Chapter 29: Sadina
When I was eight, Mom cut herself with a kitchen knife. It was an accident: she and Dad were both making dinner, and Mom got the job of slicing the onions. I remember her laughing because her eyes were watering so hard, and then in one slice of a second the knife took off a piece of her thumb.
She didn’t stop laughing, like she didn’t quite get right away that the blood on the cutting board was hers, but Dad picked up the phone—his hands still dripping water from washing a measuring cup—and dialed 911. I ran to the living room and watched for the ambulance out the front window. I couldn’t hear a single noise from the kitchen, and I was too scared to go back and check what was going on. So I kept my cheek pressed to the glass and watched for the first pulse of red lights that would mean help was coming.
Now, six years later, Mom is in trouble again. This is trouble on a bigger scale—kind of like a five- car pile-up on the highway is bigger than a flat tire. Mom told me this morning that the meeting with the attorneys was bad. In fact, it couldn’t have been worse. The lab director and all his lawyers believe she stole the research money, not Flynn, and they’re pressing charges against her. And what that means is that my mother is going to be arrested.
The words sound crazy.