Walter’s face went white.
“Granny,” he breathed. “She’s here.”
I barely had time to close my eyes.
Part Two: What She Said in the Dark
The door opened. I heard the click of heels I’d recognize anywhere.
My daughter. My Lisa.
For one foolish second, I nearly opened my eyes. I nearly said her name. Whatever Walter
was afraid of, surely it was a misunderstanding. Surely a child had gotten confused.
Then she spoke.
“Still sitting here waiting for her to wake up?” Her voice was flat and bored. “Honestly, Walter, it’s getting pathetic. You don’t know when to give up, do you?”
Walter didn’t say a word.
I heard her step closer to the bed. I could smell her perfume. The same one I’d bought her three Christmases in a row.
“Fine,” she said. “Since you’re so determined to camp out here, let me tell you a little secret about your grandma.”
I forced every muscle in my face to stay soft. I made my breathing slow and even. It was the hardest thing I have ever done.
“She already had her chance with you,” Lisa said. “And that accident proved she can’t keep you safe.”
“What does that mean?” Walter’s voice was small.
“It means
you won’t be living with her much longer.”
Beneath the blanket, my fingers twitched. I pressed them flat against the mattress.
“I’m going home with Granny,” Walter said.
“No, you’re not.”
“Yes, I am.”
Lisa sighed, the long, put-upon sigh she’d been using since she was a teenager. “Walter. She’s getting old. She can barely see. She never should’ve been behind the wheel in the first place.”
“She has glasses.”
“Well, they obviously didn’t help much, did they?”
My heart slammed against my ribs so hard I was sure the monitor would give me away.
When Lisa spoke again, her voice had dropped. Quieter. Almost satisfied.
“Soon everything will be the way it should’ve been years ago.”
“What does that mean?”
“You’ll understand later.”
