Page 37 of Summer With You

13

My Last Dying Breath

Celine

Four Months Later

I really needed a drink.

A big, fat glass of red wine sounded like heaven when my phone rang for the third time in the last ten minutes.

Lately, everything from Summer asking me for a playdate with her cousin to Ace coming home early from work irritated me. My stomach had swollen to the size of an exceptionally large beach ball not long after that horrendous hurricane left, and I spent most of my days moving from my bed to the kitchen, to the couch, back to the kitchen, and then bed.

I had very little energy and patience for both my kids and husband, and Ace – bless his heart – was doing everything he could to help me and make me more comfortable despite how bitchy I’d become.

For the last two weeks, Ace had been taking the kids to school and picking them up. At the cusp of eight months pregnant, it was uncomfortable to drive. I couldn’t stray far from the toilet, and I didn’t want to put the baby at risk if I was in a car accident by being so close to the steering wheel.

Glancing at my phone, I saw three missed calls from the kid’s school. It couldn’t have been such an emergency if they hadn’t called Ace, but regardless, I dialed them and waited.

I had spent the day listening to Amber moan about how fat she looked and that it was impossible to have sex with the size of her belly. At first, I laughed, but after an hour of hearing her complain I eventually made up an excuse about being tired so I could go watch my new favorite show that came on every day during lunchtime.

“Mrs. Danvers?” a chirpy voice eventually answered.

“Yes. I have three missed calls from you all. Is there something wrong with my kids?”

There was a brief pause, a broken whisper, and then I heard someone loudly clear their throat.

“Mrs. Danvers, I believe you’re eight months pregnant, so I don’t want to alarm you.” A different, older woman’s voice now spoke through the connected line.

My heart skipped a beat. Something was wrong with one of my babies.

“What happened?” I fought to keep control of my shaking voice.

“Mrs. Danvers, please stay calm. Summer and another child got into a fight during recess a few minutes ago.” The woman paused, and I held my breath. “We believe Summer has a mild concussion, but she needs to go to the hospital to get some stitches and a CT scan to be sure.”

“What the hell happened?!” I shouted. “Why the fuck does my child need stitches? Let me speak to her now!” The woman inhaled sharply at my tone, but fear for my child stopped me from caring. My little girl was hurt.

“Mommy?” her soft, little voice cried. “It hurts real bad, Mommy,” she whimpered. “It was an accident, I think. Please don’t be mad.” She paused to suck in a sharp breath between sobs. “I don’t want to hurt the baby, Mommy. Daddy said no more stress,” she wailed, loud sobs coming through on the phone.

“I’m coming, baby,” I assured her. “Mommy is coming. Don’t worry anymore, sweet girl.” I waddled into the kitchen in search of my car keys, still holding the phone to my ear, listening to my child cry. I hated that she was hurt and scared, and I wasn’t there with her. “Let me speak to the nurse.”

“Mrs. Danvers, please let me explain,” the nurse rushed out as soon as my daughter handed the phone back to her.

“No, you listen here,” I snapped. “You watch my child closely, and you better pray she is alright and that this is nothing severe. Who the hell was watching my child when this happened? Recess was an hour ago and I’m only getting a phone call now? What the fuck is going on at your school?”

“Should I call your husband, Mr. Danvers? Summer is very worried about you,” the nurse said, a little bit of fear and concern in her voice.

“She should be worried for you when I get there,” I snapped. “I trust that my children are safe at your school, and it sure as hell seems like that isn’t true. Have Charlie brought to the office. I’ll be collecting him early. Where is the other child? What injuries did they sustain?”

“It’s confidential what injuries the other child has, but she’s in class,” the nurse told me.

“So, it’s only my child who needs to go to the hospital. Am I understanding correctly?” I got into my car and adjusted my seat as far back as it could go so that I could still reach the pedals without my stomach being pressed into the steering wheel.

“Yes, ma’am. Summer and the other child have been having some issues over the last few weeks, throwing insults back and forth, but today it became physical.” That just made me angrier. Instead of the school contacting me or Ace so we could help get the issue resolved, they kept it a secret.

“Why haven’t I been told about this?” I pulled my car out onto the main road, feeling my rage boil over at the news.

“I can’t say why the teacher hasn’t informed you, Mrs. Danvers. We have an ice pack on Summer’s head now and will monitor her until you arrive,” she told me, obviously wanting off the phone since I was so angry.

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