Chương 2
Dr. Reyes asked the nurse outside to bring another gown and something warm. The nurse returned with a folded blanket, set it over Chloe’s knees, and adjusted the monitor leads without asking questions. She smelled faintly of citrus hand lotion.
That ordinary smell brought Chloe back to a Thursday in seventh grade, when her mother had peeled an orange over the sink while her father explained why the cracked bathroom mirror was Chloe’s fault. She had slammed the door, he said. She had made him angry. Her mother had separated the orange into careful sections and placed them on a white plate.
Eat something, she had told Chloe afterward.
Chloe stared at the blanket.
Detective Morgan asked Mrs. Vance and Savannah to wait in separate rooms. Mrs. Vance resisted at first, looking toward her husband’s absence as if expecting instructions to arrive through the wall. Then the security officer appeared again, and she went with a nurse.
Savannah paused beside the curtain.
For one moment, Chloe believed her sister might say something. Sorry. I didn’t know. I should have stopped him. Anything.
Savannah only smoothed the front of her dress.
“Dad’s going to lose his job,” she said.
Then she left.
Chloe’s breath caught painfully beneath her ribs.
Dr. Reyes watched the curtain settle. “I’m going to give you a few minutes before we move you upstairs.”
“Upstairs?”
“You have fractures that need observation, and I want our trauma team to review everything.”
“I can’t stay.”
“You can.”
“My dad has work Monday.”
Dr. Reyes put the X-rays on the counter. “Your father’s schedule is not your responsibility.”
Chloe looked at Detective Morgan. “Are you arresting him?”
“He’s being detained while we determine what happened.”
“He’ll say I fell.”
“He already did.”
“I did fall.”
Morgan waited.
Chloe pulled the blanket higher. “On the stairs.”
“Is that how you hurt your ribs?”
“Yes.”
The answer was true enough to make her throat burn.
Morgan did not ask whether her father had pushed her. She asked what happened before the fall.
Chloe looked toward the curtain.
The security officer’s shoes were visible beneath it.
“My backpack was in the hallway,” she said.
“What happened before that?”
“I don’t know.”
“Were you arguing?”
“No.”
“Was anyone angry?”
“No.”
Each answer came more easily than the last. Her body knew the sequence. Deny quickly. Offer nothing extra. Do not contradict him in ways that could be checked. Do not accuse her mother, because her mother became fragile when cornered. Do not mention Savannah, because Savannah had already left once and might leave forever.
Morgan leaned back slightly. “I’m going to stop asking questions for now.”
Chloe looked up.
“You’re not mad?”
“No.”
“You don’t believe me.”
“I believe you’re scared.”
Chloe’s face heated. “I’m not.”
“All right.”
The detective stood and took a card from her pocket. She placed it on the bedside table instead of handing it directly to Chloe.
“My number is on there. You can speak to me later, or you can ask for someone else. You can also choose not to speak today.”
“My dad said police lie about that.”
Morgan glanced at the card. “Police sometimes say things badly. Sometimes we make mistakes. I’m telling you what your options are right now.”
The answer did not fit any of the categories Chloe had prepared for. She stared at the detective.
“What happens to my mom?”
“That depends on what she knew, what she did, and whether you can safely return home.”
“I have school.”
“We’ll deal with school.”
“My fish.”
Morgan blinked once. “You have a fish?”
“Simon.”
“What kind?”
“A betta.”
“Who can feed Simon?”
Chloe almost laughed, but the movement hurt her ribs. “Nobody. Savannah gives him too much.”
Morgan took out a small notebook. “I’ll make sure someone addresses Simon.”
That was the first promise Chloe wanted to believe.
They admitted her to a pediatric observation room on the fourth floor. She had not been in a pediatric unit since she was nine, and the bright murals embarrassed her. A painted sea turtle floated over the sink. The television remote was shaped like a large white telephone. Someone had left a sticker of a smiling sun on the IV pole.
A hospital social worker named Dana Bell arrived before lunch. Dana wore black trousers, flat shoes, and an identification badge covered in tiny stickers. She spoke quickly at first, then noticed Chloe’s face and slowed down.
“You’re going to hear a lot of names,” Dana said. “Doctors, nurses, investigators, child protection workers. It can feel like everyone knows what’s happening except you. Usually we’re figuring it out as we go.”
“Can I go home tomorrow?”
“I don’t know.”
“Can my mother stay?”
“I don’t know that yet either.”
Chloe turned toward the window. The frosted glass showed only blocks of white light.
Dana pulled the visitor chair closer but did not sit until Chloe nodded.
“Your sister is still in the hospital,” she said.
“Why?”
“She’s speaking with Detective Morgan.”
“She won’t say anything.”
Dana folded her hands. “You sound sure.”
“She hates conflict.”
People said that about Savannah. She hates conflict. It had become a family compliment, like being tidy or good with money. Savannah disappeared before arguments and returned afterward with headphones around her neck. She closed doors softly. She left dishes in the sink but never gave anyone an obvious reason to be angry.
Chloe had once believed this meant Savannah was peaceful.
Later she understood that Savannah simply preferred conflict to land on someone else.
A nurse brought pain medication in a small paper cup. Chloe swallowed it with apple juice and asked whether it would make her sleep.
“It may make you drowsy.”
“I don’t want to sleep.”
“We can keep the door open.”
Chloe looked at the hall. People passed regularly. Rubber soles squeaked. A child somewhere complained about gelatin. Two nurses discussed a missing charger.
“Open,” Chloe said.
May you like
Dana asked whether Chloe wanted her phone.
“My dad has it.”
