He must have been halfway down the staircase.
Emma and I hadn't screamed. We rarely screamed.
Somehow that made the memory worse.
She'd been standing in the kitchen with her arms folded.
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"I am asking you to stay," she'd said.
"It's three days, Emma."
"It's not about three days."
"The trip matters."
"I know it matters. Everything matters when it's work."
I remembered grabbing my suitcase.
I remembered her looking at me.
I remembered saying, "We can talk when I get back."
Then I left.
She never got the chance.
Noah picked at the edge of the blanket.
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"Was Mom mad because you left?"
"Yes."
"Is that why you don't stay?"
I could've lied.
I wanted to.
Instead, I leaned back and stared at the ceiling.
"Partly."
He waited.
I had spent two months telling him that Emma's condition wasn't anybody's fault.
