kitten.
Rachel had phoned her in the middle of the night, waking her from a deep sleep. “Is Maddie allergic to anything?” she’d demanded without preamble.
“No,” Ann had replied, already pulling on her clothes, instantly frantic at the urgency in Rachel’s voice. “At least not that I know of.”
“Her lung collapsed,” Ann reminded Rachel now. “She spent two nights in the hospital.”
“I know,” Rachel said. “It was awful. But you told me the doctor said medication would help.”
“He said it might help.”
“You won’t know unless you try.”
Rachel couldn’t possibly be serious. She’d been there. She’d raced Maddie to the emergency room that night, begging her to hold on. “You know I can’t do that.”
The wind lifted Rachel’s hair from her face and pressed the collar of her coat against her throat. “Ann, don’t you think you’re being a little overprotective?”
Was she? Maybe. But the memory of her child, eyes swollen shut, panting for breath, was enough to make Ann feel her own throat close up.
Rachel sighed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I guess I’d feel the same way if I were you.”
If I were you . Something about the questioning way Rachel said that warned Ann they were on the precipice of something new. “What do you mean?”
The words were out before Ann could stop herself. She didn’t want to know. She didn’t want to go there.
Rachel looked away. “You never said anything. I kept waiting for you to tell me.”
Ann had the dizzying sensation of standing on the edge of a cliff and looking down at the jagged rocks. She needed to step back. She needed them both to move to safer ground. “Rachel—” she began, but Rachel pushed on.
“I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t say anything. But if we were really friends, you would have told me. You would have at least mentioned it to me.”
Her tone was accusing. Suddenly they weren’t talking about Hannah and Maddie anymore. How had this happened? How did Rachel know?
Rachel crossed her arms. “The last time Maddie was over, she told Hannah. When Hannah told me later, I thought at first Maddie had been making it up. Because if it were true, you would have told me. When I had that miscarriage five years ago, you would have told me then.”
“It wasn’t the same thing,” Ann whispered.
“Are you sure?” Rachel shot back.
They stood there on the sidewalk, the brick school building beside them, the flag whipping above them on its metal pole. Cars drove past, a thumping burst of music. Children called to one another on the nearby playground.
“What did Maddie tell Hannah?”
Rachel slid her hands into her coat pockets. “She said there was a baby brother who never woke up from his nap.” So simple.
“Is it true?” Rachel said.
Maddie, her sweet, uncomplicated child, painting rainbows. Maddie, whom Ann had thought was safe, whom Ann had wanted so much to believe was untouched by all the sadness around her that she’d refused to see the truth for what it was. Something inside her daughter had at last spoken up, some tiny little questioning voice yearning to be heard, yearning to be answered. How do you help a child when you can’t even help yourself?
THE POST OFFICE WAS CLOSED WHEN SHE ARRIVED. ANN shifted the bulky envelope under one arm and tried both doors, but they were securely locked. The times posted on the window said it should be open for another four hours. She rapped on the glass. Wasn’t that someone moving around inside? She rattled the door handle and waved, but no one came. She glanced at her watch. Drat . No time to try another branch. She’d have to wait until after school let out. A few more hours wouldn’t make any difference.
The front office was empty when she entered the building. Ann walked down the hall, her footsteps ringing in the quiet. No one was in the nurse’s office. The cafeteria was empty. So was the library. Where was everyone? A voice echoed
Rachel had phoned her in the middle of the night, waking her from a deep sleep. “Is Maddie allergic to anything?” she’d demanded without preamble.
“No,” Ann had replied, already pulling on her clothes, instantly frantic at the urgency in Rachel’s voice. “At least not that I know of.”
“Her lung collapsed,” Ann reminded Rachel now. “She spent two nights in the hospital.”
“I know,” Rachel said. “It was awful. But you told me the doctor said medication would help.”
“He said it might help.”
“You won’t know unless you try.”
Rachel couldn’t possibly be serious. She’d been there. She’d raced Maddie to the emergency room that night, begging her to hold on. “You know I can’t do that.”
The wind lifted Rachel’s hair from her face and pressed the collar of her coat against her throat. “Ann, don’t you think you’re being a little overprotective?”
Was she? Maybe. But the memory of her child, eyes swollen shut, panting for breath, was enough to make Ann feel her own throat close up.
Rachel sighed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I guess I’d feel the same way if I were you.”
If I were you . Something about the questioning way Rachel said that warned Ann they were on the precipice of something new. “What do you mean?”
The words were out before Ann could stop herself. She didn’t want to know. She didn’t want to go there.
Rachel looked away. “You never said anything. I kept waiting for you to tell me.”
Ann had the dizzying sensation of standing on the edge of a cliff and looking down at the jagged rocks. She needed to step back. She needed them both to move to safer ground. “Rachel—” she began, but Rachel pushed on.
“I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t say anything. But if we were really friends, you would have told me. You would have at least mentioned it to me.”
Her tone was accusing. Suddenly they weren’t talking about Hannah and Maddie anymore. How had this happened? How did Rachel know?
Rachel crossed her arms. “The last time Maddie was over, she told Hannah. When Hannah told me later, I thought at first Maddie had been making it up. Because if it were true, you would have told me. When I had that miscarriage five years ago, you would have told me then.”
“It wasn’t the same thing,” Ann whispered.
“Are you sure?” Rachel shot back.
They stood there on the sidewalk, the brick school building beside them, the flag whipping above them on its metal pole. Cars drove past, a thumping burst of music. Children called to one another on the nearby playground.
“What did Maddie tell Hannah?”
Rachel slid her hands into her coat pockets. “She said there was a baby brother who never woke up from his nap.” So simple.
“Is it true?” Rachel said.
Maddie, her sweet, uncomplicated child, painting rainbows. Maddie, whom Ann had thought was safe, whom Ann had wanted so much to believe was untouched by all the sadness around her that she’d refused to see the truth for what it was. Something inside her daughter had at last spoken up, some tiny little questioning voice yearning to be heard, yearning to be answered. How do you help a child when you can’t even help yourself?
THE POST OFFICE WAS CLOSED WHEN SHE ARRIVED. ANN shifted the bulky envelope under one arm and tried both doors, but they were securely locked. The times posted on the window said it should be open for another four hours. She rapped on the glass. Wasn’t that someone moving around inside? She rattled the door handle and waved, but no one came. She glanced at her watch. Drat . No time to try another branch. She’d have to wait until after school let out. A few more hours wouldn’t make any difference.
The front office was empty when she entered the building. Ann walked down the hall, her footsteps ringing in the quiet. No one was in the nurse’s office. The cafeteria was empty. So was the library. Where was everyone? A voice echoed
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