God, Liz loved them so much. They were the counterbalance for everything else, for the years of abuse at Marc’s hands and the slow extinguishing of all her other dreams. Because of the kids, her life made sense and had a shape. A meaning. Because of them, she had never forgotten how to be happy, however bad things got.
“Are you okay?” Zac asked her.
“Mommy is okay,” Molly mumbled into the back of Liz’s thigh. “Mommy is fine.” Molly seldom asked questions about the things that really mattered. Generally, she made categorical statements and dared the universe to contradict her.
“Mommy is,” Liz agreed, giving them an arm each. Taking as much reassurance as she gave. In actual fact, her head was throbbing and it hurt her to breathe. Her mind kept rushing away at reckless speed and then lurching to a halt, again and again. Even if you ignored the fact that she’d just had some kind of psychotic episode, there were lots of ways in which the word okay was a loose fit on her right then. But she very much wanted Zac and Moll to not be afraid anymore, to believe the crisis was over.
“We had a kind of an … an accident in the kitchen,” she said, trying to keep her tone light, “but everything’s okay now.”
Zac gave her a searching stare, reading in everything she wasn’t saying. “Then what’s the matter with your voice?” he asked. His gaze went down to the bruises on her neck and his eyes opened wide. “Oh, Jeez! Mom …”
“Everything’s fine,” Liz repeated firmly, with a meaningful glance down at the top of his sister’s head. Molly’s dark, spiky hair was quivering slightly, a reliable emotional antenna. “And don’t curse, okay? I’ve just got to go to the hospital to get my hand looked at.” She held up the bandage for them both to see—a much safer topic than the bruises. “I cut myself on a vinegar bottle, which is why I smell like a half-made salad. Zac, can you take Molly upstairs to Pete and Vesh’s? They’ve said you can stay with them until I get back.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“No, buddy, it’s best if you stay here. You’ve both got school tomorrow and there’s no telling how long I’ll be gone. Plus I’ll just be happier if I know the two of you are here. Together. This doesn’t have to wreck your day.”
Zac gave her a very intense look, indicative of all the things he wanted to say but couldn’t because Molly the limpet was right there listening.
Finally, reluctantly, he nodded. “Call us when you’re coming back,” he insisted.
“I will. I promise.”
Liz bent to pick Molly up, but the instant rush of wooziness told her that was a bad idea. Instead, she delivered a fleeting kiss to the top of her daughter’s head and straightened again quickly. She led Molly over to the sofa and sat her down, the cop scooching out of the way to make room.
Molly’s breathing problems, diagnosed before she was even born, made others—especially Liz—a little overprotective of her, but she was fiercely stoical on her own account when it came to physical hurt, picking herself up with a shrug after every fall. It was emotional upheaval that wrecked her, turning her into a tiny incendiary device packed with anxiety and woe. Liz wanted to give her five minutes of normality before she headed for the hospital. Zac knew what she was doing and played along, prompting Molly when Liz asked what they’d done with their day.
“You made a tower, didn’t you, Moll?”
“I made a Lego tower. For Harry Potter and Ron and Hermione and some dragons from the dragon lands. And the roof lifts off so the dragons can come out.”
“That sounds cool.”
“It’s very cool. I brought it back in the car so you can see it.”
“And Jamie did your nails,” Zac reminded her.
“Yes. Jamie did my nails.” Molly held out her hand with the fingers extended. Her nails had been painted in five Day-Glo colors—the colors of the rainbow with indigo and violet missed out. Jamie was Marc’s new partner, who had taken him in after he and Liz separated—soon enough and casually enough that Liz felt sure they must already have been having an affair. She’d done a good job with the nails, neat and even, and if nail varnish looked a little bit weird on a six-year-old it was still apparent that Molly was enormously proud and pleased.
“Lovely!” Liz exclaimed.
“It’s like Princess Peacock Feather,” Molly said. “She has all the colors. Yellow and pink and green and blue.”
“Red and orange and purple too,” Liz finished the rhyme. “Only you don’t have pink or purple.”
“Yes, I do!” Molly exclaimed. She held up her other hand, which had the rest of the spectrum and then some. Liz shielded her eyes, pretending to be dazzled. Molly giggled in delight.
“Did you read a chapter of your book?” Liz asked.
“Not yet.”
“Do one now with Zac, okay? And take a puff on your nebulizer before you go to bed. I’ll see you both in a little while. Be good.”
“We’re always good,” Molly said with incontrovertible certainty.
“Molly is,” Zac amended. “I’m chaotic neutral.”
It was a roleplaying game joke, and Liz just about got it. “So long as you don’t crit-fail on your SATs,” she said. “Finish that test paper, okay?”
“Trust me,” Zac told her. And Liz did, a hundred percent, so she didn’t nag him any further. She kissed them both and withdrew.
Zac took over from her seamlessly. He kept Molly busy getting her reading scheme book, Little Witch’s Big Night, out of her school bag and finding her place in it. When Liz got to the doorway and looked back at them, he mimed “call us” with his thumb and his pinkie finger. She nodded that she would.
She went back into the kitchen. She just about made it there on her own two feet. Then she had to lean against the wall for a few seconds while her gyroscope rocked and rolled and readjusted. The dizziness ought to have gone by now, surely? Maybe she had a concussion.
Could a concussion dislocate your brain from your body? Turn you into a passenger inside your own skin?
The crowd in the kitchen had thinned out. Marc and the guy cop, Lowenthal, and one of the two paramedics had left together in the ambulance. Parvesh had also gone, presumably upstairs to check on the lasagna. Officer Brophy was taking a statement from Pete, who was courteous but categorical. “Yes, I would totally say it was self-defense. He had his hands on her throat. He was trying to kill her.”
Brophy asked Pete a couple more questions about where he was standing when he saw all this stuff and where Marc and Liz had been when he first came into the kitchen. Then she let him go, put her notebook away and turned to Liz. “We should go on over to the hospital,” she said as Pete waved goodbye and made his exit. “Get your injuries looked at. Get them photographed too. This is most likely going to court.”
“I have to get treated at the Carroll Way Medical Center,” Liz said.
The cop looked doubtful. “Will Carroll Way even be open outside of office hours? I know for sure it doesn’t have an emergency room. I’d better drive you over to West Penn.”
Liz demurred. “Maybe I’ll just leave it,” she said. “I mean … I probably don’t need the hospital anyway. I’ll be okay. You could take the photos here, right?”