where I felt treasured. And the first time Theo put his hand around my wrist to lead me across a crowded room, my entire body tingled with recognition. All I could think of at that moment was how much I wanted his hands to touch the rest of me.
“They’re hanging in there,” I evade, though Vince and I haven’t spoken. Not really. While the doctors were talking to us the night before in the hallway outside our daughters’ rooms, I had felt Vince watching me. But I couldn’t look back. Even now, I can’t jump the canyon between us. I can’t pretend we’re okay.
I hear the wind blow past the phone, muted shouts in the background. My mother’s calling from the soccer field. “How’s the game going?” I need to hear about the boys, and how their lives are staying on happy tracks.
Last night’s storm breezed through D.C. but stalled along the Maryland shore, directly overhead. Earlier, I’d heard thunder booming. I hate rain—I always have—but I’m glad it’s my mother and my boys getting a brief spate of sunshine now before the storm rolls back in. After the game, my mother will take them to lunch and then to Janey’s birthday party, which I’d forgotten but was the first thing Henry reminded my mother about when he woke up. They will come home, happy and tired, to walk Percy and then sprawl on the floor of the family room playing with LEGO while my mom assembles dinner. A good day, and I’d been looking forward to it, but now I can’t remember the woman I’d been just twenty-six hours before, scooping dog food into a bowl and eyeing the weather report on TV, worrying about a few inches of rain and pending soccer plans.
“I’m not sure,” she says. “It’s kind of hard to tell when someone’s made a goal. And they talked me into ice cream for breakfast. I hope you don’t mind. They were so upset about Arden. But I drew the line at sprinkles.”
“That’s right, Mom. You’re the boss.” Framed prints in hideous pastel colors hang on the hospital walls. Once Arden gets out of here we will bring her paintings over and hang them on all the walls. It will be a way of thanking the doctors and nurses for saving our child. It will be a way of supporting the other families who find themselves in the cheerless place where we are now.
“Dad called, by the way,” I tell her. What can I do, Princess? he’d asked. He hasn’t called me that in years. It makes me suspect everything.
“Are you letting him visit?”
I sigh. I have no energy to manage this, either. “No. And not Mary Beth, either.” Which is really what she wants to know.
The door opens and people come in. Theo, Vince, Gabrielle, and a man I’ve never seen before in a dark suit, a tie folded crisply, round gold-framed glasses. Someone from the university, I decide. Someone with answers? “I have to go, Mom,” I say, and we hang up. “How’s Rory?” I ask Gabrielle, and she answers, “There was a delay. She should be going into surgery soon.”
“This is my wife,” Theo says. “Natalie Falcone. Natalie, this is Detective Gallagher.”
A police officer. I’m instantly wary, though I’ve done nothing wrong. I stand and shake the officer’s hand. “Who’s with Arden?” I ask Theo. This is the first of the rules that I have made with myself. Someone always has to be here with Arden, and preferably in the chair beside her bed, until she comes home.
“She’s okay,” Theo replies, which only means She’s the same.
“I just have a few questions, ma’am,” Detective Gallagher says. “It won’t take long.” Questions? I thought he was here to give us answers. I must look worried, because he adds, “Talking to the family is standard procedure in a fatal fire.”
A fatal fire. That’s what this is, not merely one that blistered my daughter’s skin, smacked her head against the wooden picnic bench beneath her window, broke her bones, and yanked her into a hushed space hovering between life and death. A
“They’re hanging in there,” I evade, though Vince and I haven’t spoken. Not really. While the doctors were talking to us the night before in the hallway outside our daughters’ rooms, I had felt Vince watching me. But I couldn’t look back. Even now, I can’t jump the canyon between us. I can’t pretend we’re okay.
I hear the wind blow past the phone, muted shouts in the background. My mother’s calling from the soccer field. “How’s the game going?” I need to hear about the boys, and how their lives are staying on happy tracks.
Last night’s storm breezed through D.C. but stalled along the Maryland shore, directly overhead. Earlier, I’d heard thunder booming. I hate rain—I always have—but I’m glad it’s my mother and my boys getting a brief spate of sunshine now before the storm rolls back in. After the game, my mother will take them to lunch and then to Janey’s birthday party, which I’d forgotten but was the first thing Henry reminded my mother about when he woke up. They will come home, happy and tired, to walk Percy and then sprawl on the floor of the family room playing with LEGO while my mom assembles dinner. A good day, and I’d been looking forward to it, but now I can’t remember the woman I’d been just twenty-six hours before, scooping dog food into a bowl and eyeing the weather report on TV, worrying about a few inches of rain and pending soccer plans.
“I’m not sure,” she says. “It’s kind of hard to tell when someone’s made a goal. And they talked me into ice cream for breakfast. I hope you don’t mind. They were so upset about Arden. But I drew the line at sprinkles.”
“That’s right, Mom. You’re the boss.” Framed prints in hideous pastel colors hang on the hospital walls. Once Arden gets out of here we will bring her paintings over and hang them on all the walls. It will be a way of thanking the doctors and nurses for saving our child. It will be a way of supporting the other families who find themselves in the cheerless place where we are now.
“Dad called, by the way,” I tell her. What can I do, Princess? he’d asked. He hasn’t called me that in years. It makes me suspect everything.
“Are you letting him visit?”
I sigh. I have no energy to manage this, either. “No. And not Mary Beth, either.” Which is really what she wants to know.
The door opens and people come in. Theo, Vince, Gabrielle, and a man I’ve never seen before in a dark suit, a tie folded crisply, round gold-framed glasses. Someone from the university, I decide. Someone with answers? “I have to go, Mom,” I say, and we hang up. “How’s Rory?” I ask Gabrielle, and she answers, “There was a delay. She should be going into surgery soon.”
“This is my wife,” Theo says. “Natalie Falcone. Natalie, this is Detective Gallagher.”
A police officer. I’m instantly wary, though I’ve done nothing wrong. I stand and shake the officer’s hand. “Who’s with Arden?” I ask Theo. This is the first of the rules that I have made with myself. Someone always has to be here with Arden, and preferably in the chair beside her bed, until she comes home.
“She’s okay,” Theo replies, which only means She’s the same.
“I just have a few questions, ma’am,” Detective Gallagher says. “It won’t take long.” Questions? I thought he was here to give us answers. I must look worried, because he adds, “Talking to the family is standard procedure in a fatal fire.”
A fatal fire. That’s what this is, not merely one that blistered my daughter’s skin, smacked her head against the wooden picnic bench beneath her window, broke her bones, and yanked her into a hushed space hovering between life and death. A
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