Page 2 of The Devil and His Sparrow

“Mom,” I whispered, noticing the alarm in Gemma’s eyes.

“They do,” Gemma quickly reassured. “I really like all of them. They’re nice and helpful.”

“Clearly not enough,” Mom grumbled. “I’ll speak to the nursing supervisor as we leave to make sure your schedule and health plan are good enough.”

Guilt seeped into the lines of Gemma’s face. Mom was going to make a big deal out of nothing like always, no doubt griping at and belittling the people taking care of Gemma. Now Gemma was going to carry that with her, thinking it was her fault that Noya and the others got in trouble.

The only one causing her stress is you, I thought to myself as I stared at Mom. I wouldn’t dare say that aloud, though.

Seeking to distract Gemma from our mom’s continuous glowering, I pointed at the drawing on the table that sat across her lap. “What are you coloring?”

Her weary eyes brightened a fraction as she looked down at the half-colored picture. “It’s a butterfly. Sienna’s dad just brought her a coloring book, and she gave me this page.”

A knock came at the door before I could respond, and my mom and I turned to find a smiling Noya standing there. She wore black scrubs with smiling moons on them, and her black hijab wrapped around her head.

Her warm brown eyes passed between us. “Sorry to interrupt,” Noya apologized. “I’m here to give little Gemma her medication.”

“Just who I wanted to see,” Mom hissed, narrowing her eyes on Noya. “Give Gemma what she needs. Then I need to speak to you and the nursing supervisor.”

My mother didn’t wait to hear Noya’s reply. She turned to place a kiss on Gemma’s head and said, “I’ll visit soon. Keep doing what the doctors tell you, and don’t worry about anything.” Her eyes met mine and immediately lost the softness that had just been there. “Say goodbye so we can get out of Noya’s way.”

My chest constricted. This was never easy, and I hated that I’d just gotten here, just gotten to see and talk to Gemma. Saying bye was always difficult, especially since the scared little voice in the back of my head always wondered, will this be the last time I see her?

I leaned down to wrap her in my arms, forcing myself to hold back. I wanted to squeeze her tightly to me, hugging her with all I had in me, but I knew her fragile body couldn’t take that. So I held her with the barest of touches and pulled back to grin at her. “I love you, Gem.”

Her chapped lips widened into a smile. “I love you, too.”

Mom and I left the room, and I flashed Noya an apologetic look as I passed her. My mom was about to unleash her terror on the nurses and team taking care of Gemma, and Noya knew that. They all knew what to expect by now.

That Mrs. Winters. She’s a real bitch.

God, Mrs. Winters is the worst. She acts like we sit back and do nothing. Can’t she see we’re doing everything we can for her daughter?

Watch out for Mrs. Winters. She has a fiery temper and all the money to back her nasty attitude.

I’d heard all the whisperings about my mom over the eight months since she’d brought Gemma to this residential treatment facility. It was great, because it gave Gemma the twenty-four-seven surveillance and care she needed with doctors and nurses really focused on her and the other patients staying here, but despite the tremendous care they gave her, it was never good enough for my mom.

Things rarely were.

“I’m gonna go wait in the car,” I said to my mom, who hovered by the nurses station to wait on Noya. I never liked being around when she threw one of her fits.

She waved her hand, effectively dismissing me, so I spun on my heel and retreated. I waited in the silent car for nearly fifteen minutes before my mom finally came out. I winced at the lengthy reprimand, knowing that today’s outburst must’ve been a bad one. But my mom had gotten what she wanted—as she always did. That much was clear from the calm poise of her eyebrows and mouth.

Silence filled the car as she drove me back to my apartment near campus. No music. No chit-chat. Nothing. But that wasn’t anything unusual. We’d always been that way.

When we made it to my apartment, she followed me up. As soon as we crossed the threshold, she rummaged in her purse then produced a small box. “Here. Go take this while I do my sweep.”

Heat flooded my cheeks while bitter annoyance filled my gut like a swarm of bees. I took the box and stiffly walked into my bathroom to take the pregnancy test. It seemed like she was making me do this more and more frequently, and it pissed me off for a handful of reasons, the biggest one being that I wasn’t even sexually active. But, of course, she’d never believe that.

No. Her word was law, and she was always right, even when she wasn’t.

So if she thought I was having sex, then I was having sex. If she thought I was neglecting my studies to party, I was neglecting my studies to party. If she thought I was being a bad daughter, I was a bad daughter.

I didn’t even bother looking at the result of the test as I left the bathroom to wait in my kitchen. She was still in the middle of her routine walk-through, snooping to make sure I wasn’t hiding anything like music or erotic books.

Fresh pain lanced my heart.

Music.

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