Page 26 of Dark Ugly Places

Come back and see me in a few weeks.”

My gut turns over as I feel the panic rising. I never wanted Emmy to suffer like this. Any complication with her skin graft means more doctors, more pills, and more money. Money we already don’t have.

Dr. Ching finishes up her notes and leads us out. I pay the co-pay, and in moments, we’re in the elevator approaching the ground floor where the pharmacy is. I pay for Emmy’s prescriptions and realize that the balance in my account is a little less than two hundred dollars now.

My stomach pangs again because rent and bills are coming due. I’m skating on a knife’s edge between having enough and us going hungry.

Back in the car, I tell Emmy she can take that break from school. “I’m not going to make you go. At least not for a little while.”

She shoots me a look, eyes suddenly hopeful, and it nearly breaks my heart. “Seriously?”

I nod. “Seriously. It’s all been too much. I think you need a little time to rest. Don’t you?”

She looks me over like I’ve damn near lost my mind. “So … what? I can just stay home? Just like that?”

“I’ll call the principal and tell her.”

Emmy nods, her eyes wide, like I’m dangling a million-dollar prize right before her eyes. Finally, she turns to me, somewhat brighter. “I heard JoJo got to take two weeks, on account of seeing a psychiatrist after her parents split.”

“Oh, really?”

Emmy smiles, hopeful. “I mean, I can do home study. Get my books and, you know, work from home … It’s not that big of a deal.”

I put my hand back on her back. “Let me call them and see.”

She nearly bursts at the seams and wraps her arms around me, and I savor each second of it for as long as it lasts.

“So, what will you do?” she says, pulling away from me.

“What do you mean?”

“Now that you don’t have to go back to the Whitmore?”

“That’s my job to figure it out, Em.”

She stares at me skeptically. “I thought we needed money …” Emmy pulls her feet up onto the seat, her frayed, tired shoes coming apart at the sides, a shoelace knotted in the middle where it must have snapped. My heart breaks open.

“Don’t worry about that,” I tell her. “You do you, and I’ll do me.”

She laughs bitterly. “Okay. Just don’t let the you that decided to quit come back, or we’ll both be in trouble.”

I smile lightly, but deep down, her words hit like tiny razor blades, nicking at my insides.

“Don’t worry,” I tell her. “I’m not going anywhere.”

A voice rises inside my head, clear and sharp. I snap my head to the left a little, willing it away, but the voice inside is loud and insistent.

How can you be sure?

11

Nicola

Emmy sits quietly at the kitchen counter, watching YouTube on low volume while I make dinner. The cupboards are empty except for a box of Emmy’s Pop-Tarts and the cereal she likes that costs $6.99 a box at Whole Foods. Behind it, I find a box of macaroni and cheese from the dollar store. I boil the macaroni with a head of broccoli that I cut up into little pieces.

“Mom, your face looks weird,” she says to me while I’m cooking.

“This is just my face. I’m concentrating.” Maybe I’m in denial, but I feel like she doesn’t realize the extent to which we are struggling yet.