CHAPTER 6
Sam
I’ve worn a path in the carpet I just vacuumed this morning. Sofa, window, front door, and back. A giant triangle with three sharp corners that match the pain shooting through my head. Some people stress in stomach aches and panic attacks. I stress in migraines that no medicine can kill. I stand from the sofa to start the pattern again and peer through a slit in the mini blinds. Kassie’s car isn’t in the parking lot. There’s no sign of anyone that doesn’t belong. I stare at the pavement, the stop sign, down the street hoping something will materialize. Nothing does.
I check my phone again to make sure it’s on full volume. No matter how many times I check, nothing changes. It won’t ring. My headache intensifies.
There’s no power in wishful thinking, apparently.
Nor is there power in painful memories.
Mom died of cancer. Kassie’s just late getting home. Stop comparing the two.
Quit.
I press redial again when the doorbell rings. I jump, overwhelmed by a mixture of relief and irritation—did Kassie forget her key? She’s going to be in so much trouble tomorrow after I have a chance to sleep this anxiety off. I rub the exhaustion from my right eye and fling the door open without checking to see who it is.
“What the heck, Kassie? You’re two hours late and if you don’t come up with a good reason I’m going to—”
I see a flash of blue.
Sad blue. Sympathetic blue. Anxious blue.
I drop my hand.
Step back.
Bump the wall.
Police only show up to a home for one reason.
Nothing good happens after midnight.
Oh dear God.
My knees are rubber. I hear them crack when I slide to the floor. My head shakes at the same pace as my hands. Back and forth, side to side. I can’t look up, because looking up will make it real. A bomb ticks inside my throat. Or maybe that’s my pulse. It’s too loud to decipher, too rapid to keep track of the seconds.
“Ma’am, are you okay?” The police officer kneels down in front of me, hat in his hands, alarm in his eyes, my heart in shreds at his feet. I’m not okay, and I can’t breathe. Someone is talking, saying no no no over and over again. Then someone is crying, angry guttural sobs. The sound hurts my ears; the pressure is worse on my chest. It takes me a minute to realize all of this is coming from me.
“No.” My lungs push the word out, thin and meek.
No, I’m not okay.
No, you’re not really here.
No, you’re not welcome.
Get out.
He doesn’t leave. Instead he starts talking. Some people just won’t listen.
“Ma’am, I’m Officer Brown. Are you Mrs. Dalton?”
Of all things, this makes me angry. I drag a hand over my mouth and glare at him. “I’m not married.” I’ll never be married. Marriage is for people who belong with people. I’m alone. I belong to no one. “I’m Sam. My name is just Sam.” My heart pounds like someone is beating against it with a fist. I take a deep breath and start coughing. I’m choking and I can’t get air. I’m going to die here, and that will be it. The end of Daltons. A blessing to the world.
“Are you the sister of Kassandra Dalton? Of Springfield?”
“Yes.” One word. A verdict.
But then hope scratches the back of my mind. I wipe my eyes and look at him.
Maybe Kassie was arrested. Maybe she was picked up for speeding. Maybe she was shoplifting. Maybe she was caught drinking and driving. I’ve never known my sister to drink, but if so I’ll ground her for life and we’ll laugh about it later. I’ll take away her car keys. Make her clean the bathroom with nothing but a toothbrush and her bitten thumbnails for the entire summer because she should know better than to drink and—
“Ms. Dalton.” The officer steals my thoughts. I resent the interruption because I desperately want to hold onto them. “There was a wreck on Interstate 44 a couple of hours ago.”
Hope is an evil thing, especially when mixed with delusion. A deadly cocktail served to the lost and desperate.
Visions of punishment crumble in my hand.
I don’t say a word, just wait for him to finish.
The man clears his throat like he wants me to ask a question. I don’t. “Your sister and another passenger were thrown from the car. It took the rescue workers a while to find any identification. Their purses were scattered about thirty yards away from the vehicle. The registration card was no longer inside the car. That, coupled with the fact that it’s the middle of the night and they collided with a bus…”
It’s an odd sensation the way my brain both reels and halts at his words: rescue workers…thirty yards away…no longer in the car…middle of the night…. Was Kassie involved in an accident? Or an explosion?
A familiar ache, dull and unwelcome, wound its way down my spine.
An explosion.
Not again not again not again.
No wonder I’ve been thinking of my mother.
Tears stream down my face, like someone turned on a garden hose deep inside and pointed it straight toward my eyes. And then suddenly I’m floating, as though watching the scene from above…a mere witness to the crushing blows the woman below me has spent a lifetime trying to dodge.
Is that what grief feels like? It’s been years since it hit this hard.
Just when I forget, I get pummeled again.
“Are the girls okay?” It’s a formality to ask, I know this. Police officers don’t show up to people’s home to deliver positive news.
I hear Officer Brown’s slight, tired sigh. “Megan, the driver of the vehicle, is in very critical condition. She was transported to St. Francis Hospital, but I’m afraid her chances don’t look good.”
But she has a chance.
Hope surges again. I lap up that cocktail like a woman lost in the desert. If Megan is okay, maybe Kassie is too. It wouldn’t be fair otherwise.
“And my sister?” Kassie is the best friend I have in the world…the only family member I have left. “What about my sister?”
What follows is a moment of silence. A prayer. A wish. A plea for mercy. The silence is broken by the type of shuddering breath that usually precedes tragic news.
“I’m afraid your sister didn’t survive the accident. She was pronounced dead at the scene.”
And that’s the moment I shatter.
What’s left of my life shatters with me.