The Unbecoming of Chloe Saunders

10

Chrometophobia

Sometime while Chloe slept, her uncle convinced her aunt to go home and change and get some sleep. Chloe woke up several times. The first, a nurse with a bad perm was adjusting the morphine drip. The second, she had to use the bathroom.

But the third time, her dad was sitting in the chair next to her, his business suit crumpled and the lines around his mouth deep enough to age him by twenty years. He saw she was awake and leaned over, pressing a dry, warm kiss to her cheek. "Hey, baby girl," he whispered against her skin.

"Dad, what about your meeting?" she responded.

He shook his head. "You're more important." With his arms around her, she could feel the tremors of his shoulders and felt a few wet tears hit the top of her head.

"I'm sorry," she apologized softly, looking away as he pulled back and wiped his eyes. Seeing her in the hospital bed must've been hard for him. It dredged up memories that made her head spin.

"Chloe!" a voice called and she'd turned around, only to be swept up in strong, brown arms. Mommy laughed down at her as she spun them around and around, soaking the both of them with the sprinkler toy Daddy had set up.

"Don't apologize, sweetie," he told her, smiling. It was then she noticed how wild his normally tamed hair was, the shadow covering the width of his jaw.

"You should go get some coffee," Lauren said as she walked in wearing her doctor coat. Her hair was pulled in tight enough to give her normally wide eyes a slanted look, and Chloe knew her aunt was working. Lauren raised both brows at her brother-in-law and peered at him over tortoise-shell glasses.

Steve dragged himself to his feet, pressed a kiss to her left cheek, and walked out. "I'll be right back, honey," he said to Chloe before he disappeared around the corner. Someone hacked painfully.

"Mom?" Chloe asked quietly as her mother pressed her mouth deeper into her sleeve to cough violently.

Jennifer didn't answer; instead, she twisted her head away from her daughter and coughed and coughed until her entire body shook. When she pulled away, the sleeve was dark with pink-tinted phlegm.

"Gross!" she'd yelled.

"It's just phlegm," Jennifer had pointed out. Chloe was nine.

"That was highly reckless of you, Chloe," Lauren said flatly. "You could've been seriously hurt."

But I wasn't, Chloe thought. Mom would've wanted me to stop the fight. Out loud, she said, "Senseless violence. That's what she always said."

Lauren stared down at her with someone akin to shock. "Chloe…" she murmured, her shock fading into a loss for words. Suddenly, she looked pale and tired, a thousand years old, the weight of the world on her shoulders.

Jennifer's treatments quit working when Chloe turned twelve.

The only time she'd seen her mom cry, she'd been heading into the kitchen, only to freeze when she spotted her mom leaning over the sink.

There was a wide window over the sink so Chloe could see the tears running down Jennifer's face; she was bone white and sad, a weight crashing down on her.

"When do I get—" Chloe tried to ask but the PA system cut her off, a metallic, calm voice saying, "Dr. Fellows to station A2. Dr. Fellows to station A2."

Lauren briskly walked over, patted her on the hand, and said over her shoulder as she walked away, her coat billowing in her wake, "They're discharging you tomorrow morning. They wanted to make sure you didn't hurt your head." The door closed behind her and Chloe sighed, closing her eyes.

Early the next morning, Sunday, she was allowed to return home. Since Lauren and Ben were working, Steve drove her home. "How are you feeling, honey?" he asked with a soft smile as he adjusted the rear view mirror and turned on his indicator to switch lanes.

Chloe lifted her head up from where she'd been resting it against the window, mindful of the painful tug of the stitches if she messed with her hair or lifted her brows. "I'm okay," she answered softly, watching him from under her lashes.

He seemed timed and sagged against the steering wheel. To be honest, he looked worse for wear. His clothes were wrinkled and there was a light-brown stain on his collar that she hoped was coffee; his hair, tight curls, was frizzy and fell across his wide, pale forehead; his eyes, set deep in the wrinkles of his face, were bleary and squinted out the windshield. She wondered when the last time he slept was. A quick whiff had her recoiling against her seat; he stank.

Spotting her face, he chuckled. "Sorry. I've just been worried about you," he explained, his voice growing softer and softer with each word.

"I reminded you of Mom." It wasn't a question but a statement, cold and bitter. She watched his reaction out of the corner of her eye and saw the telltale sagging of his shoulders, dark shadows darkening his eyes.

"Yes," he admitted softly.

The rest of the ride was silent.

Chloe remembered warm hands that would flick acorns at her as they planted tulips in the fall. A soft voice singing gently as Jennifer brushed her hair out for her. Making silly faces at the camera on vacations. Eating ice creams and feeding the stray dogs scraps. Jennifer kissing a scraped knee and wiping away tears. Making lemonade during the hot summer. The smell of smoke when Jennifer forgot about the Christmas cookies.

And then, the dark memories. Jenifer coughing up blood sometimes. Finding her mom sleeping in the middle of the day. Steve pouring over the hospital bills with a glass of scotch next to him. Finding the trashcan full of long, blonde hair that wasn't Chloe's. Jennifer's weak smile when she shaved off what little hair she had left.

"We're home," Steve said.

Chloe shut down the memories and opened the door.