Page 73 of The Emma Special

Katie: The kids were feral this morning! I do not possess your child wrangling skills.

Emma: You’ve been helping me every week. I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.

Katie: I did everything exactly as you do, and they turned on me. It was a disaster. Pretty sure they can smell fear. Next week we’re getting you to class. I don’t care if we have to carry you in. You cannot leave me alone with the wolves ever again. Ever, ever, ever again.

Emma: Children are not wolves.

Katie: They are when you’re not around.

Emma: Sure… Are you on your way home?

Katie: Allison’s mom an’ them invited us over. Are you okay for a while? I’ll bring you back a plate.

Emma: Yeah, and thanks. I don’t have much of an appetite today. Give everyone hugs for me.

Emma dropped the phone to her chest and closed her eyes. She ought to get up. Shower. Drink some water. Something.

It was easier to do nothing. Think nothing… be nothing.

Except she did have to pee.

“Aye-yiie-yiie-yiie…” Emma sang the nonsense in a high-pitched falsetto until she worked up the momentum to pull herself out of the covers. Her ace bandage from the ER was still wrapped around her knee. She’d watched the way the nurse wrapped it and would hopefully be able to repeat the process later.

“Ow, ow, ow, ow,” she cried while reaching for the pair of over-priced crutches leaning against the wall. She told the doctor she didn’t need them—everything they sent home was going to be triple what she could find used, but James overruled her.

“You are handy little buggers,” she told the gray metal supports as she hobbled to the bathroom. “I hereby name thee Sir Marvin and Sir Barvin.” Although by giving them names, she’d given them personalities. Personalities often included feelings. And maybe they didn’t like being shoved into her stinky armpits.

“Fine. You win! I’ll shower.” She mumbled and complained and fussed every step of the way. Feeling sorry for herself was easier when left alone.

“Not entirely alone, am I? Sir Marvin and Barvin are here. And they better be.” She opened the shower curtain to eye them leaning against a wall. “He paid a pretty penny for you. I’m sure. Add it to the list. The ever-growing list.”

Twelve hundred hours later, with hair dripping wet but clean, Emma made her way back to her room buck naked because she’d forgotten her towel and there weren’t any left on the shelf. “Laundry day is upon us, my friends.”

Slipping into her old cotton robe, she sank onto the bed again to rewrap her knee. It was incredibly tender, but some of the swelling had gone down. Dr. Tulane wanted to schedule the surgery to reattach the ligament.

In the shock of it all, Emma hadn’t said no. She hadn’t screamed. She hadn’t even asked a single question.

She’d put her face in her hands and let the nurse wrap her leg. And here she was, two days later and not a clue what to do besides keep it wrapped and use crutches.

Her life as she knew it was over.

Flopping back onto her pillow in exhaustion, she pulled her legs up on the bed and hugged her old stuffed pink snail.

Knocking on her bedroom door startled her out of a deep sleep. Emma rubbed her eyes and stretched her arms above her head. “Katie?”

“Hey, it’s me.” James poked his head into her room. “Can I come in?”

“Oh! I’m—come in,” Emma said, trying to come out of her haze. “I didn’t hear the doorbell.”

“Sorry, I called first, and you didn’t answer. No worries. I got in touch with Katie. She said maybe you were sleeping.”

“Yeah.” She didn’t move, still in a heavy dreamworld. “I feel like a slug.”

James chuckled and moved hesitantly into her room. Thankfully she kept her room tidy, and it wasn’t covered in drying bras or anything embarrassing.

Bras! She was naked except for the threadbare robe.

A robe covered more than a summer dress. She was perfectly decent.