Chương 8
He stood and moved toward the window.
“Her water broke.”
Another pause.
“Thirty-four.”
Then his voice changed.
“No, it wasn’t spontaneous.”
He looked at me.
I nodded.
He continued.
“Patricia hit her and she fell into the pool.”
Silence.
Even from across the room, I could hear Carol’s voice rise through the phone.
Evan held it away from his ear.
“I know.”
Another burst of muffled sound.
“No.”
He looked at me again.
“She doesn’t want them here.”
A pause.
“Yes.”
Another.
“Mom.”
He rubbed his forehead.
“Please don’t call Patricia.”
I could imagine Carol’s expression perfectly.
She had never liked my mother, although until then she had been polite enough to call it a personality difference.
“Just come to the hospital.”
He listened.
“Okay.”
When he hung up, I said, “She wants to kill my mother.”
“She used a more specific verb.”
“That sounds like Carol.”
“She’s bringing your overnight bag.”
I blinked.
“How?”
“She has our garage code.”
“She does?”
“You gave it to her when we went to Asheville.”
“I did?”
“You were pregnant then too.”
“I’ve been pregnant for nineteen years.”
He smiled.
For a moment, everything almost felt manageable.
Then my phone buzzed again.
This time, Evan picked it up.
His expression changed.
“What?”
He did not answer immediately.
“What is it?”
“It’s Denise.”
“Read it.”
He opened the message.
“She says the video exists.”
I sat straighter.
“What video?”
“The recording.”
“Who has it?”
He scrolled.
“Your cousin Emily.”
I stared at him.
Emily was twenty-three and had spent most of the baby shower filming short videos for Brianna because Brianna wanted enough material to make a social media montage later.
Of course.
Of course it was Emily.
“Does it show the slap?”
Evan kept reading.
“Yes.”
My skin went cold.
“All of it?”
“She says it starts before the argument about the money.”
“How far before?”
“She doesn’t know exactly.”
I reached for the phone.
He handed it over.
Denise had sent several messages.
Emily had been recording Brianna opening a gift when Mom called me over.
She never stopped the video.
Apparently she had lowered the phone when the argument became uncomfortable, but the camera kept running.
There was audio.
There was the demand.
My refusal.
Mom calling me selfish.
The movement.
The slap.
The fall.
And then, according to Denise, several seconds afterward.
My thumb stopped moving.
Several seconds afterward.
“Evan.”
“What?”
“It recorded them laughing.”
He looked at me.
I could tell from his face that he had reached the same conclusion.
Neither of us spoke.
I read the message again.
Emily had already given a copy to the police.
My stomach twisted, but not from labor.
Some part of me had still been holding onto the possibility that the laughter had not happened the way I remembered it.
Trauma does strange things to memory.
That was what I had been telling myself.
Maybe Brianna had laughed because she was shocked.
Maybe Dad had made some nervous sound.
Maybe Mom’s mouth had only looked like she was smiling.
A recording removed all the softer possibilities.
I locked the phone.
“Do you want to see it?”
Evan asked.
“No.”
The answer came instantly.
“Okay.”
“Not now.”
“Okay.”
“Maybe never.”
He nodded.
The anesthesiologist arrived before I could think about it further.
He was a young man named Dr. Chen who spoke quickly and apologized twice for having cold hands.
I sat on the edge of the bed while Karen helped me curl forward.
Evan stood in front of me.
“Stay still,” Dr. Chen said.
“I’m trying.”
“Especially during a contraction.”
“Of course it would be especially then.”
Karen chuckled.
“Everybody says that.”
The contraction began halfway through the procedure.
I gripped Evan’s forearms.
His face was inches from mine.
“Look at me.”
“I am looking at you.”
“No, really look.”
I focused on the tiny scar beneath his chin from a bicycle accident when he was eleven.
He had told me that story on our third date.
At the time, I had pretended to be interested because I wanted him to kiss me.
Now that stupid scar kept me still while someone put a needle into my spine.
“Almost done,” Dr. Chen said.
Evan whispered, “You’re doing great.”
“I am doing terrible.”
“You’re staying still.”
“That’s the entire standard now?”
“Yes.”
“Low bar.”
“Very.”
The medication began working gradually.
The sharpness of the contractions softened first.
Then the pain turned into pressure.
My legs became warm and heavy.
Karen helped me lie back.
“There.”
She adjusted the monitors again.
“Try to rest.”
I almost laughed.
“Rest?”
“You may need the energy.”
That was less funny.
The room dimmed.
Evan pulled the couch closer to the bed even though it clearly was not designed to move.
One wheel squealed across the floor.
Karen frowned at him.
“Furniture stays where furniture lives.”
He froze.
“Sorry.”
“You can move the chair.”
He moved the chair.
I closed my eyes.
For perhaps twenty minutes, nobody asked me anything.
Nobody needed a statement.
Nobody wanted money.
Nobody demanded loyalty.
The monitor filled the silence with Lila’s heartbeat.
I drifted without sleeping.
Then there was a knock.
Karen opened the door only a few inches.
I heard a man’s voice from the hallway.
My father.
“I need to see my daughter.”
My eyes opened.
Evan stood immediately.
Karen stepped into the hallway and pulled the door nearly closed behind her.
Dad’s voice rose.
“This is a family emergency.”
Karen said something too quietly for me to hear.
“I’m her father.”
Another quiet response.
“She’s in labor because of an accident.”
Evan looked at me.
I looked toward the door.
My whole body went cold despite the blankets.
Dad continued.
“I just need five minutes.”
I pressed the call button.
Karen reentered almost immediately.
“Do you want security?”
“Yes.”
Dad must have heard me.
“Savannah.”
His voice came through the door.
“Please.”
That word almost worked.
It had worked for years.
May you like
Please don’t upset your mother.
Please help your sister.
