Chapter 8 DESPERATE TIME PART 1

Vivienne's hands kept shaking as she held the folder in her lap. Inside were papers she had put together over the last three days. Business tax returns, projection statements, legal papers, client contracts, and bank statements with more red than black. Everything CrossLight Entertainment could give a lender who might actually say yes.

She sat in one of the chairs at First National Bank and waited. She had been waiting for 40 minutes.

The loan officer, a middle-aged woman in a navy suit with reading glasses on her nose, had already called three people before her. Each one went behind the frosted glass door for 15 to 20 minutes before coming out with either a smile of relief or defeat.

Vivienne was pretty sure which group she would be in, but she stayed positive anyway.

$400,000. That's what she wanted. It was enough to pay off their back rent, buy new equipment to replace the old ones, and pay her staff for the next six months while they built up their client base again. Given their current situation, it was a lot of money to get from a bank all at once. But it was possible. It had to be possible.

She had already been turned down twice. Three weeks ago, Metropolitan Trust. Just last week, Harbor Financial. Both had given the same reasons: not enough collateral, cash flow that wasn't stable, and a high-risk industry.

But First National was not like that. They were experts in loans for small businesses. They knew a lot about creative fields. Or at least that's what their website said.

The woman in front of her, who was in her fifties and had a canvas tote bag that said "Live, Laugh, Love," stood up when her name was called. She smiled nervously at the loan officer and then followed her through the door made of frosted glass.

Next was Vivienne.

She took out her phone, not because she needed to. There were no new messages. Marcus had wished her luck this morning and knew she was here. Her employees didn't know how bad things were yet. And she still hadn't answered Alexander's email from three days ago.

Her phone lit up in her hand. The screen showed Westbrook Elementary.

She felt sick to her stomach.

Schools only called if there was a problem.

She answered right away. "Hello?"

"Ms. Cross?" The voice was calm but urgent. "Please come get Noah right away. He has a high fever and isn't very coherent. We're very worried."

Vivienne jolted up so quickly that the folder almost fell off her lap.

"What?" Her voice sounded strangled. "What do you mean isn't very coherent?"

"He was fine this morning, but about an hour ago he started complaining that his throat hurt. Then his fever went up. We've been trying to make him comfortable, but Ms. Cross, I really think he needs to see a doctor right away."

Vivienne was already leaving, giving up the loan she really needed. "I'm on my way. I'll be there in ten minutes."

She didn't wait for an answer. Didn't even hang up right. She just shoved the phone into her bag and ran out the door.

The loan officer came out of her office behind her. "Vivienne Cross?"

Vivienne didn't turn around.

The front office of Westbrook Elementary was bright and cheerful, which didn't feel right with the panic in her chest. She saw the receptionist who pointed her through right away. "Ms. Cross, the nurse's office is straight back."

Vivienne didn't need any help getting there. She had been here enough times to pick him up. She'd been here during parent-teacher conferences, and had also seen Noah smile at her from the stage during school events.

At the end of the hall was the nurse's office.

Noah was lying on the small bed with a wet cloth on his head. His cheeks were very red, and his eyes were half-closed. He seemed so fragile.

"Noah." She was next to him in two steps, putting her hand on his forehead. He was on fire.

"Mom?" His voice was hard to hear.

"Baby, I'm here. I'm right here."

Mrs. Callahan, the nurse, who was in her sixties and had kind eyes and gray hair, stepped closer. "I gave him some children's Tylenol about twenty minutes ago, but it hasn't brought his fever down yet. He keeps saying his throat feels like it's on fire."

Vivienne's thoughts raced back to last night. Noah was quieter than usual at dinner. He had asked for an extra blanket before bed because he said he was cold. She gave him Tylenol and put him to bed, saying he should feel better in the morning. She was tired from work and stressed out from all the bills she couldn't pay. She hadn't paid enough attention to her son.

She should have known.

She should have kept him at home.

"We need to get him to a hospital," Vivienne said. Her voice was steadier than she felt.

Mrs. Callahan nodded. "That's what I think is best we do. Do you want me to call an ambulance?"

"No. I'll take him." She couldn't afford an ambulance right now or the bills that would come with it.

She held Noah close to her. He was nine years old and a big kid who shouldn't be carried like this anymore, but right now he felt weak. Like he could be broken.

"It's okay, baby," she said softly into his hair. "Mommy's got you."