Chapter Three
December 2, 1979
The bedroom was quiet and dark, odd, abstract shadows cast along the navy blue walls. Airplanes hung from the ceiling, unmoving, for there was no wind to move them. On the bunk bed across the room, Will slept without noise or movement other than the sound of his gentle breaths in the still night. On the bunk below his lay Sara, eyes shut tight in deep sleep, shivering beneath her two thick blankets. It was winter in Ohio, and Sara wasn't used to the cold.
The bedroom door opened a small crack, Laura's red, puffy eyes looking past the jamb. When she was sure both children were fast asleep, she silently shuffled over to Sara, blanket in her hand. It was far past midnight, but Laura was having difficulty sleeping. She had tried so hard to sleep, but there was nothing but insomnia to keep her company as she tossed and turned on the couch.
She had checked in on Sara several times, and finally decided a third blanket was in order. Laura draped the quilt across Sara's form, tucking the edges around her carefully. A mop of curly hair had fallen across Sara's face and Laura wiped it away before kissing her daughter's cheek. A tear fell, and she quickly wiped it from her face and drew in a heavy breath. She had been a crying wreck for days, usually when she was alone and had nothing else to concentrate on but the state of things.
Sara was frowning in her sleep, and small, inaudible mumblings could be heard from her lips. Laura frowned with her, and took Sara's hand in hers, gently rubbing it with her thumb. She understood nightmares all too well.
"Are you going to sign my cast, Mommy?"
Laura strained to smile past closed lips, tears forming at the sides of her eyes. "Of course I will sweetie, just as soon as we get home."
"Is Dad coming home with us, or does he have to stay longer?" Sara questioned. Her left arm bore a bright pink cast from her elbow to her hand.
Laura's lip trembled and she stood up. She had been bent over slightly at the knees so she could speak at eye level with Sara. They were sitting in the nurse's examination room and Sara had just gotten the cast for her broken wrist. Laura took in a deep breath and brushed her shirt flat.
"I don't think so, Sara…" She lifted her daughter up by the armpits, and placed her on the ground. "He was hurt a lot worse than you and I were…Daddy's leg was broken and his head hit the windshield so he got a bruise on his brain."
"On his brain? Isn't that called a concussion? Tyler from school had one. He fell down on concrete at his house when he played basketball. Didn't you have one too?" Sara put her hand through her mother's and squeezed comfortingly. "He'll be okay, right? Tyler was okay. He can't do math right, but he couldn't do math before either."
Laura chuckled.
"Be nice," she murmured. She opened the door to the waiting room and she and Sara walked out…
Laura stood up and left Will's room. She entered a large alcove where three other doors stood, one opposite of Will's door, and two more of them parallel on the farther side of the alcove. One of those was an open doorway that led out to the rest of the house, specifically the family's large living room. Laura walked through the room and into the kitchen. With little enthusiasm, she opened the fridge and pulled out a jug of milk. She poured herself a glass and stuck it in the microwave, then went and seated herself at the counter. Her purse still sat there from when she and Sara had arrived that morning and she emotionlessly pulled out a pack of cigarettes.
She lit up, took a long drag and sighed, blowing the gray-blue smoke from the side of her mouth. Things had not been going well for them at all. Allen had refused to come to Ohio with them for her mother's funeral. She knew he would, but it hurt all the same and the ache inside was only doubled since Sara couldn't grasp why he hadn't come. Absentmindedly, she stroked a small scar on her chin, examining it in a nearby window, her reflection staring back at her.
Her eyes leaked again and she angrily swiped at them. Tapping her cigarette on a nearby ashtray, Laura cursed herself. No matter how she tried, she couldn't stop crying for more than an hour. The feeling always came and overpowered her. Her mother had been one of the most important people in her life. She felt as if there was no one there for her, and worse, for Sara. She drew the smoke into her lungs again and slowly relished it.
"Sara, get me a beer, will you?"
Allen sat reclined on his chair in the living room, remote control in his hand, his leg propped up on a stack of pillows and swamped in an enormous cast. Sara sat cross-legged in front of him, scribbling words in a notebook with slight difficulty due to her nearly useless left arm. At his command, she set the notebook on the floor and scurried off into the kitchen. She pulled a bottle of beer from the refrigerator and hurried back to the living room, placing it in her father's hand.
"Thanks honey." He ruffled her hair as she sat back down on the carpet.
"Daddy," Sara began, tearing her eyes away from the paper to look at him. "I came up with some more stuff in my notebook."
"About what?"
"About the bed and breakfast." She lifted her plans to him so he could see better, but he pushed her hand away.
"Sara, you really don't have to put yourself into all this. Your mother and I can handle it. You need to take a deep breath and take a step back, remember? Miss Fredericks told us that when we went to your parent-teacher conference. She said you got all worked up when you forgot one assignment. You can be a little bit of a…umm…"
"A workaholic?"
"No, you're just expect too much of yourself. You're not perfect, you know. You shouldn't get upset when you slip up, because it only makes you human."
Sara frowned slightly.
"All you need to do," Allen continued, taking her notebook from her and putting it on the coffee table beside his recliner. "Is watch a little football, relax, and get your father a beer when he asks you to."
"It's only 'because you can't, since you hurt your leg," Sara cut in, pointing at his foot with her unhurt arm. "You can't walk into the kitchen. I would have had you get it yourself, because Mommy said I'm not allowed to touch that stuff."
"Oh really?"
"Yes." Sara looked back to the TV.
"You want proof you shouldn't drink this stuff?"
Sara turned back to him, eyebrow raised.
"Have a sip, here…" He took the top of the bottle and handed it to Sara, who grimaced. "Don't drink it, just taste it."
She put the end of the bottle in her mouth and slowly tipped it back until the liquid touched her tongue. Almost instantly, she zipped it back out, her face scrunched, her tongue sticking out of her mouth.
"Ew!" she shouted, thrusting the bottle back at him.
Allen laughed heartily, his face split wide. "And that's why you don't drink beer. It doesn't taste good to little girls. Maybe when you're older you'll like it, but it doesn't taste too good now, does it?"
Sara shook her head, wiping her hand along her tongue to get the taste off…
Laura sighed as the cigarette burned down to the filter. She put it out in the tray and walked back over to the microwave, pulling out the glass of steaming milk. She swept over to the herb cupboard and tapped a little bit of nutmeg into the glass, stirring it in with her finger. Sipping the liquid and suddenly catching sight of the clock, she finally realized how exhausted she really was. Laura chugged a quarter of the glass and walked back into the living room, settling down on the couch for what felt like the millionth time. Pulling her last blanket over herself, she drank the last of the milk and managed to close her eyes and keep them closed. Perhaps it was the knowledge that Sara was finally sleeping comfortably, no longer shivering, and that Laura had done her part in easing her daughter's nightmares.
"Mom, I don't want to wear this stupid cast anymore…" Sara whined, brandishing it at the dinner table.
"You know what the doctor said. Too bad." Laura was sitting next to Sara, quietly eating her dinner of beef tenderloin, green beans, and mashed potatoes.
"Well I can't do anything with it!" She set her fork next to her mashed potatoes, then reached forward for her glass of milk. She grabbed it with one hand and struggled to pull it to her mouth.
"That's what happens when you break a bone," Laura replied.
Sara glowered at her over the top of her glass before it suddenly slipped from her right hand, splashing down her front, then falling to her lap, rolling to the floor, and finally shattering.
"Oops."
Laura sighed angrily. "Sara!" She grabbed a fistful of napkins from the center of the table and thrust them at Sara, who had stood up and moved away from the mess. She swiped at herself as Laura grabbed more napkins and threw them on the floor.
"Sara, don't…stop—stop moving, you don't have any shoes on."
"I'm sorry…"
"Yeah, I know. Go get a broom."
Sara scampered over to the closet on the far side of other side of the kitchen and pulled one out along with a dustpan. She handed it to her mother then stood back and watched.
"Sara, go on. Go to your room. You've had enough supper," Laura snapped as she slaved over the spill.
Without a word, Sara obeyed. She walked out of the kitchen, through the living room where her dad slept on the couch, up the stairs, and turned into her room. She flopped onto her bed and looked out her window, watching the night outside. Car lights showed up every once in awhile and all of her neighbors' houses were lit. She turned over on her covers and tapped her cast on the wall beside her. Tap, tap, tap. She wasn't sure when she drifted off, but when she woke up, she could only hear shouting from downstairs.
"Allen, stop it! Stop! Allen!"
Sara's heart caught in her throat and her stomach squirmed horribly.
"You think this is my fault? My fault? It was never my fault! No one could have seen that coming!"
"Allen! STOP!" Laura sobbed.
She continued to plead, but Sara heard glass break and a scream. More glass, more screaming. Her dad was yelling over and over, the same things—it wasn't his fault. Sara could only wonder—his fault for what? Silence followed, and after a few long seconds, Sara could hear the clunk of crutches coming up the stairs. Quickly she pulled the covers over herself, trying to hide the fact that she was still in her clothes. She closed her eyes and tried to steady her racing lungs as her door opened. Her breathing sounded so loud in her chest she held her breath all together, not sure how to react to the figure of her father in the open doorway, watching her as she lay in her bed. He hobbled over to her, planted a soft peck on her head, then hobbled out again.
Sara listened to him struggle down the stairs, and when he was at the bottom, she peeled the covers from herself and tiptoed out of her bed. She opened the door, walked down the hallway towards the stairs, and crept down them just far enough to see the scene in the living room below.
Allen wasn't there and she assumed that he had gone to bed. The living room was a complete mess. The only working light source was the ceiling fan, spinning slowly and casting an eerie breeze on the scene. Laura lay crumpled in the middle of the floor, her own blood leaking from a gash in her arm and numerous scratches on her face. There had been two lamps in the room, one on each end-table next to each arm of the couch as well as Allen's recliner, but their broken remains littered the carpet around Laura as she suppressed a wail of pain, only letting tears escape. She had matted her shirtsleeve to stop the bleeding of her largest cut. The blood soaked through the yellow material as she lay there.
"Momm—"
"Sara, I told you to go to your room!" Laura screeched in a small fit of hysterics, not opening her eyes or standing up.
Sara jumped at her words and scrambled back up the stairs, sprinting back to her room and diving under the covers. Apparently, Laura's words had also sparked her own flow of emotion and Sara could hear the start of her mother's wails. About a half hour later, she could hear the vacuum cleaner going and the cries were swamped by the noise. When it was turned off, she heard nothing. And then she fell asleep…
"Sara! Sara! Sara, wake up, sweetie!"
"No, no! Stop!"
"Sara!"
Sara's eyes shot open and her thrashing body held still. She noticed confusedly that her blankets had been twisted around her, that her pillow had fallen to the floor, and that her mother and Will were crowded around her."Honey, it's okay, you just had a bad dream, alright?" Laura said quietly. Her hands rested on each of Sara's shoulders.
Sara said nothing, only taking in deep gulps of air as she struggled to regain control of her shaking body. She nodded as best she could, and then lay back down. Her mother untwisted the blankets from around her and put them back on normally. She put the pillow back under Sara's head, then kissed her on the forehead. Will climbed back up to his bunk as Laura stood and left with a soft, "Goodnight Sara, Will."
After a few minutes of complete silence, Will spoke up from the top bunk.
"Sara!"
She hadn't closed her eyes since she woke up. She was too frightened. "What?" she replied.
"What was your dream about?"
"Nothing," Sara said automatically.
"Oh come on, you can tell me!" His head suddenly popped in upside down, looking at Sara. "What was it about? A dinosaur? A monster? Did you fall off a cliff?"
Sara turned over, away from him.
"I don't want to tell you."
Will frowned.
"I tell you about all of my dreams."
"You have good dreams," Sara retorted, pulling the blankets over her head.
"Hmmpf." Will pulled his head back, but then hopped off the bunk bed and to the floor, landing cat-style. He crept to the edge of Sara's bed, and pulled the covers off her a little bit. "You can tell me, you know. I won't tell anybody."
Sara turned and looked at him, her eyebrows furrowed suspiciously. "You promise?"
He held out his little finger. "Pinky swear."
A/N: Maria couldn't get back to me for this chapter. All grammar mistakes are mine. :)