He holds my gaze. “I know you do.”
Tobias’s name is called, making me jump. I say good-bye to Ethan and lead my brother over to the waiting nurse, who leads us to an emergency room bed. Tobias settles on the crisp white sheet while I sit next to him in a chair.
“What are they gonna do?” he asks, going pale again.
Before I can answer, a doctor in blue scrubs slips between the privacy curtains. He’s absolutely huge, with bushy hair and hands the size of dinner plates. He introduces himself as Dr. Thayer and shakes Tobias’s hand. Tobias gapes at him, entranced, while I wonder how a man with fingers the size of sausages is going to put intricate stitches in my brother’s skin.
“It’s a clean cut,” Dr. Thayer says as he examines the wound. “A few stitches and you’ll be good as new.”
Tobias glances at me, terrified. “Can my sister stay with me?”
“Of course she can.” He smiles at me. “Be right back.”
Once he’s gone, I climb up on the bed beside my brother. “You can squeeze my hand,” I say, offering it to him. He takes it, folding his grubby little fingers around mine, and all the distance and wariness that’s built up between us over the past few months melts away. I didn’t realize how much I miss this, being his big sister. Having him rely on me for comfort instead of circling me cautiously, like he’s been doing for so long.
Tobias handles the stitches better than anticipated. For most of it, he’s the one comforting me as I cringe with each stab to his skin. But Dr. Giant does a good job, and we leave with an even bigger bandage, along with instructions on how to keep it dry and clean. And Tobias is smiling, suddenly thrilled with the whole ordeal.
Back in the waiting room, I’m surprised to see that Ethan still hasn’t left. I’m so focused on him, I almost fail to notice my mother.
“Mom!” Tobias lets go of my hand and runs over to where she’s standing, in front of the reception desk. “Mom, I cut my finger with the scissors and Dara took me to get it sewn back together. Look. I got three stitches.”
He holds up his dressed hand, but Mom’s too busy hugging him to give it more than a cursory glance. “Are you okay?” she asks, straightening up and patting his shirt, which is stiff with drying blood. I understand her alarm. He looks like he’s been shot.
“It doesn’t hurt much anymore,” Tobias reassures her.
Mom looks at me, standing next to Ethan and watching them. “My phone died,” she says, sounding close to tears. “I didn’t get your messages until I plugged it into my charger. I just got here two minutes ago. Ethan told me what happened.”
All three of us over look at him, and he stuffs his hands into his pockets, embarrassed. “I should get home,” he says, his eyes skimming mine as he backs away.
“Ethan, wait.” I follow him and we stop a few feet from the main doors. “Thanks again for everything. I’m sorry if I got you in more trouble with your parents.”
He shrugs lightly and gives me a small, quick smile. “You’re worth it,” he says, and turns and walks away before I have a chance to respond.
As he’s leaving, he almost collides with my father, who’s on his way in. Dad eyes him warily as they pass each other, and Ethan nods at him once before picking up his pace. I can’t blame him. Dad looks extra intimidating, his face red from the cold and his clothes filthy from working. He spots us right away and strides over, his boots leaving wet prints on the floor.
“What the hell happened?” he demands.
It takes me a few seconds to realize he’s directing this question to me. I look up at him, my mind suddenly blank.
“He cut his finger and needed a few stitches, Neil,” Mom says as Dad’s gaze sweeps over Tobias, pausing on each splotch of blood. “Not a big deal.”
“Dara saved me, Dad,” Tobias says, waving his mummified hand. “Can we go home now? I wanna ride in the truck with you.”
Without a word, Dad lays a hand on Tobias’s head and points him toward the exit. The four of us separate in the parking lot, my father and brother to the truck, my mother and me to the car. As soon we’re settled in our seats, Mom places her finger under my chin and tilts my face toward hers.
“Your brother is fine, Dara. You did everything right. Okay? No one is mad at you.”
I think of my father, glaring at me like I purposely sliced my brother’s skin myself, and something in me snaps. “Yeah, right. Dad’s mad at me. He’s been mad at me since I came back from Aunt Lydia’s. I know he didn’t want me to come home, but how long is he going to hate me for it?”
Mom pulls back a little, color rising in her cheeks. “Dara,” she says firmly. “Your father does not hate you. How can you even think that?”
“I heard you guys, months ago. Fighting in the kitchen. I heard Dad say I should’ve stayed there, graduated at Somerset Prep. He didn’t want me to come back.”
Her mouth twitches and she fusses with her scarf, adjusting it against the front of her coat. “Yes, he said that,” she admits. “But of course he wanted you to come home. He just didn’t think you were ready. He thought staying away would be best for you.”
I shake my head, unconvinced. She can’t deny what I heard with my own ears.
“Listen,” Mom says, leaning toward me again. “You have to understand something about your father. He’s a fixer. He fixes things for a living, but he can’t fix you. He can’t make everything better for you, Dara, and that eats him up inside. He loves you and your brother more than anything in the world, and watching you suffer makes him feel frustrated and helpless.” She smooths my hair, tucking it behind my ear. “Try cutting him some slack, okay? He was just scared for Tobias. He knows it wasn’t your fault, and you shouldn’t blame yourself either.”
She’s not going to let it go until I agree with her, so I force myself to nod. Still, I can’t help beating myself up just a little. “I shouldn’t have let him use those scissors.”
“True.” She faces forward and starts the car. “But it still could’ve happened to anyone. It could’ve happened to me or his teacher or even your father. Remember when Tobias was a baby and he fell off the couch while I was changing him? I took my eyes off him for one second to get the diaper cream, and the next thing I knew he was on the floor, screaming. I thought I gave him brain damage or something. It took me months to forgive myself.”
I do remember. He ended up in the ER for that one too.
“Mistakes happen,” she continues, turning back to me. “We can hate ourselves for them all we want, but it doesn’t help anything. It just ends up hurting us too.”
My anger dissolves as fast as it arrived and all of a sudden I’m crying. Mom gathers me into her arms and holds me tight as big, gasping sobs shudder through my body. I’m not sure if I’m crying because of her words or because of my father or because the stress of the day chose this exact moment to catch up with me. Maybe it’s none of those things. Maybe it’s everything at once. All I know is, it feels good to finally let go.
twenty-nine