He finally looks up but ignores Dr. Marshall. He looks right at his father and doesn’t say a word. I glance at his mom, who sits perfectly still in her chair, legs crossed. She hasn’t offered any information about how Riley got his injuries.
“I already told you what happened,” his father snaps. “Now cast his arm. We are leaving.”
I step to the other side of the bed and take a seat next to the mom. “Mrs. Lewis, did you see Riley fall? It would help us treat him if we knew exactly how he fell.”
She shakes her head, not making eye contact or speaking a word. Now that I’m closer, I see a yellow bruise on her cheek she’s nearly succeeded at covering with makeup. It’s clear as day Mrs. Lewis and Riley are terrified to speak to us. And that only means one thing: They don’t feel safe.
“I’ll prepare the cast,” Dr. Marshall says.
I follow him out of the room.
“They aren’t coming,” Rachel tells us once we’re out of earshot of the family.
“What? Why not?”
“No one is available, but they’ll contact the family in the next forty-eight hours and make inquiries.”
“Forty-eight hours? That’s not good enough. Riley—”
“Jessie, there isn’t anything else we can do,” Dr. Marshall’s voice is laced with empathy. “This is fairly normal. They are short-staffed, but forty-eight hours is the standard procedure, and someone will contact them. This isn’t over for them.”
“A lot can happen in forty-eight hours,” I whisper, and they both look at me with understanding.
This isbullshit. That kid needs help, and we can’t do a damn thing about it.
Dr. Marshall casts Riley’s arm, and the Lewis family leaves the hospital.
I thought my shift would never end. I sit on the bench in front of my locker and drop my head into my hands. I let the weight of having to watch Riley walk out the hospital door hit me.
It’s not fair—what he has to go through, his mother, the fact that we can’t do anything else to help them—none of it’s fair.
Thoughts of my childhood wash over me, and this time I can’t push them aside.
Thwack!
I jump when the back door slams. Mom is still asleep in her room, and my school bus doesn’t come for another ten minutes. Dad stomps into the living room—he’s been gone all night.
“Why is this place always such a fuckin’ mess?” he snaps.
I sink into the couch, hoping he’ll ignore me. I should’ve hidden somewhere when I heard the door. I should know better by now. A nine-year-old should be smarter than this. I turnednine a while ago. Kacey brought me cupcakes to school, and her dad took us to the park after. But my dad always says I’m stupid. Maybe he’s right.
“Girl, answer me!”
I swallow. “I–I–don’t know.”
He grabs my arm, yanking me off the couch. I can smell alcohol on his breath. “I’m sick of busting my ass, providing for this family, only to come home and find this house a mess. You’re going to clean it, you hear me?”
“But I have school in ten minutes,” I foolishly argue.
I shouldn’t have.
Clap!
His palm hits my face, and my head snaps to the side. Tears start falling as the shock hits me and sting warms my cheek. He’s never done that before. He’s yanked and pushed me around and pulled my hair, but he’s neverhitme.
“Don’t you dare talk back to me, you worthless little bitch!” He shoves me then, letting go of my arm, and I fall to the floor. “You’re not going to school. You’ll stay here and clean this house until I’m happy with it.”
I glance at my backpack by the front door, knowing there is no breakfast or lunch inside it or anywhere in this house. But that’s another mistake he catches. “You think those books will get you anywhere? You’re stupid, just like your mother. No amount of studying will change what you are. Trash.”
