swollen brain tissues.
Emma visited a virtual hospital and landed inside a brain, watching a virtual operation in full color, skin and bone pulled aside to reveal photos titled “obliterating an aneurysm.” Did her mother have that?
“What are you doing?”
Emma leapt up as though she’d been caught surfing porn.
Aunt Vanessa’s hair hung in ragged clumps. An edge of faded red underwear showed beneath her oversized white T-shirt. Without makeup, Aunt Vanessa looked plain and worn. Melody laid placidly in her arms, chewing a corner of her blanket, her bright green eyes so similar to Uncle Sean’s that it seemed as though Aunt Vanessa held a tiny version of her husband.
“Nothing.” Emma hit the X in the corner of the screen, making it all go away. “I was just checking my email.”
“I guess at your age it gets checked even when your mother’s in the hospital, huh?” She planted an absentminded kiss on Melody’s forehead.
As though anyone uses email. Sometimes the ease with which you could fool adults pained her. She crossed her arms and gripped her elbows.
“I didn’t mean that as an insult, hon. Honest. I’d probably do the same thing if I could,” Aunt Vanessa said.
She swung Melody around, switching hips. Her shirt rode up, revealing more of the red underwear, more of her ropy muscled thighs.Aunt Vanessa seemed exaggerated to Emma, especially her blue eyes, just like Grandma’s, but so sharp on her aunt that they reminded Emma of a doll’s. Her mother’s warm dark ones were better. People referred to Aunt Vanessa as a knockout, but Emma thought people were more comfortable around her mother. She didn’t have to paint herself pretty.
“Here, help me out.” Aunt Vanessa held out Melody as though she were a UPS delivery. “I’m desperate for coffee.”
• • •
Breakfast was a bleak affair that held no reason to rush, as nobody was going to work or school. She’d never seen Uncle Sean in pajamas before, and it made her feel shy, despite the fact that he had more flesh showing when he wore shorts and a T-shirt.
“Shouldn’t we call Kath?” Emma asked for the second time. She placed bowls in front of the kids. Melody alternated pounding a foam hammer against her high chair tray and throwing it on the floor for her never-tiring cousin Caleb to retrieve.
“Your father called her already.” Her aunt’s answer scared Emma. Calling Kath last night made it sound too serious—like notifying people about a funeral.
“Shouldn’t I tell her I’m not going to be at camp? What if she needs me? Maybe I should go.” Now Emma wanted nothing so much as getting dressed and walking the fifteen minutes to the train, just to be someplace where her mother wasn’t sick.
Uncle Sean put a plate of cut grapefruit in front of Aunt Vanessa, who seemed increasingly frustrated at trying to coax mashed banana into Melody’s mouth.
“Caleb,” he said. “Don’t be picking up the hammer for Melody now. You’re getting her all excited and she won’t want to eat.”
Bran Flakes was the only cereal Emma found in the cabinet. Aunt Vanessa offered to make French toast, but the offer sounded pro forma—Emma’s current favorite word from the legal vocabulary her father taught them. Emma could have made the French toast, but she didn’t want to cook while her aunt watched—her movements becamestiff and jerky every time her aunt eyed her. Instead, Emma cut up bananas and put them in Caleb and Gracie’s cereal, topping the mixture with heaping tablespoons of brown sugar.
“Are we going to the hospital to see Mommy?” Gracie asked.
Emma tipped the milk carton back up, stopping midstream, and waited. She’d been afraid to ask, not wanting to hear no.
“Pour,” Caleb said. Emma drenched the sugary cereal with milk until it threatened to spill over and her uncle quietly urged the carton upright.
“I’m going over right after breakfast. Uncle Sean will stay with you.”
“Why can’t we
Emma visited a virtual hospital and landed inside a brain, watching a virtual operation in full color, skin and bone pulled aside to reveal photos titled “obliterating an aneurysm.” Did her mother have that?
“What are you doing?”
Emma leapt up as though she’d been caught surfing porn.
Aunt Vanessa’s hair hung in ragged clumps. An edge of faded red underwear showed beneath her oversized white T-shirt. Without makeup, Aunt Vanessa looked plain and worn. Melody laid placidly in her arms, chewing a corner of her blanket, her bright green eyes so similar to Uncle Sean’s that it seemed as though Aunt Vanessa held a tiny version of her husband.
“Nothing.” Emma hit the X in the corner of the screen, making it all go away. “I was just checking my email.”
“I guess at your age it gets checked even when your mother’s in the hospital, huh?” She planted an absentminded kiss on Melody’s forehead.
As though anyone uses email. Sometimes the ease with which you could fool adults pained her. She crossed her arms and gripped her elbows.
“I didn’t mean that as an insult, hon. Honest. I’d probably do the same thing if I could,” Aunt Vanessa said.
She swung Melody around, switching hips. Her shirt rode up, revealing more of the red underwear, more of her ropy muscled thighs.Aunt Vanessa seemed exaggerated to Emma, especially her blue eyes, just like Grandma’s, but so sharp on her aunt that they reminded Emma of a doll’s. Her mother’s warm dark ones were better. People referred to Aunt Vanessa as a knockout, but Emma thought people were more comfortable around her mother. She didn’t have to paint herself pretty.
“Here, help me out.” Aunt Vanessa held out Melody as though she were a UPS delivery. “I’m desperate for coffee.”
• • •
Breakfast was a bleak affair that held no reason to rush, as nobody was going to work or school. She’d never seen Uncle Sean in pajamas before, and it made her feel shy, despite the fact that he had more flesh showing when he wore shorts and a T-shirt.
“Shouldn’t we call Kath?” Emma asked for the second time. She placed bowls in front of the kids. Melody alternated pounding a foam hammer against her high chair tray and throwing it on the floor for her never-tiring cousin Caleb to retrieve.
“Your father called her already.” Her aunt’s answer scared Emma. Calling Kath last night made it sound too serious—like notifying people about a funeral.
“Shouldn’t I tell her I’m not going to be at camp? What if she needs me? Maybe I should go.” Now Emma wanted nothing so much as getting dressed and walking the fifteen minutes to the train, just to be someplace where her mother wasn’t sick.
Uncle Sean put a plate of cut grapefruit in front of Aunt Vanessa, who seemed increasingly frustrated at trying to coax mashed banana into Melody’s mouth.
“Caleb,” he said. “Don’t be picking up the hammer for Melody now. You’re getting her all excited and she won’t want to eat.”
Bran Flakes was the only cereal Emma found in the cabinet. Aunt Vanessa offered to make French toast, but the offer sounded pro forma—Emma’s current favorite word from the legal vocabulary her father taught them. Emma could have made the French toast, but she didn’t want to cook while her aunt watched—her movements becamestiff and jerky every time her aunt eyed her. Instead, Emma cut up bananas and put them in Caleb and Gracie’s cereal, topping the mixture with heaping tablespoons of brown sugar.
“Are we going to the hospital to see Mommy?” Gracie asked.
Emma tipped the milk carton back up, stopping midstream, and waited. She’d been afraid to ask, not wanting to hear no.
“Pour,” Caleb said. Emma drenched the sugary cereal with milk until it threatened to spill over and her uncle quietly urged the carton upright.
“I’m going over right after breakfast. Uncle Sean will stay with you.”
“Why can’t we
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