Chapter 13 #2
“Okay.” She smiles, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “I’m happy you’re home.”
I want to tell her that I’m happy to be home too, but the words get stuck in my throat, so I just smile instead.
The next morning, I wake before the sun rises. Well, that’s not entirely true. One has to actually sleep to wake up, and I did none of that. I was too worried I’d have a nightmare, and I didn’t want to wake Poppy by screaming. That would traumatize the poor kid.
So, about an hour ago, I decided I would just stay up. That I’d try to get some sleep once Tori took Poppy to camp.
I’m slow to move as I head for the kitchen, but once I make it, I head straight for the coffeepot on the counter. I open the cabinet where we keep the grinds and go to pull out the canister when my fingers brush against a stack of envelopes, all marked with a bright red stamp.
PAST DUE. FINAL NOTICE. SHUT-OFF WARNING.
I flip through them slowly. The electric bill is two months behind. Her cell phone bill too. There’s a cancellation notice for her car insurance and a letter from the landlord that I’m afraid to open.
I had surmised this was happening when she started taking on more shifts, but seeing the proof makes me feel even more guilty.
“Aunt Jess?”
The sound of Poppy’s voice startles me, and I quickly shove the bills back inside the cabinet before turning around to greet her.
“Jesus, Poppy. You scared me.”
She shrugs sheepishly and pads to the breakfast nook, rubbing her eyes. Her hair is a tangled mess of curls, and she’s missing a sock.
The sight makes me smile.
“What are you doing up so early?”
Another shrug. She picks at a loose thread on her pajama sleeve, then looks up at me.
“It’s too hot in my room. The air conditioning doesn’t work.” Her gaze transfixes on my forehead, and she hesitates for a beat before she asks, “Does that hurt?”
I reach up instinctively, my fingers finding the raised line of scar tissue that runs from my hairline to my eyebrow. It’s one of the only parts of me that is numb to the touch.
“No,” I say. “Not anymore.”
She nods slowly, processing this. Then her gaze drops to my legs, visible beneath the shorts I slept in.
The grafts are angry and red. The skin pulls taut across my calves where the burns were deepest. She stares at them the way kids stare at things they’ve been told not to stare at—openly and unapologetically.
I should’ve put on pants before I left my room.
“What about your legs?” she asks. “I heard my mom say they took skin from your hip to cover where the burns were.”
“Yeah,” I say carefully. “They did. It’s called a skin graft. They take healthy skin from one place and put it where the skin got hurt really bad.”
“Does that hurt?”
“Sometimes,” I admit. “But it’s getting better.”
Poppy absorbs this, her face serious. Then she leans forward, elbows on the table, chin in her hands.
“Can I see the place where they took the skin?”
The question disarms me. Aside from the medical professionals, no one else has seen the donor site.
Hell, I can’t even look at it myself.
“It’s covered with a bandage,” I lie. “So, there’s nothing to really see.”
Thankfully, she doesn’t press the issue. I offer to make her breakfast, but she tells me she can do it herself, and the next thing I know she’s moving around the kitchen, grabbing a box of cereal, the carton of milk, and bowls for both of us.
She sets a bowl in front of me.
“I’m glad you didn’t die.”
She says it so nonchalantly. Something cracks open in my chest, and I feel the fresh sting of tears fill my eyes. The normal response would be to tell her I share the sentiment, that I’m grateful God spared me, but I’m not there yet, and I’ve never been a good liar.
A week passes before I know it, every morning is the same. I drag myself out of bed before dawn, shower with the shower chair Tori ordered off Amazon, and get dressed in clothes that don’t irritate my skin. Tori drops Poppy at camp, then swings back to get me for my seven-thirty PT appointment.
Physical therapy is brutal. My new therapist works me through exercises that leave me shaking. Today she had me doing lateral step-ups on a four-inch platform, and I nearly face-planted twice.
At eight thirty, Tori picked me up and dropped me back at the apartment. Then she headed to the laundromat. From there, she’ll go straight to work, leaving me alone in the apartment for most of the day.
Normally, I’d pop a sleeping pill and try to nap. Avoiding sleep every night so I don’t wake Poppy has been catching up to me now that I’ve been getting my ass kicked at therapy.
I feel like a zombie.
Instead, I grab the laptop Tori and I share, scroll through job listings and side-hustle websites. Remote data entry. Virtual assistant. Freelance writing. Customer service rep. Everything requires experience I don’t have or skills I will probably never develop.
An hour later, I come across one of those survey sites that promises five dollars for every ten-minute questionnaire. After clicking through a bunch of mind-numbing questions about my shopping habits, I earn a grand total of two dollars and thirty-seven cents.
I close the laptop and press my palms against my eyes just as the doorbell rings. My hands immediately fall from my face, and I stare at the door. Figuring it’s probably a delivery man dropping off something Tori ordered, I push up from the chair. I don’t bother with my cane— it’s only a few feet.
I shuffle my way over and peer into the peephole, my eyes widening when Amelia’s face comes into view.
I haven’t seen her since the night of the fire.
Tori told me about an incident involving her son, and how he almost was kidnapped, but that was in the beginning of my recovery, so I don’t really recall all the details.
I know she called to check on me a couple of times, but she never called me.
I suppose it’s fair to assume she didn’t have my new number, but I’m sure she could’ve asked Tori for it.
I unlock the door and pull it open.
Amelia’s eyes meet mine, and for a second, neither of us speaks.
Her dark hair is longer than I recall, pulled into a loose braid over one shoulder.
She’s wearing a simple sundress and sandals, and she’s carrying a bouquet of sunflowers, along with a loaf of bread that appears to be from the farmers’ market.
I open my mouth to say hello, but the word dies on my tongue as her face crumples. The tears come fast and hard, her shoulders shaking as she continues to stare at me with a sorrowful expression on her face.
“Amelia—”
“I’m sorry,” she chokes out. “God, Jess, I’m so sorry. I should’ve come sooner. I should’ve . . .” Her voice trails as she presses her lips together, and another tear slips free. “I have no excuse.”
“It’s fine,” I say, because that’s what people say when someone apologizes for something that isn’t fine. Then, I move aside, giving her room to enter. “Come in.”
She enters the apartment, setting the flowers and the loaf of bread on the kitchen table, then turns to face me, wiping her cheeks with the backs of her hands.
“It’s not fine. I should’ve been there for you. But I didn’t know how to look at you and not feel guilty.”
My brows furrow as I shut the door. “Why would you feel guilty?”
“I was there with you that night. If I wasn’t in such a rush to get out of there that night, I wouldn’t have been in the office closing out the registers. I might have been able to get to you. I could’ve?—”
I cut her off. “There was nothing you could’ve done to change the outcome of what happened, Amelia.”
“They checked me out in the ambulance and released me before you even made it to the hospital.” Her voice breaks on the last word.
“I wanted to come. I swear, but then everything happened with Dylan and Della. By the time things settled down, they had moved you to the other hospital. I got in my car at least half a dozen times, but I couldn’t do it.
I just kept imagining you lying in that bed, and I’d think about how it should’ve been me, or?—”
“Amelia,” I murmur. “It shouldn’t have been anyone.”
She nods, but I can tell she doesn’t fully believe me.
“You’re here now, and I can promise you, I’m better company than I was when I was in the hospital,” I tell her.
She steps forward, releasing a shaky breath, then reaches for my hand.
“How are you doing now that you’re home?” she asks. “Is there anything I can do to help you out?”
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. The sincerity in her voice makes something loosen in my chest.