Free In the Time of Kings by N. Gemini Sasson Page A

friend. Like she’s all alone, without hope or comfort. I want so badly to run to her, wrap my arms around her and tell her it’s going to be okay, just like she’d done for me so many times. But I’m scared. Scared to know what they’re talking about. And scared of my dad. He’s never raised a hand against either of us, although I often wished he had. Then I could go to the police and have him thrown in jail. What he does every day is worse than beating us. He doesn’t leave bruises or broken bones, things other people can see. Proof. Just scars on our hearts.
    Mom glances my way. Her lips curve into a tepid smile, but her chin quivers. “Ross, I didn’t see you there. Go on in your room and I’ll be there in a minute to help you with your homework.”
    “I don’t have any homework.” I grip the doorjamb, more to stop myself from going into the dining room and giving my dad a good shove than to keep myself upright. “It’s Saturday.”
    “Of course it is.” She fakes a laugh. “How silly of me. Can’t even remember what day it is. Working those extra hours at the store sure has me mixed up. Well then, go ride your bike. A growing boy like you needs his exercise.”
    The firm set of her jaw tells me to stay out of it, she’ll handle things. I glare at my dad, but his back is turned to me, like he’s purposefully ignoring me. Shoving my hands in my back pockets, I leave the room. I don’t bother to tell her there are six inches of snow on the ground and the road is a river of slush dirtied by car exhaust.
    She doesn’t notice much these days. It’s like she’s not completely with us. Like she’d rather be somewhere else. Like she’s already gone.

11
    HERE & NOW
    Berwick, Scotland — 2013
    I wait for the second hand of the clock on the wall opposite me to sweep around past the ‘12’ one more time before I separate myself from the furniture and stomp to the desk.
    “Have they figured out what’s wrong with my wife?”
    The station nurse lays her pen down and pushes aside the paperwork she’s been examining. The cap on her head sits askew, her sweater is rumpled and the bags under her eyes tell me she’s probably nearing the end of a twelve-hour shift. She gives me a patronizing smile. I clench my fists at my sides. This may be the tenth time I’ve bugged her since they sat me down on that green vinyl couch three hours ago, but somebody needs to fill me in.
    With my hair plastered to my head and my clothes still not dried out, I probably look like a deranged wreck, but I don’t care. Too many scenarios are crowding my head. If this woman puts me off one more time with some trite response, I’m going to reach over the desk and choke her until someone gives me the answers I need.
    “As far as I know, sir, they’re still running tests. I’m sure as soon as they have anything to tell you, they’ll be right out.”
    “Is she okay?”
    “Again, as soon as they —”
    “Can I see her? Where is she? I think it would help if she had someone with her, don’t you? I mean, she’s probably pretty scared right now and I just want to tell her it’s going to be okay, you know?”
    At that point, I’m begging. Patience and politeness haven’t gotten me anywhere so far. This is my wife they’re keeping from me, damn it, and I deserve to know what’s going on.
    “Let me see what I can do.” She lifts a hand toward the waiting area. “Meanwhile, please, have a seat.”
    There’s more command than request in her voice. I comply, but not without a glare of insistence.
    She taps at the keys on the phone, talks to someone for a minute, then clicks it back into its cradle. When she scoots her chair back and rises, I stand, sure she has news for me, but she calls another patient to the desk. A young woman goes forward, a crying infant clutched to her chest. Another nurse escorts them to an examination room. Instead of sitting back down, I pace back and forth past the automatic glass doors, making an