The Crash

Chapter 28

28

Tegan sleeps all afternoon.

It’s no surprise since I crushed twenty-five milligrams of Benadryl into the sauce I cooked her chicken in for lunch. Benadryl is perfectly safe during pregnancy. I’m sure she could use the sleep, and it’s better than her lying awake all afternoon wondering when we’re going to take her to the hospital. It’s easier if she’s groggy and pliable.

Especially since I have no intention of taking her to the hospital today or tomorrow.

Or ever.

Now that our internet is back up, I run a search on Tegan Werner. I find a social media page, and it’s ripe with pictures of the girl in our basement. She’s not pregnant in any of them. There’s no mention of a husband, that’s for sure. She looks pretty in a young and fresh sort of way, with her heart-shaped face and silky blond hair. In every photo, she’s holding some sort of alcoholic beverage, which isn’t any surprise based on the fact that her purse reeked of it.

Yes, I’m sure she’ll be a fine mother.

She told me that story about wanting to be a nurse, and I’m sure that was also a crock of lies. She’s trying to suck up to me. But even if it is true, that doesn’t change anything. She’s still a girl who made an irresponsible decision and will now be saddled with a baby she can’t take care of. Tegan won’t give that baby the life she deserves.

I will.

After staring at far too many photos of Tegan looking young and irresponsible, I get up and walk to the kitchen to plan dinner. I can just barely make out the Hambly house from the window in my kitchen. Before he left, Hank cleared a path around our house, and he also cleared out a path to our neighbor’s house. Even though neither of us cares for Mitch Hambly, Hank does it to be a good neighbor and to give Sadie a path to walk to school.

Mitch’s truck isn’t in the driveway, which means he must’ve gone to work today. Since the schools are almost certainly closed for snow, that means Sadie is home all by herself.

I hope she’s okay. I hope I didn’t get her in too much trouble.

I look down at my own wrist, which has turned a dark purple color, as I predicted. Mitch Hambly is not a good man. I don’t care what Child Protective Services decided—he should not be taking care of that little girl. In all the times that she’s come over here, I’ve never once seen her well groomed. And the poor thing looks positively malnourished—it’s not normal to have collarbones that stick out so much.

If I had a child, they wouldn’t know the meaning of the word “hungry.” They would be positively chubby.

I wonder if Mitch even left some food for Sadie when he went to work. I imagine her opening the refrigerator and finding only a six-pack of beer, five of which are mostly empty.

On an impulse, I open the refrigerator and pull out some bread and turkey. I’m going to make Sadie a sandwich. I start adding ingredients, and I slather the bread with lots of mayonnaise, just the way my mother used to make it. I wrap it carefully in tinfoil, and then I grab a couple of Oreos from the pantry and drop them into a Ziploc bag.

I pull on my boots and pea-green coat, and I make the trek over to the Hambly house to check on Sadie. Our own house is nothing to write home about, but Hank is good about fixing anything that needs to be repaired, and the two of us put a fresh coat of paint on it every few years. But the Hambly house looks like it’s one broken shingle away from being condemned. As I put my foot on the first step of the porch, the wood crumbles slightly under my weight. The screen door is hanging off by the top hinge—I’m amazed it didn’t blow away during the storm.

I gently nudge open the screen door, hoping it doesn’t fall off in my hand. Then I rap on the front door. And I wait.

Please be okay, Sadie. Please.

After what feels like an eternity, little footsteps approach the door. I wait for the lock to turn, but nothing happens.

“Sadie?” I say.

Another long silence. “Daddy says I’m not s’posed to let anyone in.”

“It’s okay. He meant strangers. He didn’t mean me.”

“He said you.”

I get an ache in my chest. If Sadie can’t come over to my house after school, then she’ll be returning home to an empty house every day. Mitch doesn’t get back from work until late.

“Have you eaten lunch?” I ask her.

“Yes. I had crackers.”

Crackers are not a well-balanced meal for a seven-year-old girl. “Sadie, I made you a sandwich. I’m going to leave it at the door. You don’t have to let me in, but if you’re hungry, you can eat the sandwich.” I notice her hesitation, and I add, “I also have some cookies for you.”

Sadie doesn’t say anything. I bend down and leave the cookies and sandwich on the doormat. I back away from the door, and when nothing happens, I start walking in the direction of my house.

When I’m about halfway back, I hear a noise from behind me. I turn around just as the front door to the Hambly house cracks open. A little hand reaches out and picks up the sandwich and the cookies I left behind. Then before I can even lift my hand to wave, the door slams shut again.