Now that Jessie was almost four months old, she was sleeping through the night rather consistently—just not tonight. It was three in the morning, and she was crying.
Amanda was standing next to the crib—Jessie's pediatrician had recommended that she switch from the bassinette—rocking her daughter to no avail. Amanda smiled briefly, remembering how Sonny had come over in a pair of overalls to assemble it for her. She hadn't seen a pair of overalls since she moved to New York from Georgia, but nevertheless, there was Sonny, toolbox in hand, rocking the denim.
He had come over on a Saturday, and she remembered how he had unboxed the crib and dragged it into her bedroom. Then he carefully, meticulously read the instructions—he wanted to make sure everything was absolutely perfect and one-hundred percent safe for the baby. When he had finished, he took Jessie in his sweaty, tired arms and rocked her to sleep before putting her down in her new crib. Amanda remembered smiling at her tranquilly sleeping baby.
Another scream from Jessie jolted Amanda back to the present.
"Shhh, it's okay; it's okay," she whispered into her daughter's ear, kissing her forehead. Amanda felt a flash of panic when she realized how hot Jessie was. With her heart racing—she couldn't help it—she placed Jessie down into the crib and then ran over to the bathroom to find a thermometer. Try as she might to steady her hands as she took Jessie's temperature, they shook.
One hundred and three.
As a police officer, Amanda was trained to remain calm as to not escalate a situation. But as a mother? She had just entered full-blown panic.
Gently cradling Jessie with her left arm, she dialed her pediatrician with her right hand. No answer—but what did she expect? It was three a.m.
Her next instinct was to call Sonny. One ring. Two rings. Halfway through the third ring, he picked up the phone.
"Amanda? What's wrong?" he asked, not one bit groggily.
Amanda felt her resolve falter and her voice cracked. "Jessie," she paused to breathe in and calm herself, "Has a fever. 103. I—I," Amanda was at a loss for words. She wasn't sure exactly what Sonny would do or what she would gain from calling him, but she knew it felt right.
"I'll be there in five minutes to take you to the hospital," he said.
That was a lie. He was over in four. When Amanda opened the door, Sonny was standing there in sweatpants and a Fordham tee-shirt, car keys in hand.
She placed Jessie down in her car seat and argued with herself over whether to place a blanket on her. It was freezing outside, but Jessie was burning up. Her instincts told her to leave it off, so she did.
"Let's go," he said. Jessie, waiting in her car seat, was still crying and screaming as Sonny carried her down to the squad car. The whole thing was against protocol, but he turned on the siren anyway. Amanda rode in the backseat next to her daughter, trying her best to comfort her.
When they got to the hospital, Amanda unbuckled the baby and carried her in her arms into the emergency room, Sonny close behind.
They were told to wait. After nearly twenty minutes, when the first tear fell from Amanda's eyes, as Jessie screamed and wailed, Sonny walked up to the counter and yelled at everyone wearing scrubs. Although this may not have been the best or the most diplomatic strategy, nor did it gain him any friends, within a few minutes, they were in a treatment room.
"Ma'am, we'd like your permission to run a blood test," one of the doctors said as she took Jessie from her mother, disrobing her and taking her temperature.
Amanda nodded tearfully, swallowed back her emotions, and meekly said, "Yeah, do whatever you need to." Sonny placed a strong hand on her shoulder.
As the doctors got Jessie into a lukewarm sponge bath, Amanda brought a hand to her own face to hide the tears.
"I should've called 911," she said, loudly enough for only Sonny to hear. He enveloped her in a hug, her head against his chest, her tears staining his shirt.
"She's going to be fine, Amanda; she'll be fine," Sonny whispered, planting a kiss on top of her head.
"Excuse me," a nurse said, tapping Amanda on the shoulder. "It'd be best if you stepped out."
Amanda opened her mouth to protest, but Sonny guided her out, assuring her that, "The doctors are doing their job, Amanda. Let them work."
Amanda paced up and down the hallway, running her hands through her hair, silent. She stopped only when she could no longer hear Jessie crying.
A nurse popped out of the treatment room to update Amanda.
"Miss Rollins?"
Amanda took hold of Sonny's hand. "Yes?" she said.
"Your daughter's just stopped crying; it's a good sign. Her fever's going down. We'd like to keep her here a bit longer, but you're welcome to come back into the treatment room."
Amanda exhaled a breath that she had not been aware she was holding in.
"Thank you," she said, smiling the first time that night.
"Hello, Jessie," Amanda said, taking hold of her baby, who was lethargic but smiled at the sight of her mother.
Sonny placed his hand on the small of Amanda's back, leaning over the baby.
"Hi there, princess," he cooed, tickling her belly with his free hand. Jessie laughed and kicked her feet.
"We've given her some acetaminophen. You'll need to give it to her every six hours until her temperature returns to normal," the doctor said.
"Okay," Amanda responded, not breaking her gaze with her daughter.
The earliest signs of sunlight were peeking through the windows.
When the doctors discharged Jessie, Sonny sought out every hospital employee he had yelled at a few hours ago to apologize. About half them were off duty, so he shared his embarrassment about the way he had spoken to them with Amanda.
"You did it for Jessie. It meant—it meant a lot," she said, struggling to find the right words.
"I did it for you too," he said, smiling at her, forgetting his guilt as he watched Amanda buckle in Jessie.
The sky was illuminated in the same pink and orange as Jessie's pajamas, and the Sun was announcing the new day to the city.
"Looks like the sunshine came back just in time to take Jessie home," Sonny said as he held the car door open for Amanda.
Amanda smiled at him fondly and reached across the divider between their seats to take his hand.
And as Sonny ran the fingers of his free hand through her hair, the keys lingering in the ignition, Amanda responded, "Whatever you say, Sonnshine."