Chapter 4 - A Dead Man Who Might Not Be Dead)
Emma did not show Mom the message.
She barely spoke during the drive home.
Mom asked twice whether she was still having chest pain.
Both times Emma answered, “A little.”
Both times Mom said, “Try breathing slowly.”
When they entered the house, Mom retrieved a pulse oximeter from a bathroom cabinet.
Ninety-five.
“There.”
Emma stared at the number.
“That doesn’t explain my leg.”
“You probably strained it.”
“Doing what?”
“I don’t know, Emma.”
Mom removed the device.
“People get sore.”
Emma watched her.
“Is Michael alive?”
Mom’s hand stopped.
The silence answered before her mouth did.
“What kind of question is that?”
“An easy one.”
“Not when I don’t know where it’s coming from.”
“Is he alive?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Did you see him die?”
Mom’s eyes hardened.
“That’s enough.”
Emma held up her phone.
“I’m getting messages.”
Mom went pale.
That was the first reaction Emma trusted all day.
“What messages?”
“Someone says you lied about him.”
“Give me the phone.”
“No.”
“Emma.”
“Tell me the truth.”
Mom stepped closer.
“You have no idea who you’re communicating with.”
“Neither do you.”
“Yes, I do.”
Emma went completely still.
Mom realized what she had said.
Too late.
“You know who it is?”
“I know what kind of person would do this.”
“Who?”
Mom turned away.
“Block the number.”
“Who?”
“Block it.”
Emma followed her.
“Mom.”
“I said enough.”
“You told me my father died.”
“He is dead to this family.”
Emma stopped.
Those words landed harder than shouting would have.
Mom closed her eyes.
For several seconds, neither moved.
Then Emma whispered, “That is not the same thing.”
Mom looked suddenly older.
“No.”
Emma felt cold.
“You lied my entire life.”
“I protected you.”
“From what?”
Mom did not answer.
“From him?”
Still nothing.
Emma’s voice broke.
“From what?”
Mom reached for her.
Emma stepped backward.
“Don’t.”
“Emma, there are things you were too young to understand.”
“I’m eighteen.”
“I know.”
“Then tell me.”
Mom looked toward the stairs, perhaps checking whether Caleb was home.
“He was unstable.”
“What does that mean?”
“He frightened me.”
“How?”
“He was controlling. Obsessive. He wouldn’t accept that our relationship was over.”
Emma wanted to believe her.
Some part of her did.
Another part remembered the hospital letter.
Inherited clotting disorder.
Tell Diane Emma must be tested when she is older.
“Why did you keep his medical records?”
Mom’s face changed again.
“Where did you find them?”
“So you did keep them.”
“Emma.”
“Why wasn’t I tested?”
Mom looked down.
Emma felt a slow, terrible understanding.
“You knew.”
“It wasn’t that simple.”
“You knew there was something hereditary.”
“The doctor said it was only a possibility.”
“The letter said I should be tested.”
“You saw the letter?”
“Caleb did.”
Mom closed her eyes.
Now anger entered her expression.
“He had no right going through my things.”
“That is what you care about?”
“I care about boundaries.”
Emma laughed once.
It sounded broken.
“You told me my father was dead and hid medical information from me, but Caleb opened a box and suddenly boundaries matter?”
Mom lowered her voice.
“You need to calm down.”
“My chest hurts.”
The sentence ended the argument.
Mom froze.
Emma pressed her palm beneath her collarbone.
For once, Mom looked frightened.
“Sit.”
Emma sat on the sofa.
Mom clipped the pulse oximeter to her finger.
Ninety-three.
She frowned.
“Take a slow breath.”
Emma did.
Ninety-four.
Then ninety-five.
“There.”
Mom seemed relieved.
Emma was not.
“Take me to the hospital.”
Mom hesitated.
It was barely noticeable.
But Emma saw it.
That hesitation changed something between them.
Before Mom could answer, the front door opened.
Daniel stepped inside.
He looked from Emma to Diane.
“What happened?”
Emma said, “I need a doctor.”
Daniel put his keys back in his hand.
“Okay.”
Mom stepped between them.
“She’s been checked by the school nurse. Her oxygen came back up. We were talking.”
Daniel looked at Emma.
“Do you want to go?”
“Yes.”
“Then we’re going.”
Mom’s voice sharpened.
“Daniel.”
He turned.
“What?”
“She is panicking because someone has been sending her messages about Michael.”
Daniel’s expression changed.
Not confusion.
Recognition.
Emma noticed.
“You know too?”
Daniel said nothing.
That was answer enough.
She stood.
“You both knew he was alive.”
Daniel looked at Diane.
Diane whispered, “Not now.”
Emma’s vision blurred.
She grabbed the sofa.
Daniel moved toward her.
“Emma?”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not.”
“I said I’m fine.”
Her phone vibrated again.
Everyone heard it.
Emma looked down.
A photograph had arrived.
It showed a man standing outside a hospital.
Gray at his temples.
Tall.
Thin.
Alive.
Beneath it was a message.
May you like
My name is Michael Reed.
And if you are having trouble breathing, go to an emergency room before your mother makes the same mistake twice.
