THE OVERTIME CHECK

BY

PHAIR

Ebook by
PDAFiction.com

WARNING: Kind of sad. Some disturbing visual imagery. Some foul language. Absolutely, no references to swans.

Copyright © 2005 Marguerite Mullaney.

All rights reserved.

p.phair@comcast.net

THE OVERTIME CHECK

    MATT WAS SWAGGERING down Beach Street. He had his regular pay and his overtime pay stuffing his pockets; $27.60, cash money. Better than most men brought him in 1951. His Meggie would take it and pay the rent, the lights, the gas, give him back two bucks for the week, and put away a bit for their baby's crib.

"Joke's on her," he thought as the three decker holding their top floor apartment came into view. "My sister's got an old crib just waiting on a new baby."

His mind spun with what the little nest egg would buy for them next Christmas. Matt couldn't keep the grin from his face even as he spied his father in law dismantling the car engine. The dilapidated jalopy spent more time in bits than on the road.

"Frank, what are you doing?"

The older man put a greasy hand to his salt and pepper hair and answered, "She be making a fierce rumbling in second."

"Need any help?"

The old man crowed, "I've got it all under control, my boyo. You be just taking care of my little girl tonight."

Matt chuckled as he climbed the three flights up to his apartment. Passing his mother in law's flat, he caught whiff of her beef stew. His stomach growled at the aroma.

"Wonder if that's what we're having?" He thought as he turned the handle to his home. "Meg, your lad is home early with a pocket full of cash," he called out making his way toward the running water in the kitchen. "Meggie, the water's running over…MOTHER OF GOD!"

Matt stood stone still as he tried to take in the scene before him. His young wife lay on the floor surrounded by a sea of red. The deepest stemmed from between her legs and the faintest by her so very pale face.

Matt raced, skidding across the linoleum, to the open window on the other side of the room, "FRANK! Start the car!"

Matt hurried back to his wife's side. He scooped her up in his arms and cradled her with a sob. A faint breath trickled across his neck.

"That's it Meg. Breath. I'll do the rest. You just keep breathing," he panted as he lifted her.

She wasn't very light to start with but then there was the added baby weight and the water soaked cotton dress and Matt was only 118 pounds. That didn't seem to matter at the moment. The best friend he ever had was hurt and their child was dying. Matt knew he had to be braver and stronger than any man had ever been.

"FRANK! START THE DAMN CAR!" He screamed out rounding by the window half way down the stairwell from the third floor.

"Watch you language, Matthew!" His mother in law scolded exiting her apartment. Then she saw the burden in his arms, "Oh my God! Please not my girl too!"

"Shut off the water. Then go to my mother's. We'll get word back to her place," Matt gasped heading for the second floor stairs. "FRANK START THE GOD DAMN CAR!"

Matt hit the pavement with a thud and a skid. His mind raced to remember where his father in law had parked the junk box he called a car. Turning his head left, revealed the sight he didn't need to see at the most right then. Frank stood with the car hood still open, a half dozen metal pieces surrounding his feet and a broken fan belt in his hand.

"She won't start, boyo," He muttered. "Oh my sweet Meggie," he gasped when he saw the pallor on his daughter's cheeks.

A whistle sounded in the distance. Several clacks and a clank followed it. And, repeated themselves.

"TROLLEY!" both men shouted and took off running toward the stop at the end of the street.

"Mattie, toss her to me," Frank demanded around his strained breathes.

"What?"

"You're faster without her. You catch the trolley and we'll catch up. Come on," Frank held his arms out.

"Okay," Matt understood. "On a three count. One. Two. Three."

Frank caught his youngest daughter easily and held her close to his chest. "Now, run lad!"

"WAIT! STOP THE TROLLEY! STOP THE FUCKING TROLLEY!" Matt screamed like a madman as he sprinted down the street.

"See there, we're save'n ya now, girl. So, give us a chance. Stay with me, Meggie," Frank murmured as her forced his old body to keep at a steady pace.

"STOP THE TROLLEY!"

The trolley driver tried to ignore the blood soaked man racing toward him. He encouraged the passengers to quicken their steps. After all, there was a schedule to keep in mind. Before he could release the brake handle, though, a blood soaked arm reached in the open driver's window and reopened the doors.

"Sir, this is commandeering of a public vehicle for personal use," the driver announced in an official tone. "It is not allowed."

"My wife. My baby. They're dying. Help us!" Matt panted his need while his father in law ran around the front of the trolley to the doors.

The driver looked between the pair and then at the deathly sick woman in the old man's arms. "Anybody gonna complain about an express to the General?" He asked his passengers.

There were tentative mumbles but no objections. The driver waved the three aboard. He switched his sign to express and headed for the forth next stop on his usual route.

"Meg, we're getting you help. Just hold on," Matt pleaded to his wife limp in her father's arm.

"You listen to him, girl. He makes a lot of sense, he does," Frank spoke softly.

The driver blared his whistle as they approached the hospital, "Let's see if we can get some help for you two."

Frank and Matt nodded. Neither had words for anybody but Meggie. A whirlwind of activity emerged from the hospital entrance even before the trolley squeaked to a stop.

"We're here now, Meg. There're doctors and nurses and their gonna save you," Matt said as he gathered her in his arms.

Once out of the trolley, orderlies snatched his wife away from him and put her in a wheelchair to hurry her the last few feet. Matt turned and saw his father in law fishing in his pockets for the trolley fare. Before Matt could speak, a nurse grabbed his arm and hurried him into the hospital.

"What is the patient's name?" She asked with an efficiency as crisp as her starched, white uniform.

Matt cleared his throat, "Meggie, I mean Megan Meehan."

Several additional questions were fired at the dazed man in the same detached manner. Matt answered without thinking. He kept glancing to the door his wife was hidden behind.

"Can't I be with her?" His voice almost failed. "She must be afraid. If I could just hold…,"

"SIR," the nurse responded with a snarl. "Only medical staff is trained to deal with your wife's condition. Now, do you have health insurance?"

Matt stiffened. "I work across town at City Hospital. We don't, they don't offer…,"

"You'll need to fill out this form," the nurse interrupted. "The hospital will need cash or a check at completion of services. In the event you need additional time to pay, the hospital can divert a portion of your weekly salary until the bill is paid in full."

Matt's head was spinning. He could only stare at the nurse who abruptly turned her back on him.

"Come on, boyo. Have a seat." Frank put a firm hand on Matt's sagging shoulders and guided him to a chair.

"What am I gonna do?" Matt was unable to focus his thoughts; barely able to contain his grief.

"You don't think on it yet. We wait to hear on Meggie and the baby and then we work it all out," Frank spoke in a reassuring tone. "We've all been broke before. So, we be broke again. No harm in it. But, let me get my buddies at the legion to come down here."

"Why?"

Frank said, "If we replace the blood she uses, you won't have to pay to replace it."

"Right," Matt replied dully.

His father in law stood and walked down the corridor which was still stained with Meg's blood. Matt watched his departure for a moment before his eyes filled with tears.

"What am I gonna do?"

*  *  *

Megan and her sister, Mary, were cleaning out their father's bureau and closet. It had only been three days since his funeral but the pair wanted to spare their mother the sad task. While their mother napped on the couch, Megan went to work on his top draw and Mary took on the closet.

"You know, most normal people keep socks in their top drawer," Megan deadpanned.

Mary laughed, "Not our Dad. That was his file cabinet. I'm so glad I got dibs on the closet. All these clothes are getting bagged for Goodwill and I'll be done."

"Slacker!" her sister hissed. "Hey, these are weird looking. What do you think they're for?"

Mary turned and caught a bundle of old IBM cards held together with an ancient rubber band. She took a moment to study them. Finally, she sat on the bed to re-read the text visible in-between the hole punches.

"What?" Megan asked noting the slump in her sister's shoulders.

"Dad paid a $3000 hospital bill for a baby."

"Well, Mom and Dad did have eight kids. They probably didn't have insurance for the first two or three. Dad must have coughed up a lot more than three grand over the years," Megan laughed as she flopped on the bed next to her sister.

"1951," Mary stated and showed Megan the card in her hand.

"No, Tobin was born in '53."

"1951," Mary pointed to the numbers on the card.

"Girls? What are you doing?" Meggie asked from the doorway.

"Mom, what are these?" Mary asked as she held the cards out to her mother.

"We were cleaning out Dad's stuff while you rested. Thought we'd save you a little," Megan interrupted to explain. "But, I found those and we got sidetracked. So, what's up with them? Why did Dad have a hospital maternity bill in '51."

"Because," Meggie sat on the bed next to her daughters, "I lost our first baby in 1951."

"What?" Megan sat up with a start. "You miscarried before you had Tobin?"

Meggie sniffed before answering in a broken voice, "Yes."

"Mom," Mary's eyes filled with tears, "why didn't you tell us? Don't you think we deserved to know something that important? We're a family."

Meggie gave a sad smile, "Yes, honey, we are a family. But before that, your father and I were best friends in love. Some topics are private between young lovers even when they become an old married couple."

THE END