Chapter 10

We stayed at the hospital all night but by the next afternoon, Ponyboy didn't seem much better. He slept fitfully, muttering nonsense under his breath. Sometimes he cried. He called for Johnny. He wanted me and Soda and Darry but when we went to him he pushed us away. Finally, when there didn't seem to be much the doctors could do that we couldn't, Darry signed him out and we took him home to try and make him well in his own bed.

Darry sat with Pony on the couch while Sodapop and I changed the sheets on their bed and did a quick surface pickup. We got Pony settled in. He finally seemed to be really sleeping.

"Cinnamon, do you remember that book Mom had? That child care book?" Darry asked. When I nodded, he said, "Any idea where it got to? There might be something in there about fevers."

"I can look."

"That'd be great. And find the thermometer. Soda, make sure there's ice, okay? And every time he opens his eyes, try to make him drink something. I'm going to put on a pot of soup. I don't think he's eaten anything solid since he got home Friday."

This was Darry at his best – composed and in command. It calmed Soda and me, and I went in search of Mom's Dr. Spock book. Their room was Darry's now. I'd always had the smallest room to myself, being the only girl, but the three boys had shared what was now Pony and Soda's room until Darry went to college.

There was a box in the back of Darry's closet, full of miscellaneous Mom and Dad things, and I pawed through it, trying not to look too closely. I found the Dr. Spock book and thumbed through the index quickly. I also found The Man with the Golden Gun. I thought Pony might like it, when he felt well enough to read, so I crept into his room and put it on the bedside table, next to the hospital gift shop copy of Gone with the Wind. A nurse had brought it down to us, saying Johnny had wanted Ponyboy to have it.

I looked at Ponyboy and he stirred and opened his eyes. "Cinnamon?" he said.

He was looking right at me. Oh, my God. Good boy. I leaned forward. "Hi, honey, I'm here."

"I'm so hot."

"I know, you've got a fever." I took the glass of water Soda had set next to the book. "Are you thirsty? You should drink something."

I put the straw in his mouth and he sucked in a mouthful.

"Cinny – can you …"

I patted his head. "Anything, baby, what do you need?"

"Can you … get Dad?"

Dad? Did he think … or could he … he didn't see them, did he?

"Pony," I began, then I started to cry. I couldn't help it. "Sure," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "Sure, I'll find Dad."

"Need Daddy, okay?"

"Okay. You go on back to sleep, and I'll hunt him up for you."

He closed his eyes, and I stumbled into the kitchen.

"Was he talkin' to you?" Soda said eagerly. "He knew you?"

"Yeah, he knew me," I answered. "He wants me to get Dad for him."

No one said anything. We all stood there, pretending we hadn't been shocked into tears, then finally Darry asked, "Did you find that book?"

"Yeah," I answered. "Rubbing alcohol. That's supposed to help."

"I'll see if we have any," Soda said.

Sunday bled into Monday. Darry and Soda both stayed home from work. No one said anything about my going back to school. Pony didn't get much better, but he didn't seem worse. His fever went down to 103 and hung there. We got him to drink, and I kept putting ice chips in his mouth, but he wouldn't eat anything. No matter what Darry tried to feed him, he said he didn't like baloney. He'd always eaten baloney, and Darry and Soda had no idea what changed his mind, but I did.

Despite Pony's illness, Darry called around to try to find out when Johnny's funeral was. He pulled me into his bedroom to tell me the Cades had had a private service that was already over and done with, and he sat with me while I cried over Johnny all over again.

None of us slept much. Darry pulled the armchair into the bedroom because there wasn't room on the double bed for the four of us, and Soda and me had taken over the other half. Pony was in his own world. He wanted Mom and Dad. He said Johnny didn't mean to kill that Soc. He wanted Johnny. He asked for me. He thought we were still at the church. Nothing he said made much sense and nothing we said got through to him. At four o'clock Monday afternoon, he propped himself up on his elbows and said clearly, "Darry, I'm sorry, you don't need to swing on me. I won't do it again." Darry got up abruptly and went into the bathroom as Soda tried to settle Pony down. I heard the toilet flush and the water running, but I think he was in there crying.

Soda and I took turns curling up next to him, trying to will him to get well. He woke up late Monday night, briefly lucid, asked if he was sick and if Darry was sorry, then fell back asleep. But this time, he seemed to be really sleeping, not hovering on unconsciousness.

I'd fallen into a light sleep myself when quiet voices woke me and I opened my eyes. Darry was leaning forward in the armchair and he and Pony were talking. I reached over and touched the side of his face. The fever was gone.

He smiled at me. "Hey, Cinny-spice."

"Hey, little brother." I could have cried, I was so relieved to see him back.

Then I caught the look on Darry's face and said, "What?"

There was a minute's pause, then Darry said quietly, "Ponyboy was asking me about the court hearing."

"Oh," I breathed.

"Do you think they'll split us up?" Pony asked worriedly.

"I don't know, baby," Darry said softly. "I just don't know."

No! I wanted to shout. You're supposed to know! You're supposed to say, Of course not, don't be silly, everything will be fine.

"Don't you remember being in the hospital?" Darry asked. When Pony shook his head, Darry said, "You kept asking for us. Sometimes for Mom and Dad, but mostly for Soda."

"Where is Soda?" Pony asked, and as if summoned by magic, Soda stuck his head in the doorway, saw Pony awake and reasonably himself, and bounced on the edge of the bed. "You're better?"

"I think so," Pony said. "I'm just a little hungry."

"I don't think you've eaten since Dairy Queen," I said, stifling a yawn.

"I made mushroom soup," Darry said. "How'd you like that?"

"I'd like that fine," Ponyboy said.

"Soda? Cinny?"

"Sure," Soda said. "Bring us a picnic."

When Darry left for the kitchen, Pony looked at us worriedly. "What all did I say when I was delirious?"

Soda and I exchanged a glance, then he said, "You thought you were still in Windrixville most of the time. You were saying Johnny didn't mean to kill that Soc. You asked for him, and for us."

"And for Darry?" Pony asked.

"Sure, for Darry. For all of us," I said. "Mom and Dad, too. You didn't know we were there." I yawned. "But we were with you the whole time."

"I believe it," he said fondly. "Y'all look awful."

God, I was tired. I was too tired to insult Pony back. I snuggled back down into the quilt. Soda poked me. "Cinny, move, that's my side," he groused. I just scooted closer to Ponyboy. I couldn't have gotten up to save my life.

"Darry'll holler at you," Soda yawned, as he got in next to me and threw his arm over both of us. "He'll tell you it isn't proper."

"Hmm hmm," I mumbled, and when Darry got back, we were all asleep.

A/N – Rubbing alcohol is no longer considered a safe way to bring down a fever, but in 1966, when Pony was so sick, it would have been more common.