Free My Soul to Keep by Melanie Wells

they’d hop down onto the floor for a second and then bounce right back up there. It finally dawned on me that she wasn’t waking up.”
    “It’s like one of those hero-dog stories.”
    “Except they’re rabbits. Who ever heard of that?”
    “We should call
People
magazine.”
    She took a sip, leaned her head back to swallow, and let out a long exhale.
    “I finally thought to lean down and listen for her breath. It was still pitch black in there.” The air conditioner rattled loudly behind us. “There was no breath.”
    “What do you think happened?”
    “Maybe she choked on something? I can’t imagine what. She didn’t cough anything up.”
    “What did the ER doc say?”
    “Asthma.”
    “I didn’t know Christine had asthma,” I said.
    “She doesn’t.”
    “Then how—”
    “They don’t know what happened. It’s a guess—a bad one, I think. Christine has been healthy as a goat her entire life.”
    “I think asthma can start at any time, though.”
    Liz sipped her coffee and didn’t say anything.
    “Liz? What are you thinking?”
    “Nothing.”
    “What?”
    “Nothing.”
    “Tell me.”
    Liz looked at me. “I’m thinking bad things happen when we’re with you.”
    I caught my breath and blinked back a sudden flood of tears.
    “I’m sorry, Dylan. I know it’s not intentional or anything. But there’s this cloud or curse or something …”
    There was no point denying it. “I know. I’m sorry, Liz. I’m so very sorry.”
    She touched my arm. “I don’t think it has anything to do with you personally. Bad things happen all the time. But something is terribly wrong. And somehow, right now at least, you seem to be in the middle of it.”
    I put my head in my hands, briefly contemplating breaking into the nurses’ station and foraging for narcotics.
    “Dylan.” She reached for my arm. “Look at me.”
    Liz met my gaze with kind, brown eyes.
    “Christine is a special kid,” she said. “An important kid. I’ve always known that. You’ve always known it.”
    I nodded.
    “I think there are … forces out there fighting over her.”
    “I do too.”
    “So. The wrong side almost won tonight. That’s all.”
    “Maybe Earl tipped off the rabbits.”
    “That wouldn’t surprise me a bit.” She set her coffee down. “They’re fighting over you too, I think.”
    “Not over me. Around me, maybe.”
    She shrugged. “What difference does it make?”
    We didn’t talk any more that night. There was nothing more to say. We were both numb with exhaustion.
    My cell phone rang at two that morning, jarring me out of shallow sleep. I groaned and reached for it, my bones stiff from dozing upright in a chair. It was David. I hesitated, then took the call on the fourth ring.
    “You called me,” he said.
    “You didn’t pick up.”
    “I’m calling you back.”
    “You didn’t pick up.”
    “I’m sorry, Dylan. I didn’t hear the phone.”
    I shoved the whine out of my voice and tried not to sound petty. “It’s okay. It doesn’t matter.” I got up and went out into the hall.
    “It does. I asked you to call and you did. I blew it.”
    “Okay. I take it back. It does matter.”
    “Give me another shot. Want to call me again and I’ll pick up this time? On the first ring, even. Real eager.”
    I started to cry, hating myself for it. I am generally not a crier, but I couldn’t control myself.
    I could hear the alarm in his voice. “Dylan, where are you? Are you at home?”
    I started to sob into the phone.
    “Tell me what’s happening.”
    I slid to the floor and crouched in the hallway beside the door, my head in my hand, my shoulders shaking. The nurses’ shoes squeaked past me on the linoleum. Each little scuff, each tap rattled its way upmy spine and jangled and pounded its way into my skull. I shut my eyes and tried to tune out the smells and sounds of broken children.
    David didn’t say a word. He just let me cry. He’s good that way. He always knows what not to