when he smiles. Dean scoops chocolate ice cream into a bowl and sets it in front of Max, who digs in right away.
"I should head to the clubhouse soon," Dean says, checking his watch. "You two okay here?"
"We'll be fine," I assure him. "Max will probably nap this afternoon."
He hesitates, seeming reluctant to leave. "I don't know how long the meeting will be. But there's food in the fridge now, and the TV works if you want to watch something."
"We're not helpless," I say, softer than the words might sound. "Go to your meeting. We'll be here when you get back."
"Thanks. I'll try not to be late."
After he leaves, I help Max finish his ice cream, clean his face, and give him his antibiotic. The medication combined with the earlier sedation makes him drowsy, and he falls asleep on the couch, his head in my lap.
I stroke his hair, watching his peaceful face. For the first time in weeks, he's not in pain. He's safe, warm, fed. All because we found his father.
But what happens next? Dean has been surprisingly accommodating, but we can't stay here forever.
He has his own life: a dangerous one, from what I can tell.
The Savage Riders aren't just a motorcycle club.
They're an outlaw MC with enemies and illegal activities, no matter what Dean says about "security work. "
Is this really a better environment for Max than struggling on our own? At least with me, he's not exposed to violence and criminal activity. But with me, he was sleeping in a car with an untreated tooth infection.
There are no perfect choices here, only the best of bad options.
Max stirs in his sleep, one hand clutching my shirt. His trust in me is absolute, unquestioning. He believes I'll always protect him, always make the right decisions for his welfare.
I have to live up to that trust, whatever it takes.
I shift him onto a cushion and stand, needing to move, to do something productive. Dean's house is clean but impersonal. Few decorations, no family photos except the one with his military buddy, minimal furniture. It reminds me of a hotel room: a place to sleep, not a home.
In the kitchen, I open cupboards, taking stock of what's there. The groceries Dean bought today are the most food-like items in the house. Otherwise, it's mostly protein bars, coffee, and alcohol. The refrigerator is similarly sparse. Beer, condiments, a few takeout containers.
It's a bachelor's kitchen, through and through.
On impulse, I check the freezer and find several packages of ground beef and chicken. The pantry yields pasta, rice, and canned vegetables. Enough to make a decent meal, at least.
Cooking is something I can do. A small way to repay Dean's unexpected kindness.
By the time Max wakes from his nap, I've started a pot of homemade chicken soup. Easy on his sore mouth and comforting for all of us. He's groggy but in good spirits, asking for juice and settling on the floor with his toys.
I watch him play, his imagination transforming the sparse living room into adventures involving his truck, elephant, and action figures.
Children are resilient, adaptable in ways adults struggle to be.
In his world, this is just another place, another day.
The fear and uncertainty of our situation don't touch him as long as I'm nearby, as long as his immediate needs are met.
I wonder what Dean is doing at his club meeting. Planning something dangerous? Discussing illegal business? Or maybe just the mundane operations of a brotherhood that happens to ride motorcycles and break laws occasionally.
The soup simmers on the stove, filling the house with the smell of home-cooked food. I find myself hoping Dean likes it, that he'll appreciate coming home to a hot meal after whatever his afternoon entails.
Coming home. As if this arrangement is permanent. As if we're playing house instead of navigating a crisis that threw us together.
I need to be realistic about our situation. Dean has been kind, but kindness doesn't equal commitment. He's helping because Max is his son and I was desperate, not because he wants an instant family. The sooner I find work and get back on my feet, the better for everyone.
But for tonight, at least, we have a safe place to sleep, food to eat, and a reprieve from immediate crisis. It's more than we had yesterday, and sometimes, that has to be enough.