Page 2 of Unbound

“I know.” She tells me all the time.

Mom doesn’t leave me home alone much, but I kinda like when she does. It’s what I imagine it will be like when I’m a grown up. When I have a house of my own.

I still go to the front window, peeking out the curtains as she pulls away, the headlights of her car cutting a line through the darkness.

Then I do exactly what she asked, brushing my teeth in the bathroom we share before going to my room. But before I climb into bed, I go to the stack of library books on my desk and pick the one I think she’ll like the best—a story about a kid who finds out his dad is a God and then goes on an adventure with his friends to solve a mystery. There’s no hot guy driving a bus, but I’m pretty sure she’ll still like it because she enjoys exciting stuff.

I put the book on the table beside her bed so she can read a little when she gets home.

Turning off my light, I climb into bed and huddle under the covers with a flashlight, reading my book until I accidentally fall asleep with my face smashed against the pages.

When my alarm goes off, I slap it to shut it up, grumpy that morning came so soon. I don’t know how late I stayed up, but it must not have been too late, because I fell asleep before my mom got home.

With a groan, I flip back the covers and shuffle to the door. Opening it, I expect to find my mom in the kitchen making breakfast for us before I go to school and she goes to work. Instead, my Aunt DeeDee and Uncle Ted are sitting at the table, having a conversation so quiet I can’t hear any of the words.

I see my aunt and uncle regularly, but it’s weird that they’re here this early on a weekday. We usually spend time with them on the weekends, and normally at their place since there’s a ton more room for me and my cousins to run around there.

They suddenly notice I’m here, both their heads snapping my way. My aunt looks… weird. Her skin is pale, and her hair is flat on her head when it’s usually fluffed up. Her eyes are normally bright and lined with makeup, but today the only thing surrounding her lids is a rim of redness.

“Why are you guys here?” I look behind me, down the hall in the direction of my mom’s room in the little house we share. “Where’s my mom?”

My aunt pulls in a shuddering breath and slowly stands, hands clasped in front of her. “Your mom was in a car accident last night, sweetheart.” Her lower lip quivers as a single tear tracks a path down her blotchy cheek. “And… she died.”

That doesn’t sound right at all. “No. She just had to run an errand.” One my mother said would only take a few minutes. That she’d be right back. “She came back. I heard her.”

Except, I didn’t.

Turning away from my aunt and uncle, I rush down the hall, flinging my mother’s bedroom door open, fully believing I’ll find her there. That I’ll prove this is all a mistake. A misunderstanding.

But my mother’s room is empty. She’s not getting ready for her job at the newspaper. Her bed is still made. The scent of her perfume lingers in the air, but it’s not fresh like she just sprayed it.

And the book I left is staring back at me from her nightstand, untouched.

“Walker, honey.” Aunt DeeDee’s hands come to rest on my shoulders as I try to make sense of what I’m seeing. Of what she claims. “I wish it wasn’t true too.” There’s a weird wobble in her voice. “If I could change it, I would. But I can’t.”

My eyes burn as the room blurs. “She can’t be dead.” I try to swallow, but choke, wheezing as I force out my next words. “I need her.”

I’ve never imagined what it would be like to live without my mom. Never even considered that I could lose her. Thinking about not having her around to smile at me after school or cuddle with me on the couch makes me want to throw up.

“I know, sweetheart.” My aunt pulls me into her arms, holding me tight.

I know she’s trying to make me feel better, but she doesn’t stroke my hair or kiss my forehead. She’s too short, and she doesn’t smell right.

“I want my mom.”

“I do too, honey.” She rocks a little, moving my body with hers. “I do too.”

This is wrong. It has to be. My mom is too nice. Too pretty. Too kind. Too good to die.

Someone else should have died. Someone who deserved it. Not her.

“Let’s go sit down.” My aunt moves me to the couch, bringing me down beside her in the same spot where my mom sat next to me last night. Where I rested my head on her shoulder and accidentally fell asleep.

I wish I hadn’t. I wish I’d stayed awake. Gone with her. Then I could have kept her safe. Been a hero like all the ones I’ve read about.

Instead I let her down. Slept away the last minutes I had with her. I didn’t even tell her I loved her, and now I can’t.

And if I can’t say those words to her, I’m not going to say them ever again.