Mom’s breathing. The road noise under the tires. A hiss of wind through a crack in the back window. I wanted to speak. But I did not know what to tell her. I willed Mom to talk to me. But I was afraid of what she would say. All she had said since we left the hospital was, “Buckle up.” When we pulled into the driveway, Mom reached for the door handle. But instead of opening it, she sat back and closed her eyes. “That little boy could have died.” “They said the wound was superficial.” She gave me such a cold look, I shrank away from her. “It was your job to take care of those children,” she said. “But you were too busy, what? Calling your friends? Texting? Emailing?” Her voice rose with every word. “Watching some damn thing on YouTube?” She closed her eyes again and tipped back her head. “It was only for a minute or two.” “That is all it takes.” I swiped at the tears that trailed down my cheeks. “I am so sorry. But Caden is going to be all right. They said so.
