footsteps on her porch, at least four feet shuffling against the creaking boards. I am so close that I can see breath fogging the front window when someone cups their hands against the glass and peers inside. My eyes meet those of a policeman; he holds my gaze, mutters something softly to the person still knocking at the door.
“Run,” my mother whispers. “Just leave. I’ll take care of this.”
“I can’t just leave.”
What is it I’m feeling as I drift toward the front door, like a magnet drawn to its inevitable polarity? Is it self-awareness, that I finally see the consequences of my actions, and am ready to face them? Is it fear, about the future I am headed toward? Or is it a curious kind of relief, that this may not have been the path I would have chosen, but at least I am about to be free of the path I was on?
I wrench the door open as my mother squeals in protest.
On my doorstep are two policemen in full uniform, hands draped loosely over their guns even though their trigger fingers are poised and at the ready. One has a mustache and one does not, but otherwise they could be twins, and they are looking at me with cool distrust in their eyes.
“Nina Ross?” the one with the mustache asks.
I must have answered in the affirmative because suddenly they are reading me my rights, and one of them is unclipping handcuffs from his belt and the other is grabbing my arm to spin me around. I’m trying to argue and my voice is so panicky and frantic that it doesn’t sound like my own; and then over that we all hear a terrible shrieking moan from behind me in the living room, like the wail of a wounded beast. It’s my mother. Everyone stops.
I turn to the mustache. “Please, sir, let me have a moment with my mother, she’s got cancer and I’m her primary caregiver. I promise I’ll go willingly if I can just have a minute with her.”
They look at each other and shrug, but the mustache releases my arm and follows me into the living room. He hovers as I hug my mom, who has gone stiff and soundless, as if the scream has emptied her entirely. I put a hand on her face to calm her.
“It’s OK, Mom. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Call Lachlan and tell him what happened, OK? Tell him to come bail me out.”
She twitches in my grip, her breath coming fast and frantic. “This is wrong. How did this happen? We can’t—you can’t.”
“Don’t go anywhere, OK?” I kiss her on the forehead and smile, as if I’m just going on a little vacation, nothing at all to worry about. “I love you. I’ll be in touch as soon as I can.”
Her face twists. “My baby.”
The detective tugs on my arm, dragging me out the door, as my mother gasps soft words of love in my direction; and then I’m being pulled out of the house. The cuffs go on, and the metal bites cold around my wrists; the police car door is thrown ajar, waiting for me to slip inside.
I see that Lisa is standing in her driveway, in men’s pajamas, gaping at the spectacle unfolding before her. Her graying curls fly wild around her head. She looks stunned, or stoned, or maybe both. She inches toward us, carefully picking her way across the dirt with her bare feet.
“Nina? Is everything OK? What’s going on?”
“Ask them,” I say, and jerk my head toward the nearest cop. “I have no idea. I’m sure it’s all just a terrible mistake.”
She frowns and comes to a stop a safe distance away. “Let me know what I can do to help.”
The policeman’s hand is on my head, gently pressing me down, but before I duck into the back of the police car I manage to call out to Lisa. “Just…keep an eye on my mom for me,” I say. “Make sure she starts her radiation treatments. I’ll be back home soon, I promise.”