Chương 7
“They’re testing Nolan.”
“Will he do it?”
“He said yes. Then he went outside for forty minutes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me he was downstairs that night?”
“I did.”
“You told me after.”
Celia was quiet.
Wren lifted her head. “Were you going somewhere with him?”
“What?”
“I heard traffic when you called.”
“He drove me to the hospital.”
“You said you saw the ambulance.”
“I did.”
“From where?”
“Wren, I don’t understand what you’re asking.”
Neither did Wren, not completely. The uneasiness had gained edges but no center.
“Nothing,” she said.
Celia breathed into the phone. “The child welfare investigator came today.”
“What did they say?”
“That leaving Tobin with you wasn’t illegal. That they still want to understand why I was gone longer than I said.”
“Why were you?”
“I told you. Nolan and I argued.”
“For forty-eight minutes?”
“Adults can argue for years.”
The answer sounded like Celia, which made it harder to distrust.
Wren returned to school two days after the emergency because Maribel could not keep missing work and because staying home had turned every appliance into a monitor. The refrigerator clicked like medical equipment. The dryer downstairs rotated with the rhythm of compressions.
At school, conversations thinned when she entered the hallway.
Some students had seen only the neighbor’s clip. Others had found a later post claiming the dispatcher had ordered police to release an innocent babysitter. Two incompatible versions of Wren moved through the building: violent girl and teenage hero. Neither attended chemistry or forgot a locker combination.
Jessa hugged her without asking.
Wren endured it for three seconds, then stepped away.
“I knew you didn’t do anything,” Jessa said.
“You sent me the video with three exclamation marks.”
“I was worried.”
“You wrote, What did you do?”
“I meant what happened.”
“You used the word do.”
Jessa’s face reddened. “Okay. Sorry.”
Wren opened her locker.
“You saved him, right?” Jessa asked.
“He’s still in the hospital.”
“But he’s alive.”
Wren pulled out the wrong notebook. “That isn’t the same as saved.”
At lunch, a boy named Caleb asked whether Bellamy had tackled her. Someone else asked whether she was going to sue. A senior Wren barely knew told her his uncle was a lawyer. A girl from the volleyball team filmed Wren walking past until a teacher made her stop.
The principal called Wren into the office during fourth period. Dr. Ames sat with the school counselor and a district communications employee who wore a blue scarf patterned with small gold keys.
“We want to support you,” Dr. Ames said.
Wren waited.
“The media has contacted the district.”
“I didn’t contact them.”
“We know. We would like you to avoid speaking to reporters on school property.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“We may also adjust your schedule temporarily to reduce disruption.”
“What does that mean?”
The counselor folded her hands. “You could complete assignments in the resource center for a few days.”
“You want to hide me.”
“No,” Dr. Ames said. “We want to give you privacy.”
“Privacy in the room where suspended kids do worksheets?”
“It is not a disciplinary placement.”
“Then put the people filming me in there.”
The communications employee adjusted her scarf. “Public attention can be difficult to manage.”
“It isn’t my attention.”
Dr. Ames leaned forward. “Wren, we are trying to keep you safe.”
The phrase struck something raw.
“Don’t stop my life to save it from me.”
All three adults became still.
Wren hated herself for borrowing the shape of what she had screamed in Celia’s apartment. The words felt rehearsed now, almost clever. Nothing about that night had been clever.
“I’m going back to class,” she said.
Dr. Ames did not stop her.
The first piece of good news came the next morning. Tobin opened his eyes.
Celia sent a picture to Maribel, who showed Wren before breakfast. Tobin lay propped against a white hospital pillow, no breathing tube in his mouth. Tape marks reddened his cheeks. His eyes were open but unfocused, and one small fist rested beneath his chin.
Wren enlarged the image until it blurred.
“He looks mad,” Maribel said.
“He always looks mad.”
“Good. Anger is an excellent sign in that family.”
Wren smiled before she could prevent it. The smile hurt her face.
At the hospital, Tobin did not seem to recognize her. The doctors had warned Celia that he might be sleepy and irritable after sedation. He turned toward sound, moved all four limbs, and cried when a nurse touched his IV. Each ordinary response was treated as evidence.
Wren stayed near the door.
Celia lifted Tobin carefully and settled him against her chest. “Look who came.”
Tobin’s gaze traveled past Wren toward the white lamp.
“I think he hates me,” Wren said.
“He hates the blood pressure cuff, applesauce, and one respiratory therapist named Greg. You’re not special.”
Nolan sat by the window holding a paper cup. He had shaved, though a narrow patch beneath his jaw remained untouched.
“My ECG was abnormal,” he said.
Celia’s hand paused on Tobin’s back.
“You didn’t tell me.”
“I’m telling you now.”
“What does abnormal mean?”
“They’re sending me to an electrophysiologist.”
Wren looked at him. “Your brother didn’t just drown.”
Nolan crushed the paper cup slightly. “We don’t know that.”
“But you thought it before.”
He stared through the window at the parking garage. “Darren passed out twice in high school. Once during basketball practice, once standing in the kitchen. My mother called them seizures. He hated doctors.”
“And you didn’t tell Celia.”
“I forgot.”
“No, you didn’t.”
Nolan’s eyes moved to her. “You think you know everything because you made one phone call?”
Celia said his name.
Wren stepped farther into the room. “I think you scratch your wrist when you’re hiding something.”
Nolan stopped scratching his wrist.
May you like
Tobin began to fuss. Celia shifted him and whispered until his face softened.
Nolan set down the damaged cup. “My father blamed himself after Darren died. He had made him swim laps that morning because Darren came home drunk the night before. For years, every time somebody mentioned the lake, my father said the same thing: I should’ve let him sleep. I was not going to put that story into my son’s crib because a doctor asked a broad question.”
