Chapter 37
MICHELLE: HOW TO SAVE A LIFE
I woke to the sound of violence, low, mechanical, and relentless. My eyes flew open. For one panicked second, I thought it might be helicopters. Or the FBI. Or something worse.
Kyle bolted upright in the bed. “Mom?”
I was already sitting up, my heart racing. “I hear it.”
“What is that?” he asked, his eyes darting to the door like whatever it was might burst through at any second. “Are we under attack?”
I listened again. The steady growl, the aggressive back-and-forth, was vaguely familiar.
“I think it’s… a vacuum cleaner,” I said slowly, testing the word out loud.
Kyle frowned. “Why?”
My thoughts exactly. Why? And who?
“I don’t know,” I whispered. “We don’t… do that anymore.”
The noise surged closer, louder now, like it was mapping the house. Claiming territory.
Kyle pulled the blanket tighter around himself. “Is it supposed to sound angry?”
“Yes,” I said. “They all do.”
Another pass. The unmistakable thud of furniture being moved. Voices layered over the hum. Multiple voices.
“I don’t like this,” Kyle said.
“Neither do I.” I slid out of bed, every muscle tense.
“No, don’t.” Kyle threw the covers off and followed so close behind that he crashed right into me when I stopped to crack the door open. We both peeked out.
The house was alive. Like a productive ant colony.
People were scurrying about with purpose.
Scott was in the living room, sleeves rolled up, calling out instructions while our neighbor, Malcolm, hauled trash bags toward the door.
Quinn was polishing the coffee table with the hem of his shirt.
Grace was dusting with a fluff wand like she was granting wishes.
And Emma was on her knees scrubbing something that absolutely did not deserve that level of effort.
But they weren’t the only worker ants. Scott’s parents, of all people, were sorting mail with grim focus, his brother Paul had window-washing duty, and Mitch stood on a ladder swapping out light bulbs.
But it was who was wielding the vacuum that surprised me the most—April.
My brain stalled.
Scott looked up and caught my eye. “Oh, good. You’re up. Get dressed,” he said, not unkindly. “Our room is next.”
Without a word I shut the door. Kyle and I stared at each other.
“Mom?”
“Yes?”
“Do you think this is permanent?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “But I think I like it.”
Kyle and I spent the next few minutes tidying up. I’d had to move him out of his room and into mine because his smelled more like a hazardous waste dump than a kid’s bedroom, and I didn’t have the energy to deal with it properly.
In normal times, sharing a bed with me would’ve been viewed as a punishment—a fate worse than death—but these weren’t normal times, and Kyle needed the closeness while we worked to find some sort of lasting peace without our Jake.
But the vacuum? No. That hadn’t come out of the hall closet. Not even once.
After getting dressed, I made my way down the hall.
Scott whistled as I passed. “Look at you, all awake and shit.”
I gestured to him. “What’s with the Scooby-Doo attitude?”
“Ruh-roh. Did Michelle forget what functioning adults look like?”
“Looks more like child labor to me.”
“They’re union,” he said, easily. “Snack breaks are included.”
I smiled. An actual one. It felt strange, almost wrong. Like a betrayal of my missing child.
“What is happening here, Scott?”
“It’s called progress.”
“I’d say… your parents are here. I don’t remember that ever happening.”
Under Scott’s strict orders, any visits with JimSuey, the kids’ nickname for their grandparents, were done at their house, not ours. But now they were here—with their yappy little dog, Doris.
“There’s a story there,” Scott said. “I’ll tell you once you’re looking… a little less feral.”
“Can’t wait,” I mumbled.
“Go get some coffee while I bring a little order back into our lives.”
“By inviting your ex over? Bold move.”
“I invited Mitch,” he said. “April arrived as a bonus.”
“Uh huh.”
I moved past him and went straight to Mitch. No need for small talk. I hugged him, hard. We stood in silence for a long moment before he eased back just enough to look at me.
“How are you doing, Sunny?”
Tears welled instantly. He hadn’t called me that in so long. Somewhere along the way—after he moved to Arizona—we’d lost the easy closeness we once shared.
“Oh, Mitch, to be that carefree girl again,” I said wistfully. “How I want to earn that nickname back.”
He smiled, but sadness lingered in his eyes, a McKallister through and through. “You will,” he said. “Give it time.”
I hugged him again, tighter. At twenty-one, Mitch had grown into a steady, grounded adult. Exactly the kind of presence the house needed right now.
“I don’t know why your dad called you,” I said, “but I’m really glad he did.”
I left him to his lightbulbs and headed down the hall to the kitchen.
April had abandoned the vacuum and was at the sink now, sleeves rolled up, working through the dishes.
Our eyes met. It had been years. Once Mitch was old enough to fly alone, he came to us without her, and April and I had rarely crossed paths after that.
She set the dish aside and walked straight toward me.
I straightened without thinking, shoulders back, bracing for whatever version of her I remembered: the tight smile, the silent judgment, the decades-long standoff that never quite ended.
But it never came. She stopped in front of me and wrapped her arms around my neck.
Just held on. And I let her. After years of tension and resentment, of history pressing in from every side, April was the first woman since this nightmare began who made me feel safe enough to let go.
I sagged against her, my forehead against her shoulder. She said nothing. No expectations; only strength and solidarity. One mother to another. Our worst nightmare made real. In that moment she wasn’t Scott’s past or my rival. She was simply another mother who hurt for me.
April guided me to the table and cooked me breakfast. It was the first warm and solid food to hit my system in days. Then she sat across from me and we talked quietly, while the rest of the house moved carefully around us, giving us space.
Oh, the tears I spilled baring my soul. But April made it easy. She didn’t try to fix me or offer solutions. She just listened.
After I’d talked myself raw, I thought to ask her. “How’s your daughter?”
April and Tony had had a baby around the time Grace was born. I’d never met her. I hoped we could change that.
“She’s good. I left her home with her dad. I didn’t want to bring her up because…” April paused, grinning. “I wasn’t sure how we were feeling about Melanies in general right about now.”
I caught her eye, and we shared a smile.
“I swear I totally forgot it was your sister’s name,” she went on. “I really need to stop naming my kids after dead relatives before checking with you.”
“Stop.” I laughed. “I’m glad you did. The name could use a redemption arc.”
We sat in quiet for a moment before I reached across the table and rested my hand over hers.
“Thank you,” I whispered, surprised by the depth of gratitude I felt.
I hadn’t expected to find comfort with her, but there it was, along with something that felt like the beginning of a friendship.
Mitch and April were the last of Scott’s called-in favors to leave. But even days after they’d gone, the sense of order held. Homework was getting done. Scott stayed home, no more walking, and he seemed to have a renewed purpose. I wished I could get there too.
The new normal we were forming felt wrong. Like this—me standing in the kitchen, making sandwiches for the kids, going through the motions of moving forward without actually going anywhere.
Keith was the only one not crowded in with us. He’d healed enough from the beating to leave, slipping out the door the way he always had, without ceremony or permission. Graduation would proceed without him. His education, like so many things, had become collateral damage.
The phone rang.
I waited for Emma to answer, but when she didn’t, I picked it up. “Hello?”
Breathing. Ragged sounding.
“Hello?”
I was ready to hang up when a cough came through. Not a cold, not someone clearing their throat—this was wet, deep, and gurgling, like fluid was trapped where air should have been.
“Hello?” I said again, softer now. “Who is this?”
The coughing stopped, replaced by fractured breathing.
It came in uneven, shallow pulls, as if the caller couldn’t get enough air, no matter how deep the inhale.
Or maybe it wasn’t that at all. Maybe this was a prank.
Because who wouldn’t think it hilarious to imitate a missing child and torture his parents by pretending to be him?
“This isn’t funny.”
“Mommy?”
My vision tunneled, and the room slanted. I gripped the counter. Something in the way he said it sounded like Jake, only younger. “Jake?”
Kyle shot up from his chair, the hope in his eyes almost painful to see.
“Jake? Honey, please… if it’s you… please talk to me.”
Something scraped faintly in the background, a dull shift of movement. Then another cough tore through the line, violent and wrong. Even the best actor couldn’t fake that.
“Emma. Go get your dad.”
She turfed it to Quinn. “Quinn, you’re a fast runner. Go get Daddy.”
He bolted.
“Is it Jake?” Kyle asked.
“I… I don’t…”
Then that word again. “Mommy?”
He hadn’t called me Mommy since he was Grace’s age. It made no sense, but my god, it sounded like him. And I desperately wanted to believe it.
“Yes, baby, yes it’s me. Where are you? Are you hurt?”
Scott came running in, his face alight. “Michelle. Is it him?”