Page 94 of Moonshine Lullabies

He shut his trap and all he could say was, “Language, Ms. Gaudet.”

“Suck my left tit!” I snapped, and I jerked open his office door.

“Go on, now, son. Let me get you looked after.”

Tate preceded me out, and I slammed the door shut behind me.

“Now we know where he gets it from,” I heard the secretary mutter behind my back and I stopped, back straight, and turned around slowly.

“Mamma…” Tate tried, but I looked at her and she went pale.

“Today is not the day, and I am not the one,” I said, my voice cold and shaking. “You wanna go on and say that again?”

She forced a smile and said, “Say what?”

“That’s what I thought,” I said, and I grabbed my son by the arm and marched him out to my truck. “Shit, you look awful,” I said, and tried to fuss over him.

“I feel real bad, Mamma. One of ‘em kicked me in the head real good.”

“Okay, baby, come on.”

I rushed him into urgent care and told ‘em what happened. They didn’t waste any time and got him right back to see a doctor.

He ain’t have no broken bones, according to the x-ray, but the doctor said he for sure had some kind of a concussion and that I would need to take him to the ER for further imaging. I didn’t like the sound of that at all. I called Collier and J.P. and told them to meet us there. The doctor wrote me up a bunch of information and handed me a sheaf of papers off the printer and off we went.

We were in a room waiting for the results of his CT scan when Col and J.P. got there.

“You should have seen her Nuckie,” he told J.P. “I ain’t never seen her so mad and she tore into Principal Hunter like he was wet paper.”

“She did, huh?” J.P. asked, his hands on his hips.

“Yeah.”

Col was standing by my chair, an arm around my shoulders giving them a reassuring squeeze.

“Yeah, well, he deserved it,” I said. “An’ you oughtta know by now I’d walk through hellfire for you, son.”

“No, I know,” he said.

I nodded once, sharply.

The doctor came in after that and said, “Well, good news, Tate. Your scans look good and I can send you home, I do think you have a low grade concussion, though so I want you to take it easy for the next few days.”

“What?” Tate asked, pulling the ice pack off the bridge of his nose. “No, I was supposed to go hunting with my family this weekend!” he cried.

“Afraid not, son. You need to rest. I’m givin’ you Friday and Monday off from school…”

The rest of what the doctor had to say was a bit of a blur honestly. All I’d heard was all I’d needed to hear – my boy was going to be okay.

“Oh, hey, don’t cry!” Tate said, but it was too late. I rubbed a thumb across the back of his hand where I held it and sniffled.

“He’s okay, Mamma,” the doctor said kindly and he held out a box of tissues to me. I plucked one then two out of it and mopped at my eyes.

“He’s okay, baby,” Col said, and he wrapped me up in his arms and held me tight.

“I know, I’m sorry, but you’re mybaby,” I told Tate and I squeezed his hand. He squeezed it back and J.P. had sense enough to take over and get all his discharge paperwork and the like.

“You gonna be okay to drive?” Col asked me while we waited on the other side of the curtain just inside his Emergency Room’s bay door.

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