Chapter 6 - The Sunday Before the ER
Sunday morning, Michael could not find his truck keys.
He had promised to meet a contractor at nine.
It was 8:32.
He checked:
counter,
jacket,
garage,
bedroom.
Then started blaming:
everyone.
“Who moved them?”
I said:
“Probably nobody.”
Emily was making cereal.
Michael looked at her.
“Did you take my keys?”
She frowned.
“Why would I take your keys?”
“Answer.”
“No.”
“Did you drive my truck?”
She laughed.
“Dad, I’m fifteen.”
Wrong reaction.
Michael stepped closer.
“What’s funny?”
“Nothing.”
“That looked like something.”
Emily rolled her eyes.
I was upstairs by then because my mother had called.
I heard Michael yell:
“Don’t roll your eyes at me.”
Then:
a crash.
I ended the call.
Went downstairs.
Emily stood beside the kitchen island.
One hand over her stomach.
Michael was near the refrigerator.
“What happened?”
I asked.
Michael said:
“She tripped.”
Emily looked at him.
Then at me.
“I’m fine.”
I remember everything:
her face pale,
one hand gripping the counter,
Michael breathing hard.
I asked:
“Did he touch you?”
She hesitated.
Then:
“No.”
That hesitation.
I saw it.
Why didn’t I push?
Because Michael said:
“For God’s sake, Sarah.”
Then opened a drawer.
Found:
his keys.
They had been beneath a stack of takeout menus.
He muttered:
“Unbelievable.”
Then left.
Emily went upstairs.
I followed twenty minutes later.
She was curled on the bed.
“Does your stomach hurt?”
“A little.”
“Do you want ice?”
“No.”
“Tylenol?”
“No.”
Then:
“Mom?”
“Yes?”
“Can I stay at Aunt Jenny’s for a few days?”
I almost asked:
why.
Instead I said:
“You have school.”
She rolled away.
“Never mind.”
Another chance.
May you like
Missed.
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