His skin was burning hot again, a heavy, dry heat that made his small chest rise in fast, shallow breaths under his damp clothes.

He whimpered, his fingers twisting into a fold of his blue wool blanket, his dark eyes looking up at my face under the yellow streetlight.

“It’s all right, baby,” I whispered, resting my chin on his hair.

“Mommy’s right here.”

I unbuttoned my coat with my free hand and took my small vinyl coin purse out of the lining.

I opened the brass zipper under the streetlight and counted the folded bills in my hand.

I had twenty-four dollars in cash left.