Read Online Heartbeat by Elizabeth Scott - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Elizabeth Scott
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thirty thirty thirty thirty. Thirty days. Mom’s gone but still here and that’s how it will be for another—
I can’t. I just can’t think it. I walk into the kitchen and Dan is there, looking like he hasn’t slept. He’s reading a book and I see it’s the pregnancy book, the one he was reading the night before Mom died. The one I was going to read.
He sees me and puts the book down, pages up so I can’t see the cover, the serene portrait of a woman holding her belly. A woman, alive.
“Do you want some breakfast?” he says. “I could make something.”
“It’s thirty days today,” I say and he nods, his eyes filling with tears. I wish I could take all of my own back now. I don’t want to be anything like Dan.
“I thought that might be you—well, why you were in your room,” he says. “I asked one of the doctors at the hospital about it. She says she’d like to meet you. Talk to you. She thought it was interesting that you didn’t come with me to see your mother during this period.”
Interesting? Really? All because I sat in my room and thought about her. The real her, not the one I have to see.
Not that one who breaks me over and over again.
“I’d like a waffle,” I say, and Dan looks at me, surprised, and then smiles, huge, bright, and gets up, moving around the kitchen. He gets out bowls and boxes, eggs and spoons, and plugs in the waffle iron I bought for him two Christmases ago.
“Here,” he says a few minutes later and I look up from the table—where did Mom touch it before she fell? I’ve never asked. Was it here? Over there? Did she not touch it at all, just walk straight to the toaster? Was Dan looking when she fell?
When did he know what he would do? After the ambulance came? After the doctor said she was gone?
Or did he know all along? Deep in his heart, had he made his choice the moment two years of drugs and testing and waiting brought Mom home to tell him what he so longed to hear?
He puts a waffle on the table. I hold on to the chair in front of me. I smell flour and eggs and milk and chocolate, which Dan always puts in waffles for me.
Mom would say, “Dan, you shouldn’t spoil her,” and Dan would say, “Chocolate isn’t spoiling. Love isn’t spoiling.”
“You went shopping.”
He nods. “We didn’t have much to eat.”
No, we didn’t. Food goes bad. It spoils.
I swallow.
“I’m not hungry.”
“But you said—Emma, I can hear your stomach!”
Dan is standing with his hands pressed together like he’s praying and in the silence of the kitchen I hear a slight gurgle, a churning. It is my stomach, awake and moving.
Inside my dead mother there is a baby. It needs to eat. I suppose it has a stomach. I don’t know. I don’t want to think about it.
Thirty thirty thirty thirty.
“I’m going to the car,” I say.
“You have to stop this,” Dan says. “She wouldn’t want you to punish yourself like this. It’s not your fault that she died.”
“I know it’s not my fault. Are you going to take me to school?”
“Emma, I lost her too. We both lost her. I miss—”
I leave then. I walk outside, past the car and down the driveway. I cannot be here. I cannot see him, not now. I can’t say anything else and I’m afraid that if I do he will find a way to make it so I can’t see her. That he will—he could do anything to me because he’s my guardian now. He could even have me committed.
I feel sick.
Mom wanted him to be my guardian. I wanted him to be my guardian too.
We both thought he was good at taking care of things.
And then she died.
I hear the car, hear Dan. “Emma, get in.”
I look at the car. “Are you going to send me away?”
“What?” There’s silence for a moment and then he sighs, a battered sound, and then I hear the horn beep over and over, the sound muffled, start-stop-start-stop.
I look over and see he is hitting it. Dan is smacking his hands into the horn, face red, wet with tears.
He stops. “I would
I can’t. I just can’t think it. I walk into the kitchen and Dan is there, looking like he hasn’t slept. He’s reading a book and I see it’s the pregnancy book, the one he was reading the night before Mom died. The one I was going to read.
He sees me and puts the book down, pages up so I can’t see the cover, the serene portrait of a woman holding her belly. A woman, alive.
“Do you want some breakfast?” he says. “I could make something.”
“It’s thirty days today,” I say and he nods, his eyes filling with tears. I wish I could take all of my own back now. I don’t want to be anything like Dan.
“I thought that might be you—well, why you were in your room,” he says. “I asked one of the doctors at the hospital about it. She says she’d like to meet you. Talk to you. She thought it was interesting that you didn’t come with me to see your mother during this period.”
Interesting? Really? All because I sat in my room and thought about her. The real her, not the one I have to see.
Not that one who breaks me over and over again.
“I’d like a waffle,” I say, and Dan looks at me, surprised, and then smiles, huge, bright, and gets up, moving around the kitchen. He gets out bowls and boxes, eggs and spoons, and plugs in the waffle iron I bought for him two Christmases ago.
“Here,” he says a few minutes later and I look up from the table—where did Mom touch it before she fell? I’ve never asked. Was it here? Over there? Did she not touch it at all, just walk straight to the toaster? Was Dan looking when she fell?
When did he know what he would do? After the ambulance came? After the doctor said she was gone?
Or did he know all along? Deep in his heart, had he made his choice the moment two years of drugs and testing and waiting brought Mom home to tell him what he so longed to hear?
He puts a waffle on the table. I hold on to the chair in front of me. I smell flour and eggs and milk and chocolate, which Dan always puts in waffles for me.
Mom would say, “Dan, you shouldn’t spoil her,” and Dan would say, “Chocolate isn’t spoiling. Love isn’t spoiling.”
“You went shopping.”
He nods. “We didn’t have much to eat.”
No, we didn’t. Food goes bad. It spoils.
I swallow.
“I’m not hungry.”
“But you said—Emma, I can hear your stomach!”
Dan is standing with his hands pressed together like he’s praying and in the silence of the kitchen I hear a slight gurgle, a churning. It is my stomach, awake and moving.
Inside my dead mother there is a baby. It needs to eat. I suppose it has a stomach. I don’t know. I don’t want to think about it.
Thirty thirty thirty thirty.
“I’m going to the car,” I say.
“You have to stop this,” Dan says. “She wouldn’t want you to punish yourself like this. It’s not your fault that she died.”
“I know it’s not my fault. Are you going to take me to school?”
“Emma, I lost her too. We both lost her. I miss—”
I leave then. I walk outside, past the car and down the driveway. I cannot be here. I cannot see him, not now. I can’t say anything else and I’m afraid that if I do he will find a way to make it so I can’t see her. That he will—he could do anything to me because he’s my guardian now. He could even have me committed.
I feel sick.
Mom wanted him to be my guardian. I wanted him to be my guardian too.
We both thought he was good at taking care of things.
And then she died.
I hear the car, hear Dan. “Emma, get in.”
I look at the car. “Are you going to send me away?”
“What?” There’s silence for a moment and then he sighs, a battered sound, and then I hear the horn beep over and over, the sound muffled, start-stop-start-stop.
I look over and see he is hitting it. Dan is smacking his hands into the horn, face red, wet with tears.
He stops. “I would
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