Until I Find You - Rea Frey Page 0,12
She needs to work, but it’s so rare she’s alone in the house. She leans back and cocks her face to the sky for the second time today. A steady breeze lightens the summer heat.
Her phone buzzes at her hip: Pam.
“Hey, what’s up?” she asks. “Everything okay?”
“Savi fell.”
She sits up straighter. “What do you mean? Is she okay?’
“She fell off the monkey bars. She was trying to skip a rung, and her hand slipped.”
Crystal immediately thinks of Savi’s cello lessons—more specifically, her wrist and fingers. “Where are you guys?” Pam tells her which park. Crystal rushes inside, grabs her keys, and laces up her tennis shoes.
She drives the short distance to Butterfield Park, heart hammering. Crystal frantically searches the area, shielding her eyes from the sun. She charges toward the playground.
“Crystal!”
She pivots. Pam waves one frantic hand from the far park bench, her plump wrist outfitted in her brand-new Apple watch. She ignores Pam and skids to a stop near Savi’s feet. Her daughter sniffles and cradles her elbow. Her face is pasty white, her brown ponytail unruly and matted. Her dress is lightly smeared with dirt.
“Hey, sweetie. Can I see?”
She extends her arm. Crystal braces for the worst. A fracture? The tip of a bone angling through purple skin? Instead, she finds her daughter’s normal arm. No broken bones. No punctures. She exhales in a rush, bending, flexing, and straightening Savi’s wrist—accessing the few nursing classes she’d taken in college before switching majors. She searches for bulges or swelling. “Can you move your fingers?”
Savi rotates her wrist in a circle, slowly at first, then makes a tight fist.
“I think you’re fine. Let’s go home and put some ice on it.” She tries to smooth Savi’s ponytail, but she jerks away.
“So sorry,” Pam says. Lines crease her freckled forehead. “I was sitting here and—”
“It’s fine,” Crystal snaps. “I’m going to take her home.”
“Do you want me to come?”
Crystal assesses the nanny, this sweet young woman with her expensive sunglasses perched on her mop of curly red hair. “In a bit. I just want to get her settled first.”
“Okay. I’ll text you.”
Crystal nods. With one arm around Savi, they cross the park to her car. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.” Her daughter’s voice is more certain. “Can I still play?”
“I think so.” Crystal knows she’s not talking about playing outside. On the way home, Savi is quiet from the back seat, and Crystal doesn’t push her to ask what happened. At home, Savi rushes ahead of her.
“Why don’t you go take a shower and then we’ll ice it?”
“I want to play first.” The dried tears have made brown tracks down her face.
“You’re filthy, Savi. Just go rinse off.”
Savi rushes ahead of her. “No, I’m going to play!”
Crystal sighs. Lately, everything is an argument. If Crystal makes a suggestion, Savi negates it almost instantly. If Crystal has a personal problem though, Savi tries to help. She’s talked to Dr. Gibbons about it, who’s explained that often when kids lose a parent, they will do anything to make their other parent happy.
Except brush their hair. She laughs to herself and refills her wine, her nerves still crackling from the unexpected adrenaline rush.
From upstairs, the cello thunders through the cavernous house. Crystal takes advantage of the gap to unload the dishwasher and check client emails. She forgets all about Pam until an hour later, when the front door opens and shuts.
“Is she okay?” Pam sets a bag down by her feet.
Crystal nods upstairs, distracted by work. “Hasn’t stopped playing since we got home.”
Pam exhales. “Thank God. Mind if I just…” She points upstairs.
“Please.”
She disappears from the kitchen, and Crystal sits back, removes her reading glasses, and rubs her strained eyes. She checks the time and texts Bec.
Coffee?
They just saw each other, but suddenly, she wants out of this house. Savi is fine. Pam is here.
What, do you have ESP? Bec texts back. Literally meeting Beth and Jess now. Come join us!
Bec texts which coffee shop and Crystal smiles and sends a happy reply. She’s about to call up to Pam that she’s leaving for a bit when Savi screams.
Crystal drops her phone and sprints upstairs. She pushes her daughter’s door open and finds Pam on the floor, scooping at something. Strips of construction paper? Her eyes travel up to her daughter, whose hair is lopsided and hacked in an uneven bob.
“Savannah Isabelle Turner!” Crystal searches for the scissors. “What have you done?”
Savi looks at her feet. Pam’s arms are full of her daughter’s tangles and a