Thin-Sick Green

I WOKE UP STARTLED AS A HUGE CLAP of thunder shook the house. It was past midnight, but not morning yet. Rain and the sycamore branches beat against the window like they were trying to get in with everything they had. I couldn’t get back to sleep.

I reached down to pet Calamity. She purred softly when my fingers touched her fur. Then, I heard something. I sat up. I thought of the light moving across the attic. I heard the floorboards creaking. It sounded like it was coming from downstairs. I remembered what Bella said about Helen and wondered if ghosts can haunt an entire house. Maybe Helen walked not only the attic, but the rest of the house as well.

I listened and heard more sounds. They were definitely footsteps, and they were definitely coming from downstairs. Part of me wanted to go down and see for myself—the part of me that didn’t even believe in ghosts. Yet another part of me wanted to run back to Houston and never set foot in this house again.

I put on my slippers and took the flashlight downstairs. The kitchen light was on, and whoever or whatever was stirring in the dark house was there. I crept around the corner and peered in. Sherrie looked up from the kitchen table and jumped almost out of her chair.

“Sadie, sugar, you scared the daylights out of me! What are you doing up?”

I felt too stupid and childish to tell the truth, so I said, “I just needed a glass of milk.”

“Well, come on over and have a seat,” she said, patting the chair next to her. She was sitting at the table with a glass of water. Sherrie drank lots of water. She says it’s the best thing for a youthful complexion. She looked up at me. She didn’t look right.

“Are you okay, Sherrie?” I asked, sitting down next to her.

“I don’t know,” she said. Her answer caught me off guard. Sherrie always said she was fine, or great or terrific—even if we knew good and well she wasn’t. A sick feeling of alarm washed over me and I just wanted everything to be normal.

“What’s wrong?”

She took my hand and placed it on top of her belly. I didn’t feel anything.

“What is it?” Just as I asked that, I felt a bunching up, like a hard knot just under my hand. Sherrie closed her eyes tightly and breathed out in tiny puffs. It looked like she was going into some kind of trance. In a minute it was over and she opened her eyes again.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“Contractions,” she said.

“But the baby’s not coming for another six weeks.”

“That’s for the baby to decide. In the meantime, I think I better put my feet up a little.” Sherrie sighed. She took a big swallow of her water.

“I can help,” I said, feeling a desperate need to make everything okay. “I can take care of Zuzu if you want or fold the laundry.”

Just then, Sherrie closed her eyes again, but this time, in between puffs, she said, “Sugar, do you mind getting your dad for me?”

I panicked and ran to the bedroom and shook Dad awake.

“Sherrie!” I yelled.

“What?” Dad asked, in the confusing fog between sleeping and waking.

“Sherrie wants you in the kitchen!”

“What?”

“She’s having contractions and she told me to get you.”

Dad jumped out of bed like it was spring-loaded and darted into the kitchen. I sat on their bed and put my head in my hands. Thunder rolled all over the house and lightning lit the corners, throwing shadows and flashes of thin-sick-green light in strange unnatural angles across the bedroom. I ran to the kitchen.

“Sadie, I’m going to take Sherrie to the hospital. It’s probably nothing, but we just want to be sure. I just called Grandma and she’s going to come over and sleep here for the night.” Almost instantly, there was a knock at the door. Dad opened it and let in a soaked Grandma Brooks. No one even seemed to notice I was in the room anymore. Grandma and Dad hovered around Sherrie, getting her shoes, a sweater and her hospital bag, which had been packed since we were in Houston.

I watched as they helped her into the car and then ran up to my room. I couldn’t sleep. I thought about Sherrie at the hospital and wondered what they were doing to her. I thought about my mom. I wondered what look was on her face when she died. Was she afraid? I wondered what the house would feel like if Dad came home without Sherrie.

The storm blew outside and I was afraid the sycamore would break through my window. What if the outside came in? What if all the good and warm things blew away and I couldn’t stop it? What if my room felt safe and I still lost Sherrie? What if there really was no safe place?