CHAPTER 5: MOMMY’S BIRTHDAY
Mom’s birthday was November 14.
I had been working on her present for three days.
Construction paper.
Crayons.
Glue.
I made a little book called MOMMY AND ME.
The first page showed us eating ice cream.
That had never happened.
The second showed us holding hands at the zoo.
That had never happened either.
The third showed her reading beside my bed.
She had done that once, when I was four.
I remembered the sound of her voice more than the story.
On the last page, I wrote:
I LOVE YOU MOMMY.
I stared at the sentence for a long time.
Then I added a heart.
Maybe if she saw how much I loved her, she would remember she loved me too.
That was how I thought at seven.
Love was a test.
I just hadn’t found the right answer yet.
The party was beautiful.
Of course it was.
White candles.
Gold napkins.
Cheese boards nobody let me touch.
Mom wore a dark-green dress and pearl earrings.
Teachers came.
Neighbors came.
Church people came.
Everyone told Mom she looked wonderful.
“Your girls are so lucky.”
Mom laughed.
“I’m the lucky one.”
Her hand rested on my shoulder.
My stomach tightened.
I smiled because she had practiced it with me.
“Not too big,” she had said that morning. “You look strange when you force it.”
So I smiled just enough.
After the guests left, the house changed.
It always did.
Jessica kicked off her shoes.
Mom began stacking plates.
I ran upstairs for the present.
When I came down, Jessica was waiting in the hallway.
“What’s that?”
“Mommy’s present.”
“Give it to me.”
“No.”
Her eyebrows lifted.
“What did you say?”
“I made it for Mom.”
She held out her hand.
“I’ll give it to her.”
“No.”
Maybe it was because Ms. Carter had told me I could say no.
Maybe it was because I had spent three days drawing a mother who loved me.
Whatever the reason, I held on.
Jessica grabbed the package.
“Give it back!”
“Stop.”
“I made it!”
We pulled.
Paper tore.
Then Jessica ripped it from my hands.
She threw it.
The gift struck a framed family photograph on the side table.
CRASH.
Glass shattered.
I screamed.
Mom ran up the stairs.
She stopped.
Broken frame.
Torn paper.
Me crying.
Jessica breathing hard.
“She did it,” Jessica said.
I stared at her.
“No.”
“She threw it at me.”
“No!”
Mom looked at me.
Her expression was exhausted.
That hurt more than anger.
“Tonight?”
“Mom, I didn’t—”
“You couldn’t behave for one night?”
“I made you a present!”
My voice cracked.
Jessica laughed.
“Nobody wants your stupid present.”
I lunged toward the torn pages.
Jessica grabbed my arm.
“Stop!”
“It hurts!”
She pushed me toward my room.
I stumbled.
“Jessica!”
“Go calm down.”
“No!”
The door slammed.
BANG.
Then came the click.
I ran to the door.
“Open it!”
Mom was in the hallway.
I knew because I saw her shadow.
“Mommy!”
She could have told Jessica to unlock it.
She didn’t.
“Five minutes,” Mom said.
“To calm down.”
Then she walked away.
I cried against the door.
Minutes later, I smelled smoke.
The electrical outlet behind the dining-room sideboard had sparked.
Later, investigators would say the wiring had been damaged for months.
Mom knew the outlet was bad.
She had complained about it.
But she kept putting off repairs.
She didn’t want holes cut into the wall before her birthday party.
“People notice these things.”
The fire moved faster than anyone expected.
Smoke climbed the stairs.
The alarm began screaming.
I started pounding.
“Mommy!”
Downstairs, Jessica smelled smoke.
“Mom?”
Mom was already pulling open the cabinet beside her desk.
There were folders inside.
School records.
Social worker notes.
Copies of emails.
Medication documents.
Things Mom did not want strangers reading.
“Mom!”
Jessica pointed upstairs.
“Caitlyn!”
Mom looked toward the staircase.
I screamed again.
“MOMMY!”
She heard me.
Jessica heard me.
The neighbors outside heard me later.
But Mom grabbed the folders.
“Get outside.”
Jessica stared.
“What about Caitlyn?”
“I said outside.”
“Mom—”
“NOW.”
Jessica ran.
Mom followed.
At the front door, she looked back once.
I know because Jessica told me later.
May you like
She looked up the stairs.
And then she walked outside.
