Maybe I should have questioned him more.
Instead, I stayed.
At first, nothing happened.
Noah went back to his usual Saturday routine. He told Emma about school. He told her he'd gotten every spelling word right except "separate," which he insisted was a stupid word because it had too many vowels.
He told her Grandma had burned pancakes that morning.
Publicidad
From the chair near the wall, my mother protested.
"They were a little dark."
"They were black."
Emma lay still between us.
A monitor kept its steady rhythm. The room smelled faintly of disinfectant and the lotion my mother rubbed onto Emma's hands because her skin had become dry.
After almost an hour, my mother went home.
I stayed.
That mattered to Noah. I could tell.
He kept glancing at me as though he expected me to find an excuse to leave.
Publicidad
Around seven, I almost did.
