xiv

Your dad climbed down the tree house first.

“Be careful,” he said. “Some of this wood feels rotted through.”

I knew I didn’t have to use the ladder.

“Want to see how I used to get down?” I called out the door.

“What are you talking about?” he called back.

I climbed out the window and lowered myself onto the branch below.

“Queenie?” he said. “What are you doing?”

“This branch was my elevator,” I told him. “Once I get close to the end, my weight bends it low enough to the ground that I can hop right off.”

“Are you sure you want to do that?” he asked as I started walking, my arms out for balance.

“I did this all the time,” I said, as I walked farther from the trunk. But the branch didn’t feel as supple as it used to. It wasn’t bending the way I remembered. I took another step.

And then the branch gave way. My body swung as I grabbed for the tree, but my fingers couldn’t find purchase. I was falling.

“Rob!!!” I screamed.

“Shit!” I heard him yell.

He must’ve tried to break my fall, because the next thing I knew, I landed half on him, half on the ground, my wrist snapped back, my fingers underneath, his knee pushing straight into my stomach, knocking the wind out of me.

I couldn’t breathe.

The pain in my hand was excruciating.

My dad came running.

I was crying.

Then we were in my dad’s car and every bounce made me wince.

At the hospital they set my broken wrist and three broken fingers.

I didn’t tell them I was pregnant. Your dad didn’t, either.

“She’s lucky,” they said.

“You saved her from a lot worse by breaking her fall,” they said.

They sent me home with painkillers I wasn’t sure I should take.

I wouldn’t be able to play piano for eight weeks, maybe longer.

I wouldn’t be able to play the shows we’d booked in Texas for Christmas.

I wouldn’t be able to record the CD we were planning next month.

I wouldn’t be able to do what I loved with the man I loved.

I was devastated.