Chapter 4 - SIX MONTHS
I had spent six months asking Aunt Diane when I could bring Noah home.
Six months listening to her explain that the judge wanted stability.
Six months hearing that the guardianship was still active, that the court was backed up, that my apartment needed another inspection, that my work schedule was a problem, that Noah had told her he did not want another transition.
Six months apologizing to my brother for a delay that had not existed.
I sat beside his hospital bed and thought about every conversation differently.
The time Diane had refused to let me take him for a weekend because she said the order prohibited overnight visits.
The time she had demanded copies of my pay stubs.
The time she told me a caseworker had said my second bedroom was too small.
The time she told me the judge wanted me to take a parenting class before I could petition.
I had done the class.
It had cost three hundred dollars.
Diane had watched me complete paperwork she knew I did not need.
Noah noticed my expression.
“What’s wrong?”
I forced my hands to unclench.
“Nothing you need to fix.”
He frowned.
“I didn’t ask if I could fix it.”
The answer sounded more like the old Noah.
Dry.
A little offended.
For half a second, I saw my brother before the careful silences.
I almost smiled.
“You’re right.”
He studied me.
“What did she lie about?”
I could have protected him from the truth for another hour.
After everything that had happened, I did not want to become another adult who decided what he could handle without asking him.
“The temporary guardianship ended six months ago.”
His eyes widened.
“So she wasn’t supposed to keep me?”
“I don’t know exactly what the legal rules are yet.”
“But she told me the judge said I had to stay.”
I felt a pressure behind my ribs.
“When?”
“Lots of times.”
“Did you ever see a judge?”
“No.”
“Did you ever talk to a caseworker?”
He shook his head.
“Did anyone from the court come to the house?”
“No.”
I looked toward the hallway.
Diane and Marissa were gone.
A police officer now stood near the nurses’ station speaking with Kelly.
Noah saw him too.
His hand moved toward mine.
“Am I going somewhere else?”
“I don’t know.”
“Like foster care?”
The fear in his voice cut through me.
I moved my chair closer.
“I’m going to ask for you to come with me.”
“What if they say no?”
“Then I will keep asking what needs to happen so they can say yes.”
He looked at me carefully.
“You won’t get tired?”
I had to swallow before answering.
“No.”
He stared at our hands.
“Aunt Diane says people get tired when you need too much.”
I felt something inside me turn hard.
“What do you think?” I asked.
He shrugged.
“That people do.”
“Sometimes people get tired.”
He looked up.
“But needing help is not a debt you owe them for.”
He was quiet.
“You can be tired and still not tie somebody to a chair.”
His mouth twitched once.
It was not quite a smile.
The orthopedic surgeon arrived before Marissa returned.
Dr. Levin was younger than I expected and spoke to Noah instead of around him.
He showed us the X-rays.
The fracture line in the tibia had shifted enough that the bone was no longer sitting in the alignment shown on the original images.
He explained that Noah would need sedation so they could realign it and place a new cast.
If the bone remained unstable, surgery might still be necessary later.
Noah stared at the image.
“Did I make it worse?”
Dr. Levin answered immediately.
“No.”
“I stood on it.”
“You were put in a situation where you did not have a safe way to move.”
“But I stood on it.”
“That does not make this your fault.”
Noah blinked hard.
I looked away because I suddenly could not trust my face.
Dr. Levin continued explaining the procedure.
When he left, Noah whispered something.
“What?” I asked.
“He said it.”
“Said what?”
“That it wasn’t my fault.”
I nodded.
“He did.”
Noah looked toward the empty doorway.
“Aunt Diane says doctors just say nice things so kids stop crying.”
“She’s wrong.”
“She says people tell you what you want to hear when they think you’re weak.”
I took a slow breath.
“Noah, how often does she call you weak?”
He did not answer.
I asked a different question.
“What happens when you cry at her house?”
He rubbed his thumb over the hospital blanket.
“She makes me start over.”
“Start what over?”
“Whatever I was doing.”
I waited.
“If I’m cleaning and I cry, I start the room over.”
My stomach tightened.
“If I’m writing sentences and I cry, I start the page over.”
“What sentences?”
His eyes moved to mine.
He had said too much.
I could see him realize it.
“What sentences, Noah?”
He shook his head.
“It’s stupid.”
“It matters if it happened to you.”
He stared at his hands.
“Sometimes I have to write things.”
“What things?”
He whispered the first one.
“I will not lie about pain.”
I felt sick.
“How many times?”
“It depends.”
“On what?”
“How annoying I was.”
“Noah.”
“That’s what she calls it.”
“What else did she make you write?”
He took a breath.
“I will not manipulate people.”
Another.
“I will not embarrass my family.”
Another.
“I will not call Emily for attention.”
That one stopped me.
“What?”
His eyes filled again.
“She said you were trying to build a life.”
I could barely speak.
“What did she tell you about me?”
“That you loved me.”
The answer surprised me.
He looked ashamed.
“But that you couldn’t deal with everything all the time.”
I closed my eyes.
He kept going because now that he had started, the words seemed to come faster.
“She said I was making you feel guilty.”
“When?”
“When I called you at work.”
“You called me at work once because you had a fever.”
“She said that was exactly the problem.”
I remembered that call.
Three months earlier, Noah had called from the school nurse’s office.
I had left work early and driven to Diane’s house with soup, electrolyte drinks, and a new thermometer.
Diane had met me at the door and acted embarrassed.
She said Noah’s fever had already broken.
She said the school had overreacted.
She said I did not need to stay.
Noah had been asleep upstairs.
At least, that was what she told me.
Now I wondered whether he had even known I came.
“Did she tell you I brought things that day?”
He frowned.
“What things?”
My eyes burned.
“Never mind.”
“No, what things?”
“Soup.”
He stared at me.
“Drinks.”
His face changed.
“A thermometer.”
“You came?”
“Yes.”
“She said you couldn’t.”
The room felt too small.
I stood because I could not sit still anymore.
Noah watched me pace once to the window and back.
“Emily?”
“I’m okay.”
“You look mad.”
“I am mad.”
He flinched.
I stopped immediately.
“Not at you.”
He looked down.
“I know.”
But his shoulders did not relax.
I knelt beside the bed.
“I need you to hear me.”
He looked at me.
“If I am angry, you do not have to make it disappear.”
He said nothing.
“You do not have to make me happy to be safe with me.”
His lower lip trembled.
“And if you are hurt, sick, scared, hungry, angry, or just having a bad day, you are allowed to tell me.”
His eyes closed.
A tear slid down his cheek.
“You are not an inconvenience.”
He turned his face away.
I stayed beside him without touching him until he reached for my hand first.
Marissa returned ten minutes later with the police officer.
Diane was not with them.
I stood.
“Where is she?”
Marissa closed the door.
“She left the hospital.”
My pulse jumped.
“Why?”
“She said she needed to retrieve additional guardianship documents.”
“Did you let her leave?”
“She is not under arrest.”
The officer spoke for the first time.
“Not at this point.”
Noah went rigid.
Marissa noticed.
“This is not your problem to solve, Noah.”
He nodded.
I looked at Marissa.
“What happens now?”
“We are initiating an emergency safety plan.”
“Can he come with me?”
“We need to verify your residence, your background check, and a few other things.”
“I’ll do anything you need.”
“I know.”
She tapped her tablet.
“There is another issue.”
My stomach dropped again.
“What?”
“When I pulled the court file, I found a petition submitted five months ago.”
“What petition?”
“For extension of guardianship.”
I stared at her.
“I was never notified.”
“That is one of the problems.”
“Was it granted?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“The court asked for additional documentation.”
Marissa paused.
“Specifically, documentation supporting the claim that you were unavailable and had abandoned contact with Noah.”
I felt as if the floor shifted.
“What documentation?”
She looked at me carefully.
“Screenshots of text messages.”
“What text messages?”
“Messages that appear to be from your number.”
I already knew what she was going to say before she said it.
Marissa read one line from the petition notes.
“Please stop asking me to take him.”
Noah looked at me.
I could barely breathe.
“I never sent that.”
Marissa nodded slowly.
May you like
“I was hoping you would say that.”
