Page 101 of The Fake Husband Play
Instead, I arrive home to find the house quiet and dark and my big bed disturbingly empty.
Starting to get worried, I check on Mimi first, some of the tension easing from my chest when I see her sprawled across her bed, sleeping soundly. Elly would never leave the house while Mimi’s asleep, so she has to be somewhere.
I find her a moment later, in her bed, curled up in a ball with a rag on her forehead.
“Hey,” I murmur from the doorway. “What’s up?”
“Nothing,” she croaks, wincing as she swallows. “I started feeling yucky yesterday. I thought it was just a touch of food poisoning or something, but now, I think it might be a bug. So, I decided to sleep in here. I don’t want to get you sick.”
“I don’t mind,” I say, meaning it, though I probably should mind. I can’t really afford to get sick with another game in three days. “I’d rather be close in case you need anything. Medicine or fresh ice water. Whatever.”
She shakes her head, wincing again, like moving hurts. “No, please. I don’t want to make anyone else feel like this. I’ve been keeping my distance from Mimi as best I can, too. I have electrolyte water and medicine and stuff. Hopefully, I’ll feel better in the morning. I just…need to try to sleep it off, I think.”
“Okay,” I say. “But let me know if you need anything, okay? Just text me. I’ll keep my phone on and by the bed.”
Her lips curve in a pained smile. “Okay. Night. Thank you. Glad you finally got home safe.”
I am, too, and as I gently shut the door, I’m way more concerned about my girl being sick as a dog than I amabout the things we need to talk about. As soon as I set eyes on her again, the fear started to fade. Because she’s my person, my ride or die, and we’re going to get through this.
We have to.
Nothing else makes sense.
I go to bed feeling sure everything’s going to be all right, only to be awoken at two a.m. by a hysterical Mimi with tears pouring down her face, shaking my shoulder as she says, “Wake up, Gee. Mama’s sick on the floor and won’t wake up! Come on, we have to save Mama!”
Chapter
Twenty-Five
ELLY
Once,when I was about seven, my family went to a beach BBQ party in Alabama with some of Papa Jim’s friends from work. There were tons of kids to play with, endless plates food, andplentyof beer for the grown-ups.
Papa Jim wasn’t a problem drinker, by any stretch, but he enjoyed a day in the sun with a few beers and hey—Mama was driving.
She’d offered on the way down. Alcohol made her sleepy, and she didn’t want to zonk out on a towel in front of Papa’s work friends and all their wives and kids. And, of course, she always kept a sharp, sober eye on me when we were anywhere near water.
You know those kids who take to swimming like a fish to water?
I was more like a rock.
Or a newborn giraffe, all straining neck and spindly legs that thrashed around without doing much to keep me afloat. Two years of summer swimming lessons atthe Y had made me just confident enough to be dangerous.
Mama only turned her back for a minute, she told me later—just long enough to get some other kids settled with watermelon slices—but that’s all it took.
I was at the edge of the swimming zone, determined to show the big kids I was as brave as they were, when the ocean grabbed me.
It was like the waves just wrapped an arm around my waist and jerked hard, dragging me under and away from shore. When the ocean finally spat me back to the surface again, I was coughing up saltwater and gasping.
Still, I swam and kicked as hard as I could, but it was barely enough to stay in one place.
I couldn’t get any closer to shore, no matter how hard I tried.
By the time one of the teenagers reached me on his boogie board, I was so weak I could barely cling to his shoulders as he towed me to safety.
Afterwards, I didn’t go into the ocean for years.
I still can’t face a stretch of white sand without a tickle of fear at the back of my throat.
