“No worries.” Her left eyebrow twitches—her tell since seventh grade. Her light-brown hair is pulled back from her face in a tight ponytail. “We’ve all got to do whatever we’ve got to do to take care of our families. I’m over it.”
“Please, Lindsey, I really don’t want you to be mad at me. I couldn’t take it if you were mad at me on top of everything else.” I sound desperate. I can’t help it.
“I’m not mad at you,” she says, but we both know she’s lying. I can’t count the number of times she’s screamed me into tears over a perceived betrayal on my part. Her parents’ divorce shattered her childhood innocence, so trust is her most important quality in any relationship. Also her biggest trigger. If we weren’t in Jacob’s room, she’d be yelling about how I’d gone back on what we said that night in the emergency room when Detective Locke asked us if we wanted a lawyer before questioning.
We all quickly agreed it wasn’t necessary and wanted to get started with the questions as soon as possible so we could get back to our kids. None of us were in our right minds. We were stunned. Clueless. Bryan would’ve answered differently if we’d known how bad things were or that Caleb would be too traumatized to speak about what he’d seen.
“Did Detective Locke tell you that he wants to interview our other kids?” She takes a sip of her macchiato.
I nod. Luna’s interview is tomorrow at one. Detective Locke doesn’t care that she hasn’t lived with us in over a year and has little to do with Caleb anymore. He insisted siblings tell each other things that they don’t tell their parents even if they aren’t close.
“Did he ask if he could talk to Luna without you guys present?”
I nod again.
Careful, Dani. Don’t set her off.
“And?”
I shrug so I don’t have to speak the lie. She doesn’t have to know. Maybe we haven’t decided yet. She can’t read my mind. She cocks her head to the side and studies my expression. I force myself to maintain eye contact and smile back at her, doing my best to portray the right amount of compassion and uncertainty.
Lindsey’s face mirrors my indecision. “Yeah, we don’t know what to do about it either. I can’t imagine he’ll interview Sutton. Although he’ll probably get more from her than he will from Wyatt. He’s not much of a talker these days, is he, Jacob?” She pauses to glance down at him. He lies motionless, and she strokes his arm before continuing. “It’s a no-win situation. If we say that he can’t interview them without a lawyer, then it looks like we have something to hide, but if we say yes, what if Wyatt . . .”
Her unfinished question hangs in the air, but she doesn’t need to fill in the what-if. We both know what she’s referring to, and we aren’t leaving any room for the what-if in our household. Bryan won’t allow it. He gripped my arm as we walked out of the police station this afternoon and hissed, “Do not under any circumstances allow Caleb or Luna to talk to the police or anyone else without a lawyer present. Do you understand me?”
SEVEN
LINDSEY
So glad Dani’s gone. Being around Jacob makes her uncomfortable, but she’s not alone. Lots of people have a tough time being around him. It doesn’t help that he looks like a complete stranger. They removed a third of his skull to make room for the swelling in his brain, which adds a nightmarish quality to his already-swollen face. Visitors are tough. It’s easier when it’s the two of us.
I bring his left leg up and press his foot up against my chest, cradling his calf with my other hand while I slowly count to twelve. I don’t even need to look at my cheat sheet anymore for his mobility exercises.
“I don’t want you to be nervous about tomorrow,” I say, stepping back and extending his leg all the way out once I’ve finished my count. His ankle is so swollen it rolls over his sock. His day nurse always forgets to remove his compression socks for at least an hour in the afternoon. “It’s a really simple procedure, and it’ll be over before you know it.” I twist his ankles around. First clockwise, then counter. Back again.
A surgeon performs his tracheostomy surgery at seven. I was surprised to learn they can perform it bedside. Andrew will be here by six because he’s a nervous wreck about it even though Jacob’s lead doctor, Dr. Merck, assured him it was a relatively simple and easy procedure that they performed all the time.
“You’re all done with this leg.” I return it to the bed and pick up his right leg, beginning the same exercises on the other side of his body. His well-contoured muscles from years of soccer are losing their definition. His skin has developed a weird shine and is velvety to the touch.
I stare at his face, imagining what he’ll look like with a tube coming out of his throat. His medical team swears he’ll be more comfortable this way and less susceptible to infections. I hope they’re right. It’s the only reason we agreed to do it. We’ll do anything to make him more comfortable. Angry bedsores line his backside no matter how diligent I am about turning him. He deserves some kind of relief. Maybe this will help.
I set his leg down next to the other and move to the top of his bed so I can dim the lights above him. I plant a gentle kiss on his forehead. He smells like stale sweat and rubbing alcohol.
“You’re going to be okay,” I whisper in his ear. “I promise. Tomorrow is the next step in your healing.”
EIGHT
DANI
Bryan grabs me as soon as I walk into our house after my visit with Lindsey at the hospital. I was hoping he’d be asleep by the time I got home since it’s so late, and I quickly hide my disappointment before he notices.
“What did she say?” he asks as I slip my shoes off and set them next to the other disgruntled pairs lining the entryway. “I want to know everything.”
“Be quiet,” I whisper. “You’re going to wake the kids.”
He snorts. “Nobody’s up.”
Caleb might be, but I don’t say that to him. I smell the whiskey on his breath, which means I can’t ask if he checked on him either. He stands in front of me in the entryway, blocking the hallway with his body, his muscular chest puffed out. His eyes meet mine with a menacing challenge. I remind myself what the marriage therapist said at our last session about assertive communication.
“Bryan, I feel like now might not be the best time to talk about this because it’s so late, and we’re both tired.” Did I sound confident? Keep the focus on my needs and what I wanted?
He makes a dramatic production of bowing and moving to the side so that I can walk past him. I step around him, wishing it were this easy, but I can tell from the way he stands with his arms crossed on his chest that he’s not finished with me yet. I hurry upstairs, hoping he waits to corner me until after I’ve checked on Caleb.
His door is still cracked the way I left it earlier, and I peek through the opening. The night-light casts a strange glow on his long body sprawled across the bed. His sheets are tangled around him like he’s been wrestling in his sleep. His eyes are closed, and he looks like he’s sleeping, but it’s hard to tell. I told him fake sleeping works the same as real sleeping because it relaxes your body, so that’s what he’s been doing for the past two nights. I don’t know if it’s true, but it made him feel better, and that’s all I care about.