Three Women. March Hastings

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      Paula knew her mother wasn’t trying to chide her. And she was being discreet enough not to ask why Phil hadn’t brought her home. He always came upstairs for a short visit. Her mother enjoyed the company. She liked Phil. And Paula could see that her own sudden hesitance about marrying him was a disappointment.

      The boys were fighting so loudly over the verb of a sentence that nobody heard Pa come in. He stumbled into the kitchen and fell heavily on the table, his face yellow with a frightening pallor.

      “Harry!” Her mother ran to him. He fell forward, upsetting the empty glasses, and lay with his cheek against the oilcloth.

      Paula ran to the phone to call the doctor. Her hands trembled as they dialed numbers.

      She cleared the boys out and sent Mike with them. Her father lay at the table, retching with spasms, speechless in pain. She and her mother tried to move him to the bed but he couldn’t make it.

      The doctor arrived, and the three of them managed to get the old man into bed. After the examination, the doctor put his stethoscope in his bag and filled out a prescription.

      “It’s nothing to worry about, Mrs. Temple. He’ll have to stay in bed for a couple of weeks. No alcohol, of course. Plenty of tea and broth and rest. This will keep him quiet through the night. I’ll drop by tomorrow.”

      Paula gave him the five dollar visiting fee, regretting the generous tip to the cabbie yesterday. Every penny she earned was tightly accounted for. Doctor bills were things to be dreaded. They could cut a hole into your life that sometimes took years to repair. Nothing to worry about, the doctor said. Well, there was plenty to worry about.