Free Devoted by Jennifer Mathieu

family room couches and hide under a blanket. The lights are off, and he might not even see me on his way to the kitchen. Or I could race into the kitchen and get myself a glass of water, too, and if Dad walked in I could act like it was a strange coincidence. But if I were thirsty, wouldn’t I have gotten a glass of water upstairs?
    My body trumps my brain, and I run down the hallway and tiptoe up the stairs by my parents’ bedroom. There hasn’t been another cough. Once I reach the top landing, I take a breath. My heart is hammering away, but I’ve made it. Mostly. Only there’s the problem of the computer browser. I didn’t get a chance to clear the history.
    At this thought I hug my arms to myself and run my fingernails down my forearms as hard as I can, digging into my skin. I wince, and as fast as I scratch myself I begin rubbing my hands up and down the marks I’m sure I’ve left behind, trying to make the pain go away.
    I listen, still trying to catch my breath. There’s no more coughing.
    But it’s too risky to go back downstairs to try and fix my mistake. I can’t do anything except check on Sarah and Ruth briefly before I slide into my own bed. My two little sisters are asleep, blissfully blanked out. Heads empty.
    Mine is anything but. I lie in bed, unable to sleep.
    Lord, I …
    Father God, please …
    Jesus, my heart calls out …
    I can’t finish any of the prayers I start. By the time I fall asleep, the bedroom clock reads 3:00 a.m.
    *   *   *
    The next morning I find a surprise in the kitchen. Mom is sitting at the kitchen table holding a dozing Isaac as my dad and brothers pour the coffee Ruth’s already started. Yesterday my mother wouldn’t even eat lunch.
    â€œMom?” I ask, hopeful. Is it possible our prayers are finally starting to work? At least, is it possible Dad’s prayers and Faith’s prayers and Ruth’s prayers are starting to work? I doubt mine have done much good, especially after last night.
    But when Mom looks at me, her face still seems blank. Hollow. She tries to smile, but it’s forced.
    â€œGood morning, Rachel,” she says, her voice soft.
    I doubt she’s much better but still, she’s out of bed. At least we should be grateful for that small blessing.
    I get to making breakfast, and all of us—my dad, my older brothers, the little ones—move around one another tentatively, carefully, as if one wrong motion or word will send Mom back to her bedroom cave. Eventually, Dad kisses Mom goodbye and whispers something into her ear. She smiles faintly.
    After the breakfast dishes are done, we move into the family room and settle into schoolwork. Mom sits on the couch while Isaac, who’s finally woken up, scoots his toy trains around her feet. Everything feels awkward and strange. Like at any minute my mother might break. I’m not sure if I’m the only one who senses this or if my siblings feel it, too.
    â€œDad told me there will be the girls’ fellowship about modesty at the church tonight,” she says after a while. I’m in the middle of showing the twins how to multiply fractions, and her voice makes me jump a bit. She’s barely spoken since she wished me good morning.
    â€œYes,” Ruth says, looking up from her own work. “Faith and Pastor Garrett’s wife are helping organize it.”
    Mom nods. “He wants you both to attend. I can watch the twins and Sarah and Isaac this evening if you can help get supper ready before you leave.”
    Is this the reason Mom got up this morning? Dad takes his role of protector seriously, but I didn’t realize having Ruth and I go to church this evening would be so important to him. I figured Mom’s illness took the meeting off the table, and in fact, I secretly hoped it would, even though I knew I shouldn’t. Going back to fractions with my brothers, my stomach turns