Hours passed, and it was dark and snowing when the door to the bedroom opened again. Race had been telling Lefty about all the things he'd done at work that day, every mundane detail, just because she'd said 'Talk ta me'.

She wasn't delirious at all. He watched her brow furrow a bit as she listened to his words. When she breathed heavily and hotly he put cool, wet clothes on her skin from the basin on the bedtable. When her teeth chattered he put two blankets over her little body. The shifting was constant because the fever was so high. She didn't complain.

A tall, middle-aged man with side burns marched in, a foreboding black leather bag in his hand. Race glanced through the open door to the kitchen where he saw Ringlets and Anthony playing. He had forgotten all about his son. He hadn't left the bedroom since he came home.

"Dr. Weitz" the man said, putting his hand out. Race stood up from the bed and shook it, disliking the doctors business like approach. Taylor took Race gently by the shoulders and pulled him away with her to lean against the wall.

"You must be tired" she whispered as the doctor took of his coat and opened his bag. Race shook his head.

For the next hour they watched as Dr. Weitz took Lefty's temperature over and over, listened to her heartbeat with his metal stethoscope, pocked and prodded her skin, and held a candle close to her huge black eyes. A bit of wax dropped onto her cheek and Lefty, Race and Taylor winced together. Finally the doctor drew a long needle out of the bag. Race drew a sharp breath as the doctor held Lefty's arm out and pierced her white skin. She let out a moan and within a moment lost consciousness. Dr. Weitz stopped drawing blood immediately.

"Miss Taylor" he said, turning to her, "the patient is a mother, is that correct?" Taylor nodded.

"How long ago did she give birth?"

"Um--"

"Four years and seven months" Race interrupted quickly. The doctor ignored him and looked at Taylor.

"Did she have trouble? How long was she in labour? Did she loose a lot of blood?" Taylor fiddled with her shawl.

"Well…it wasn't easy, I suppose, but havin a baby never is, is it?" she said. Race liked the tone she was giving the doctor. "Lefty's so small ya know, so narrow. Not really made fa havin kids, but Anthony was a healthy baby" Taylor explained.

"How much blood?" the doctor asked again, sternly. Taylor frowned.

"A lot. We had to change the sheets four times." Race shut his eyes as she spoke. "Mrs. Jacobs—a friend of hours who delivered the baby----said it was the most she'd ever seen." The doctor nodded.

"I can't let any more blood then" he concluded, wrapping the needle in tissue paper. "Without enough blood her immune system doesn't stand a chance against something like this." He said.

"Something like what?" Race asked.

"Just Scarlet Fever. Classic case." Dr. Weitz said. "Her temperature is through the roof, yet she doesn't sweat. Her skin burns and yet she shivers. The diluted pupils, the pallor—it's the Fever." Race buried his face in his hands. Taylor approached the doctor.

"What…what chance does she…will she get better?" she asked timidly. Dr. Weitz shook his head.

"It isn't very common in adults. Normally I would say that an adult's body could fight it off, but she," he said, gesturing towards the bed, "might as well be a child, and with all that blood loss---"

"Dat you just added to" Race spoke up, walking over. "Ya just took away moah a her blood. How is she gonna get bettah if you take away her defense?" the doctor frowned.

"Standard procedure" he said briskly. "To be honest I don't know what her chances are. I'll come back every few days to see how she is…but stay with her. If the fever breaks, she'll be out of danger. If you see her start to sweat, or if her eyes begin to return to their normal colour, you'll be in the clear. But if the fever lasts for more than a week, I wouldn't put to much hope in her."

Race let out a defeated breath. Just that morning he and Lefty had laughed over breakfast, had tickled Anthony. Just last night they had made love in the bed Lefty now lay in alone, feverish and possibly dying.

Race heard the doctor say something about money, to which he responded 'later'. 'Later' was always his response when it came to giving people money. Taylor and Dr. Weitz left the room, talking to each other, and shut the door. Race sat down on the side of the bed.

"Heya Lefty" he said, voice worn. She smiled up at him as if the last hour had not happened.

"Tell me a story Race" she asked sweetly, reaching a limp hand up to trace his face. Race noticed the sleeve pulled back on her other arm, a red mark visible where the needle had pricked her. The doctor hadn't bothered to put anything on it.

"A'right, I'll tell you a story about…" Race thought as he tied an extra rag around her injured arm. He tried to think of something comforting that would take her away from the bleakness and coldness of everything. Race wracked his brain for something that would make her feel safe and warm.

"I'll tell you a story about Napoli, in Italy, where I was born" Lefty closed her eyes and he conjured up images of warm, sunny days and rolling landscapes. Most of it was fabricated, drawn from little things he remembered of his old village, his mother and father. She felt asleep halfway through his tale, and he kissed her lips. He went into the kitchen and told Ringlets she could go, telling her Lefty would be fine, don't worry. He picked up his little boy and carried him to bed, before Race dragged his heavy body onto bed beside Lefty. He pulled her small, burning body into his, and tried not to do the thing he hadn't done since he was five: cry.