“I said I need you to watch the twins tonight. I’ve got plans to go to a picture show.” She kicked off her house slippers and relaxed into the recliner. Her designated soap operas played on the TV through the smoke-filled room.
“I can’t watch them tonight. You know that. I’ve got a shift.”
We went round and round about this at least two or three times a month. Normally, I’d switch a shift with one of the other guys at the station, but there simply wasn’t enough time to do that now. She had to know on some level that her request was ridiculous.
She blew out smoke and wrapped her tattered robe more tightly around her midsection. “Then switch shifts with someone.”
I shook my head as I placed the bowls of cereal on the island counter. “If you’d given me more notice, I might have been able to, but it’s too late now. I’ve told you that before. You can’t just ask me to watch them last minute. Someone has to work to support everyone,” I added under my breath as I headed down the hall to wake the twins.
Mom mumbled behind me, but I tuned her out. I didn’t have time to deal with her bullshit this morning, and after being through the emotional wringer about Chris the day before, I didn’t have the patience. I’d pay for it later, but whatever.
The twins had inched closer to each other in my absence. I paused in the doorway for a second to drink in the sight of them twisted in the sheets together, their little hands intertwined, inseparable even in sleep. It made me a little jealous, I’ll admit. They’d always have each other; they’d never be as alone as I felt.
I was reluctant to wake them, but an alarm on my phone alerted me to the fact that we had ten minutes to get them dressed and out the door. After a gentle shake on each of their arms, their eyes began to crack open. Mirror emotions of annoyance and reluctance flared in their eyes.
“Five more minutes,” Tillie cried and then flung an arm over her face.
Molly, on the other hand, stood, if a bit slowly. “Can I wear my purple shirt?” she asked after a moment of hesitation.
Despite my confrontation with Mom this morning, this simple request brought a smile to my face. The purple shirt was infamous around our house. If allowed, Molly would wear it every day of the week. I’d managed to convince her to restrict it to twice a week instead, but it had been a battle. Some kids had blankies or stuffies. Molly had her purple shirt.
“It’s in the laundry basket on the dryer, but that means you can’t wear it again until Monday, okay?”
Molly sighed. “Okay.”
I shook Tillie one more time and made sure she was up—grumbling, but up. As the two of them dressed and brushed their teeth, I finished packing their bags, along with mine. After dropping them off at the bus stop, I’d head over to the station to start a twenty-four-hour shift.
Mom was still sitting on the couch, smoking like a steam engine, but I didn’t say anything to her. If I kept harping about her smoking, she’d only do it more to needle me, and I simply didn’t have time for her crap. Especially not when my alarm sounded the five-minute warning. Besides, she’d probably complain about my not watching the girls, and I really didn’t want to go in to work with a headache already brewing.
The twins, dressed and relatively awake, slurped down their breakfast. As they ate, I brushed and styled their hair and gobbled down a cup of coffee and a handful of dry cereal. One day, I’d have myself together and would be able to wake them up and eat breakfast without rushing. But it wasn’t today.
As I herded them out the door, I tossed my Mom a, “Have a good day, Mom. They’ll be home at three-twenty after school. My shift will be over tomorrow morning around eight if it doesn’t hold over.”
Mom waved a hand, and we hurried out.
It was the kind of night that never seemed to end.
And that was on a regular shift.
Add in the recent heartbreak, and I wanted to lie down in front of the ambulance and let my partner Josh run me over—then back up and do it again. I huddled in the corner of the station and plugged in my headphones to listen to an audiobook, hoping to pass the time without any more interruptions. There’d been nonstop calls since I had clocked in, but not the exciting, heart-pumping kind. It had been the menial, headache-inducing kind instead.
Not that I minded, really. It was better than being stuck at home with my thoughts.
I was damned if I was home, damned if I wasn’t.
Frowning at myself, I tried to focus on the words. Audiobooks helped pass the time when there was nothing else to do. Throughout the night, we’d had several transfers and a couple of regular patients—nursing home residents, elderly people with chest pains, the usual. Now, it was nearing nine at night. I’d finally finished the last transfer and was hoping there wouldn’t be any other calls so I could relax for a few hours and maybe catch a good night’s sleep before I had to be home with the twins.
Trying to focus was useless.
The voice in my ear was a buzzing drone. I couldn’t focus on the words, let alone derive meaning from them. All I could do was check my phone every five minutes, bouncing between hope and sadness. It was pathetic.
Chris was still blocked on my phone and social media. I’d held fast there. But there was a part of me, however small, that thought that he would still reach out. Use someone else’s phone and text me. Try messaging me from a dummy Facebook or Instagram account.
Total idiot.
If he’d wanted to be with me, he would have made an effort to reach me.
Hope springs eternal, I guess.
I started to doze off, my half-unconscious dreams plagued by images of Chris alternately apologizing and laughing in my face. When my phone began to ring, I had almost convinced myself it was him calling to apologize.
Except I didn’t recognize the number on my display. Rubbing at my eyes, I answered, thinking it was probably Mom calling for some emergency or another.
“Hello?” I winced at the sound of my sleep-rusty voice.
“Hi, is this Ember? Ember Stevens?”
I cleared my throat. “Yes, this is she.”
Well, at least it wasn’t my mother. Knowing that didn’t help the anxiety in my stomach.
“Hi, this is your neighbor from across the hall, Lennox Marquette.”
“Hey, Lennox. Is everything okay?”
I’d seen Lennox on occasion in passing. I knew she was working on her master’s at FSU and spent most of her time with her nose buried in books. If she was calling, it couldn’t be good. The only reason she’d get in touch was if there was some sort of emergency.
“Actually, I hate to call, but I heard crying coming from your apartment. When I went to knock on the door, your sisters answered.” I sat straight up, adrenaline pumping through my veins. My first overwhelming thought was that my Mom had had a heart attack and the twins were alone with her dead body. Then Lennox continued, “They told me your mother had left them all alone.”
“She what?” I whispered faintly. It should have been a relief that she wasn’t dead, but this was somehow worse.
“I’m sorry, Ember, that’s what they said. I was able to get your phone number from the contacts list taped to your fridge. I hope you don’t mind me going in your apartment.”
I pushed a hand through my sleep-matted hair. I could hear the girls chattering in the background. At least they sounded normal. “Of course not. My mother wasn’t there?”