That night I'm so tired, I make too many obvious excuses to leave the dinner table and Dad--who's engrossed in his sports anyway--and go to bed early. But as soon as I'm in the dark, panic sets in. My heart beats too fast. I keep seeing flashes of Derek and Aiden and that awful rite. The woman turning black--and for the first time, I get flashes of that movie too. It chills me. I need to go back through it, see how much of it is real. But I'm too scared . . .
For the first time since she left, I ache for Mom. For her arms that so rarely hug, but when they do, they . . . warm me.
I try to call her twice. Both times a recording of her clipped, professional voice answers and sinks my stomach to my toes. I let myself sink deeper into the pillow, weigh heavy on the bed, and force myself to accept the truth.
She's disappearing from my life.
Of course, pretty soon there might not be much life left for her to disappear from.
