before.”
“Oh,” she said. “No. I’ve seen it.”
The passenger door in the front opened up and her mother leaned her head inside.
“Dr. Trapp is coming,” she said. “He was just a couple of rows in front of us so I asked him to take a look at her.”
Her mother reached over the seat and brushed back Maryellen’s hair.
“How’re you doing, babe?”
“Ok.”
“Do you still have your headache?”
Maryellen nodded.
Dr. Trapp opened the back door and sat on the seat next to her. He felt her head and throat with his pale, skinny fingers. He made her stick out her tongue, and asked her the same things that he always asked her in the office. When he looked into her eyes, he hesitated, then looked again.
“That’s curious,” he said. His angular face wore a puzzled expression as he sat back in the seat beside her.
“What’s curious?”
A hurried tightness squinched her mother’s voice, like she spoke while holding her breath.
Dr. Trapp was staring into Maryellen’s eyes again, going from one eye to another. His eyes were blue, with flecks of gold. He didn’t blink much, but when he blinked she saw the fresh scar where he’d had a mole removed.
“Her pupils . . . open and close at random.”
“Like in a skull fracture?”
Her father’s voice startled her, right above her head. He went on.
“I . . . saw some of that, you know, in the war. . . .”
“Well, Mel, her scalp’s not tender, no signs of an injury. She’d remember anything that hit her that hard. I assume that you know of no such injury . . . ?”
“No,” her mother said. “Nothing that other kids don’t get—scraped hands and knees. Lately she babbles in her sleep, but so does Mel. Today she’s been impossible to get to wake up. . . .”
Her mother’s worried face appeared over the seat, then disappeared to talk with the doctor outside the car.
“Has she had any shaking, or tremors, or fits of any kind?”
“No,” her mother said, “not that I’ve ever noticed.”
“Does she fall asleep at strange times, or does this just happen as a result of her normal sleep?”
“No, no,” her mother insisted. “She was just hard to wake up today, that’s all. We were up late last night, but a few times lately she would sleep round the clock if I’d let her. She’s not like that. You can see how hard it is to keep her awake today. And she’s so quiet . . . .”
He opened the door again and wiggled her foot.
“Is your neck stiff, honey?”
She shook her head. She had her eyes closed because the light made her headache worse.
“Just the headache?”
“Yes.”
He closed the car door and sent streaks of red shooting through her head.
“She has no fever, although she’s clearly been sweating,” he told her mother. “My greatest concern would be for meningitis, but this doesn’t look like that.”
“What could it be, then?” Again, her mother’s worried voice.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I want to see her tomorrow in the office. Call me tonight if she changes in any way for the worse, but bring her in tomorrow even if she’s all better.”
Maryellen slept most of the day away while relatives came to welcome her father home. The men laughed over their beers and her father brought them into the kitchen one by one to show them the nicks in the linoleum and to tell the story of the rat. Each time, he pushed the curtain aside and looked in to see how she was doing.
All of the coats were piled on her parents’ bed, and Maryellen’s mom kissed her forehead each time somebody came or left. When everybody was gone and her parents sat in the kitchen alone, swirling the ice in their glasses, Maryellen felt a sudden, intense hunger. She padded out to the kitchen and wolfed down a huge plate of spaghetti while her parents joked with each other and ruffled her hair.
“Better, huh?” her dad said.
“Yes.”
“Probably just some kid thing,” he said. “She got over it pretty fast.”
“We can
“Oh,” she said. “No. I’ve seen it.”
The passenger door in the front opened up and her mother leaned her head inside.
“Dr. Trapp is coming,” she said. “He was just a couple of rows in front of us so I asked him to take a look at her.”
Her mother reached over the seat and brushed back Maryellen’s hair.
“How’re you doing, babe?”
“Ok.”
“Do you still have your headache?”
Maryellen nodded.
Dr. Trapp opened the back door and sat on the seat next to her. He felt her head and throat with his pale, skinny fingers. He made her stick out her tongue, and asked her the same things that he always asked her in the office. When he looked into her eyes, he hesitated, then looked again.
“That’s curious,” he said. His angular face wore a puzzled expression as he sat back in the seat beside her.
“What’s curious?”
A hurried tightness squinched her mother’s voice, like she spoke while holding her breath.
Dr. Trapp was staring into Maryellen’s eyes again, going from one eye to another. His eyes were blue, with flecks of gold. He didn’t blink much, but when he blinked she saw the fresh scar where he’d had a mole removed.
“Her pupils . . . open and close at random.”
“Like in a skull fracture?”
Her father’s voice startled her, right above her head. He went on.
“I . . . saw some of that, you know, in the war. . . .”
“Well, Mel, her scalp’s not tender, no signs of an injury. She’d remember anything that hit her that hard. I assume that you know of no such injury . . . ?”
“No,” her mother said. “Nothing that other kids don’t get—scraped hands and knees. Lately she babbles in her sleep, but so does Mel. Today she’s been impossible to get to wake up. . . .”
Her mother’s worried face appeared over the seat, then disappeared to talk with the doctor outside the car.
“Has she had any shaking, or tremors, or fits of any kind?”
“No,” her mother said, “not that I’ve ever noticed.”
“Does she fall asleep at strange times, or does this just happen as a result of her normal sleep?”
“No, no,” her mother insisted. “She was just hard to wake up today, that’s all. We were up late last night, but a few times lately she would sleep round the clock if I’d let her. She’s not like that. You can see how hard it is to keep her awake today. And she’s so quiet . . . .”
He opened the door again and wiggled her foot.
“Is your neck stiff, honey?”
She shook her head. She had her eyes closed because the light made her headache worse.
“Just the headache?”
“Yes.”
He closed the car door and sent streaks of red shooting through her head.
“She has no fever, although she’s clearly been sweating,” he told her mother. “My greatest concern would be for meningitis, but this doesn’t look like that.”
“What could it be, then?” Again, her mother’s worried voice.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I want to see her tomorrow in the office. Call me tonight if she changes in any way for the worse, but bring her in tomorrow even if she’s all better.”
Maryellen slept most of the day away while relatives came to welcome her father home. The men laughed over their beers and her father brought them into the kitchen one by one to show them the nicks in the linoleum and to tell the story of the rat. Each time, he pushed the curtain aside and looked in to see how she was doing.
All of the coats were piled on her parents’ bed, and Maryellen’s mom kissed her forehead each time somebody came or left. When everybody was gone and her parents sat in the kitchen alone, swirling the ice in their glasses, Maryellen felt a sudden, intense hunger. She padded out to the kitchen and wolfed down a huge plate of spaghetti while her parents joked with each other and ruffled her hair.
“Better, huh?” her dad said.
“Yes.”
“Probably just some kid thing,” he said. “She got over it pretty fast.”
“We can
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