Chapter 1 - THE HALLWAY
My aunt disappeared down the hallway with both crutches tucked under one arm as if she had just taken away a pair of toys.
For one second, I stood there with the screen door half open and listened to the rubber tips knock against the wall as she walked farther into the house.
Behind me, Noah made a small sound.
It was not a cry.
It was the sound somebody makes when they have learned that crying only gives another person more information to use against them.
I turned back to him.
He was ten years old, too thin for the oversized basketball shirt he was wearing, and his right leg was trapped from just below the knee to his toes in a white fiberglass cast.
The cast had been clean when I had seen him four days earlier.
Now it was gray around the heel and scraped along the outside edge.
There was a new crack in the fiberglass near his ankle.
I had noticed it before Aunt Diane took the crutches, but now that I understood how it had happened, I could not stop looking at it.
Noah followed my eyes.
“I didn’t jump on it,” he said quickly.
“I know.”
“I only tried to get to the door.”
“I know.”
“She said if I could make it inside, I could have the crutches.”
I crouched again.
“Did you put weight on the bad leg?”
His mouth tightened.
“Once.”
The answer was so quiet I almost missed it.
“Did you fall?”
He nodded.
“Did you hit anything?”
“The chair.”
“Your leg or your body?”
“My cast hit the porch.”
I touched the fiberglass just above the scrape without pressing.
Noah flinched anyway.
That decided the next part for me.
I pulled my phone from my back pocket and called the orthopedic clinic number saved from the day of his fracture.
The screen door slammed open before the first ring finished.
Aunt Diane stood there without the crutches.
“Who are you calling?”
“The doctor.”
Her face changed almost too quickly to notice.
The irritation disappeared.
Something sharper took its place.
“Why?”
“His cast is damaged and he says he put weight on the leg.”
“He says a lot of things.”
I kept the phone against my ear.
The clinic’s automated message began to play.
Aunt Diane stepped onto the porch.
“Hang up.”
“No.”
“Emily, you are not his parent.”
“Neither are you.”
“I am his legal guardian.”
The words landed exactly where she intended.
After our mother died eighteen months earlier, Aunt Diane had become Noah’s temporary guardian while I finished my final semester of school and found an apartment with a second bedroom.
Temporary had somehow become something no one in the family wanted to discuss.
Every time I asked about taking Noah to live with me, Diane said the court process was complicated.
Every time I asked to see the paperwork, she told me it was with her attorney.
Every time I pushed harder, my grandmother called me and said I was upsetting Noah by creating “custody drama.”
I had believed there was time to sort it out.
Looking at my brother tied to a porch chair, I realized how expensive that belief had been.
The clinic receptionist answered.
I turned away from Diane.
“My little brother has a lower-leg cast from a tibia fracture, and the cast is scraped and cracked after a fall.”
Aunt Diane reached for my phone.
I moved it out of reach.
“He did not fall,” she snapped.
Noah shrank into the chair.
I saw it.
The receptionist heard it.
There was a pause on the line.
“Ma’am,” the receptionist said, “is the child with you right now?”
“Yes.”
“Is he having increased pain, numbness, tingling, swelling, discoloration, or trouble moving his toes?”
I looked at Noah.
“Can you wiggle your toes?”
He did.
“Any tingling?”
“A little.”
Diane scoffed.
“He told me his toes were fine ten minutes ago.”
Noah immediately looked frightened.
I put my free hand on his shoulder.
“You are allowed to answer differently if something changed.”
His eyes stayed on mine.
“My foot feels buzzy.”
The receptionist’s voice became more direct.
“You need to have him evaluated today.”
“I can bring him.”
Aunt Diane stepped closer.
“No, you cannot.”
The receptionist heard that too.
“Are you the child’s parent or legal guardian?” she asked me.
“I’m his adult sister.”
“Is the guardian refusing care?”
Diane’s face went pale with anger.
“I am not refusing anything.”
She leaned toward my phone.
“He is perfectly fine.”
Noah’s fingers curled around the edge of the chair.
I kept my eyes on him.
“What hospital should I take him to?” I asked.
The receptionist gave me the name of the emergency department attached to their orthopedic group.
I thanked her and hung up.
Diane blocked the porch steps.
“You are not putting him in your car.”
“I’m taking him to be checked.”
“You don’t have the authority.”
“Then you take him.”
“He does not need a hospital.”
“Then give me the crutches and I’ll call an ambulance.”
That made her laugh once.
It was not a nervous laugh.
It was contemptuous.
“You are being ridiculous.”
I held up my phone.
“I can call right now.”
For the first time, she looked past me toward the neighboring houses.
The porch faced three backyards separated by low fences.
Mr. Alvarez next door was trimming basil beside his shed.
He had stopped trimming.
He was watching us.
Diane noticed him.
Her shoulders lowered slightly.
Then she smiled.
It was the smile she used at funerals and parent-teacher conferences.
“Of course we can get him checked,” she said.
The change in her voice was so complete that Noah looked at her in confusion.
“I only wanted him to calm down first.”
I did not answer.
“I’ll get his insurance card.”
“And the crutches.”
Her smile held.
“And the crutches.”
She went inside.
I waited until the screen door closed.
Then Noah whispered my name.
“Emily.”
“What?”
“Don’t let her come in the room with the doctor.”
Every muscle in my body went still.
I sat beside him on the porch boards.
“Why?”
He stared toward the closed door.
“Because she answers for me.”
“What does she answer?”
“Everything.”
I swallowed.
“Has she ever told you not to tell a doctor something?”
Noah did not answer.
That was an answer.
I lowered my voice.
“You can tell me now.”
His breathing started to speed up again.
I stopped.
“You do not have to tell me on this porch.”
He nodded.
“We’ll get you somewhere safe first.”
The screen door opened.
Diane came back carrying a small purse, Noah’s insurance card, and one crutch.
I looked at the empty space beside it.
“Where is the other one?”
She blinked.
“I must have left it upstairs.”
“You carried both down the hallway.”
“I know what I carried.”
Noah’s face changed.
His lips parted, but he said nothing.
I stood.
“Get the second crutch.”
“We can manage with one.”
“No, we cannot.”
Her pleasant expression cracked.
“You are in my house.”
“He is non-weight-bearing.”
“You think you know everything because you went to college.”
“No.”
I pointed at the one crutch in her hand.
“I know he was prescribed two.”
Behind the fence, Mr. Alvarez cleared his throat.
Diane looked toward him again.
Then she turned and went inside.
This time, I heard a door open at the far end of the hall.
I heard a drawer slam.
I heard something metallic fall.
Then I heard Diane say one sentence to herself.
She did not realize the screen door had not latched.
“She had no right to come early.”
I looked at Noah.
He had heard it too.
“What does that mean?” I whispered.
His face went white.
“I thought you knew.”
“Knew what?”
He stared at me with the same fear he had shown when he asked me to keep Diane away from the doctor.
“Aunt Diane told me you weren’t coming until next month.”
I felt cold despite the heat on the porch.
“I told her I was coming today.”
Noah shook his head.
“She said you canceled.”
The screen door opened again.
Diane stepped outside carrying the second crutch.
May you like
This time, she did not smile.
