Chapter 3
The night I fell was the coldest night Austin had seen that October. Rain had begun before sunset and continued for hours, turning the streets silver beneath the headlights.
At 7:12 p.m., while I was still at work, Brenna sent me a message. Can you stop at the store? We need eggs, milk, chicken, cereal, bacon, Maddox’s protein bars, and vanilla creamer.
I stared at the list. I had spent two hundred dollars on groceries four days earlier. I typed: Can Colter go? I’m exhausted. Three dots appeared. Then disappeared. A minute later, she replied: He already changed into comfortable clothes.
I should have said no. Instead, I stopped at the store.
By the time I reached home, the rain had soaked through the shoulders of my coat. I carried two paper grocery bags against my chest and hurried toward the porch. The porch light was off. I could see the television flashing through the living-room window. Colter sat in the middle of the sofa. Brenna was curled beneath the blanket I kept in the reading chair before they moved it. Maddox sat on the floor with his headphones around his neck. All three were warm. All three saw my headlights. Nobody came to the door.
I climbed the first step. Water ran from the roof and across the wooden boards. One of Colter’s boots had been left near the doorway, and I moved sideways to avoid it. My foot landed on a wet patch of leaves. The grocery bags shifted. My right leg slid forward. My left ankle folded beneath me.
The sound was quiet. A sharp crack beneath the pounding rain. Then pain shot through my leg so violently that I could not breathe. The bags burst when they hit the porch. The milk carton split against the step. Eggs rolled through the water, breaking one after another against the railing.
I lay on my side with my cheek pressed against the wet boards. For several seconds, I could not make a sound. Then I looked through the window. Brenna was staring at me. Our eyes met. She said something to Colter. He leaned sideways, glanced toward the porch, and turned back to the television.
I raised one hand and hit the lower part of the door. “Brenna!” Nobody moved. I hit it again. “Please help me.”
Maddox turned toward the window. Colter said something to him. The boy looked down at his phone.
I had carried Brenna home when she fell off her bicycle at nine years old. Both her knees had been bleeding. She had wrapped her arms around my neck and cried into my shirt while I walked six blocks in the heat. That memory came back while I lay outside her door at forty-one, unable to move my foot.
“Brenna!” The door finally opened by a few inches. Warm yellow light fell across the wet porch. My sister looked down at the broken eggs and leaking milk before she looked at me. “What happened?” “I fell.” “I can see that.” “I think my ankle is broken. Please help me inside.” She crossed her arms. “Colter has a bad back.” “Then call an ambulance.” “You have a phone.” “It fell near the steps. I can’t reach it.” She sighed and looked over her shoulder at the television. “Why are you acting like this is an emergency? You slipped.” “I heard something crack.” Brenna’s expression hardened. “We are not your servants, Emmett. Stop ordering everyone around.”
The question that came out of my mouth sounded smaller than I expected. “You’re going to leave me here?” “You’re covered in mud. Give us a second to put towels down.” She closed the door. The lock clicked.
May you like
I stared at it. Not a slam. Not a shouted insult. Just one small metal sound. Something inside me closed with it.
Rainwater ran beneath my collar. The spilled milk moved in thin white streams between the porch boards. Through the window, Colter turned the television volume higher.
