Heart on a Chain (26 page)

“
Yes, and thank you for doing that,” I say sincerely. His eyes widen a little at my words. “I didn’t know there could be a family like that. You brought me in and showed me how it is supposed to be. And your whole family…they showed me love and kindness, whether I deserved it or not. I
love
them, Henry.”

He pulls me into his arms, his body trembling with the force of his emotions as he processes my words and tries to let go of his own guilt.

“
Are you going to be okay going back there?” he asks into my hair. “Because you know you can and
should
come to my house.”

I hug him tighter, not wanting him to see the lie on my face.

“
It’s going to be fine. I want to go home.” I force my voice to sound sure.

He releases a loud breath, giving in.

“
Okay, but plan on me being there all the time, until you’re sick of me.”

I push back to smile at him.

“
That isn’t going to happen. No way would I ever be sick of you.”

Chapter Nineteen

Henry takes me home
in the morning. I’m glad there isn’t anyone there but him and me. I expected it to be changed somehow, to look different. But it’s the same; the couch and small TV in the same place, the wood floor still scuffed and marred, the kitchen still small and plain. The only physical difference is the missing lamp.

The unseen difference is where I falter. I look at the wall where I had fallen with the first swing of the bat, and imagine I can see the outline of my body there; the place on the wood floor where I had dragged myself forward, imagining I can still see a faint outline of the blood streaks I had dragged with me; the tile floor in the kitchen where I imagine I can see the circular outline of her head, the place that had taken her life by the force of my hand.

I shudder and turn my face into Henry’s shoulder, his arms coming up to surround me with safety. I take a deep breath, forcing strength into my mind. I know that if I give him the slightest provocation he’ll sweep me up into his arms and carry me to his home. I ache with longing at the thought, then mentally shake my head to clear it of
that
yearning.

Emma soon comes with
Christine
to help me settle in. The other girls are in school but she’s promised to bring them to see me later. I want to see them, but I’m ashamed to have them see my house; it’s such a depressing place compared to their beautiful, bright home. I think that maybe it’s good; maybe they should see me in my real world so they can understand how much I don’t belong in theirs.

I sit on the couch—on the opposite end from
her
end—curled into Henry who sits next to me. It has exhausted me, the trip home, and soon I’m asleep.

When I awake, I’m lying on the couch with a pillow under my head and a blanket covering me. I can hear Henry in the kitchen, talking with Emma, the sounds of food preparation underway. Then I hear my father’s voice, and stiffen.

“
That seems like a fine way to go. Medical school has to be pretty pricey, huh?” I hear him question.

“
Yeah, but I’ve already got some scholarships lined up to help with that,” Henry says.

“
You gonna be going to school around here?”

“
Henry has applied to and been accepted at several schools,” Emma announces proudly. “He’s always wanted to go away to school, so I imagine I won’t have him around much longer.”

I can almost hear the shrug in Henry’s voice as he responds.

“
I might hang around awhile, go to school here.”

“
Oh?” I can hear the surprise in Emma’s voice. “I didn’t know you had even been thinking of that. Oh, excuse me,” she says as her cell phone rings. There’s silence in the kitchen with the exception of her responses.

“
That was Paul,” she tells them. “He and the girls are just leaving the house so they will be here soon. I hope you don’t mind us taking over your house like this, John.”

John?
I try to picture my father as a person, with a name, rather than just as
my father
. I can’t do it, but it doesn’t surprise me that Emma can.

“
I’m glad to have you. You have been a great help to me…and to my daughter.”

What an amazing conversation
. Seriously…
my daughter?

“
Well, we all love her. She’s a good girl.”

The doorbell rings and Henry comes into the living room to open it. He automatically looks my way, stopping when he sees my eyes open.

“
Hey, you’re awake,” he says, changing course and coming to me. Emma must have heard him, because she follows right behind him, continuing on to open the door to admit Dr Jamison and the two girls. I wonder briefly where
Christine
is, then find myself speechless when my father walks into the room a moment later, carrying her.

Henry helps me to stand up so that I can hug the girls. And just like that it’s my own house that’s filled with the love and laughter that I’d thought possible only at Henry’s.

There isn’t room enough for us all to sit around our small kitchen table with its three chairs—the fourth had been smashed against me on Thanksgiving and never replaced—so Emma decides we should all sit in the family room, balancing plates laden with food on our knees. Henry carries the three chairs into the room, which barely fit around the perimeter, then stakes out his place on the floor next to my knees, knowing that if he leaves it will be taken by one of his sisters.

Much later, after everything has been cleaned up and all of the Jamison’s have left except for Henry, my father says goodnight—the first time I ever remember him doing that.

“
When do you start back at school?” I ask Henry. We had argued about him needing to be
in
school rather than sitting at the hospital all day, but we had finally agreed that once I was home he would go back. Emma and Dr. Jamison had adamantly taken my side on that.

“
Tomorrow.” He sounds put-out.

“
You should go home, then. Go to bed.”

He turns to me.

“
I could stay here, and just leave in the morning.”

“
Henry…” my voice holds a warning.

“
I’m not saying miss school. I’m just saying—”

I put my fingers on his mouth.

“
Go home, Henry. Go to sleep. Come back after school.”

He looks at me for a long minute, then finally nods, pressing my hand tighter to his mouth for a kiss.

“
Okay, but you have the cell phone. You promise to call if you need
anything
?”

I raise my right hand. “Promise.”

He spends some time kissing me goodnight, which I don’t mind at all—in fact, rather enjoy—even though I know he’s just stalling. He insists on helping me up to my room, but I don’t let him in. I make him leave me at the door of my room, waiting until he has walked down the stairs, turning lights off as he goes, and hear him close the front door.

I walk into my room, small and plain, but organized and clean. It feels even less like home to me now than it had before. I lay down, pulling my covers over me, tears falling to soak the pillow beneath my head.

Three days later the police come by to formally charge me with my mother’s death, and to read me my Miranda rights. I’m grateful it’s during the day, my father still at work and Henry at school. Emma is here, as she is most days, standing pale and shaking while the Officer does his duty reluctantly. It’s humiliating having Emma as a witness, but I’m also conversely glad of her support.

“
Because of the extenuating circumstances of your health issues, the judge has agreed that once we take you to the station to be processed, we will immediately release you on your own recognizance. You will have an arraignment hearing within the next week or so, at which time you will be appointed a lawyer.”

My mind reels at the words. What had been only a feeling of being a murderer has suddenly become reality. They don’t handcuff me, but require me to ride in the back of their cruiser to the station. Emma follows behind in her car, stopping to drop
Christine
off with one of her neighbors. So when we arrive at the station, I’m truly alone.

The Officers are all kind to me, taking care with my injuries as they fingerprint and photograph me. I have to fill out some paperwork, trying to not notice the looks I’m getting from many of the other Officers, looks full of pity.

When I’m finished, I’m led out to a waiting room where Emma waits for me. I can see she has been crying and remorse washes over me, that I’m putting her and her family through this, just because they’ve shown me kindness.

By the time we arrive back at my house, I’m exhausted, emotionally and physically. I lay down on the couch and sleep solidly, not waking until after dark. I can hear Henry and my father in the kitchen, talking low. I can’t make out their words, but just hearing Henry’s voice comforts me. I struggle up, walking into the kitchen.

They both look up guiltily as I come in, obviously having been talking about me. My father looks oddly ashamed, and Henry looks furious. When he sees me, he tries to arrange his face into a pleasant expression, but it doesn’t work, only serves to make him look constipated, which almost makes me laugh—except that I wonder what’s made him so furious to begin with.

He stands and comes to me, wrapping me into his arms.

“
It’s about time you woke up,” he teases, trying to mask the anger in his voice, and failing miserably.

“
What’s going on?” I ask suspiciously.

He steps back, looking toward my father.

“
We heard about today,” my father says.

“
Oh.” My face darkens with shame.

Henry hugs me against his side.

“
I’m sorry I wasn’t here,” he says.

“
It doesn’t matter. It wasn’t so bad.” And other than the humiliation of it, it really hadn’t been.

My father suddenly stands.

“
I’m going out for a while.”

I know what that means, but I can tell Henry has no idea, only seeming irritated that he’ll be leaving when I’ve been through something so horrible that day. I feel my heart sink because my father has been sober for the last few days that I’ve been home, and “going out” has always meant coming home drunk.

Henry makes me recount for him every second of my time at the station, several times until I finally refuse to tell him again. He heats me up some soup that Emma had left earlier, along with some homemade bread. Then he holds me while we watch an old movie on TV that I can’t concentrate on. My mind whirls with the implications of the day and what it could mean for me, but even more what it could mean for Henry.

Later, as I lay in bed, I hear my father come home; hear the tell-tale sounds of his stumbling up the stairs. I lay frozen as his footsteps came down the hall and stop in front of my door. My stomach tightens with a fear I’ve known only all too well in my life, but which I had hoped never to have to feel again.

I hold my breath, watching the door handle so intently I begin to imagine it turning when it isn’t. Frightened, my temperature rises even as I pull my blanket up higher, over my cheek, leaving only my eyes out, as I if I’m invisible this way.

Finally, after what seems an eternity, he turns and stumbles back to his own room.