I bow my head over my mother’s hand and kiss it.
Thank you, Lord, for answering my prayers.
One moment there is light, sunshine, and warmth. Then my cell phone rings, and the whole world turns dark.
“Hello, is this Amanda?”
“Yes.”
“Hi. It’s your uncle, Arthur.”
I rise from the chair and leave Mom’s room, searching for a quiet corner somewhere in the unit. “Where’s Dad?” I ask.
He hesitates, which compounds my unease. “Sorry, kiddo. I know this isn’t what you want to hear right now, but he’s been arrested. The charge is attempted murder.”
Dread catapults into the pit of my stomach, and I cover my mouth with my hand. “No.”
“They must have felt they had enough evidence.”
Evidence. I hear the word but can’t register it. At least not right away. Then it hits me full force—the magnitude of what he just saidto me and the image of my father pushing my mother off the rocks at Peggy’s Cove, into the brutal and violent waves, to a place where the ocean is a killing machine.
“That couldn’t have happened,” I say. “There’s no way he did that.”
“I’m on my way to see him now.”
“But Mom’s awake,” I tell him, which is not a proper response to what he just communicated, but I need to cling to something good. I can’t handle a fresh new hell, nor do I want to believe this terrible thing about my father, despite whatever evidence they found.
“Did you just say she’s awake?” Uncle Arthur asks.
“Yes.”
“Oh, thank God. How is she?”
“Doing well so far. Sleeping mostly. But she can talk, and she knows who we are.”
“Does she remember what happened?” he asks. “If she can confirm that what happened was an accident, then we can get your father released.”
I face the wall and rest my forehead against it. “She hasn’t talked about that yet. She’s still groggy.”
“Amanda ...” He pauses, and I wait uncomfortably for him to continue. “Don’t tell anyone she’s awake yet, okay? We don’t want the cops in there taking notes. I’m coming over right now. Just stay put. I’ll see you shortly.”
He ends the call, and I stare blankly at my phone. His words repeat over and over in my mind—that they have evidence to charge Dad with attempted murder.
What in the world did they discover on his laptop or in his office files? What if it’s something bad? It’s been years since he’s felt like a real father to me. He’s been a stranger, but he’s been trying to do better since Mom ended up in the ICU. Or has he just been trying to cover his ass?
With a flash of panic, I walk quickly back to Mom’s room. I barely know Uncle Arthur, but I’m afraid to trust anyone about anything.
I reenter the room and find Mom still sleeping. Connor glances up from his phone. “Who was that?”
“Uncle Arthur. He said Dad’s been arrested.”
Connor lowers his phone. “What?”
“He’s on his way here, and he wants to talk to Mom and find out what really happened.” Feeling protective, I sit down beside her and take her hand. “Mom? Are you awake?” She doesn’t stir, so I gently shake her shoulder. “Mom?”
Her eyes flutter open, and she looks at me.
“Can you talk to me?”
