Page 91 of Emmett

“One more,” he says, “and that’s it. We’ve got to figure out where you’re putting all of your presents and you have some serious teeth brushing to do.”

“Cool!”

“Don’t take much, does it?” Uncle Davis laughs while I run to pick up my ball.

We playtwomore rounds, just us guys, and Dad lets me have an extra slice of cake and another root beer while we play; the kind in the dark bottles that look like real grown-up beer. It matches Uncle Davis’s, and he clinks his bottle against mine before we each take a drink. I’ve never felt so cool in my whole life.

My dad rented out the whole bowling alley for my party and he got me two different cakes. I couldn’t pick between my two favoriteTeenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, so he told me I could get both. He didn’t even make them this time, he had a real baker make them just for me. Uncle Davis got me a laser tag set that he promised we’ll play with, and a Playstation Portable so I can sneak playing games when I’m supposed to go to bed. I think my Uncle Davis is probably my best friend.

Dad cleans up the table while we finish our drinks, then he lets me hop up onto his shoulders while we leave. One of the clowns waves at us to say goodbye and Uncle Davis lifts his fist at him, shaking his head as we walk away.

“Who came up with that shit, man?”

“Davis!”

“You’re afraid of clowns!” I laugh, cracking up while I point a finger at him. “Scaredy cat!”

I feel Dad’s shoulders move while he laughs under my legs, holding onto my ankles while he carries me out to the parking lot where my uncle’s car is waiting for us.

Uncle Davis gives Dad his car keys, and while we’re all getting buckled into our seats, he pulls open a big zipper pouch of CDs and flips through the pages inside. “Here you go, Hoss,” he says, pulling out one of the CDs and sliding it into the player.

The first notes of my favorite song start playing, and I use my pointer fingers to drum in the air until the words start.

“Back in black!” I squeeze my eyes shut so I can yell it like the singer does. “Forget the shack! I bit the dog, I had to be packed!”

Uncle Davis laughs really hard in the front seat, holding his stomach and stomping his feet against the bottom of the car while I sing. Dad doesn’t like the same kind of music we do, but he turns the volume up anyway so I can sing louder, and he gives me a wink in the rearview mirror.

When Uncle Davis stops laughing so hard, he unbuckles his seatbelt, turning around in his seat so he’s facing me, and we both play our air guitars, bobbing our heads to the music while we sing along. Even Dad taps his fingers on the steering wheel and shouts the words with us when the chorus comes on.

“Dad,” I shout, “this is my best day ever!”

“It’s my best day ever, too, bud,” he smiles at me in the mirror. His hand comes back toward my seat and I slap mine against it, letting him give me a tight squeeze after. “I love you.”

•

Present Day

My hand is warm.

So warm.

I can hear the muffled sound of someone talking, but I can’t make out who they are or what they’re saying.

Something is resting on my face; I can feel it tickling my nose. I shift my lips, trying to move the thing away from me, but it doesn’t go anywhere. When I swallow, my throat burns. The cough that follows doesn’t help any.

“Ow,” I groan, trying to force my eyes open against glaring overheard light.

“Emmett.” Pressure surrounds my hand as I feel it being tugged away from me, and my dad comes into focus, squeezing my hand between his so tightly that his knuckles have gone white. My eyes scan over him, finally settling on his face. He looks exhausted. In a breath, he releases my hand, instead leaning forward to wrap his arms around me with the same crushing force, and it makes every part of my body hurt.

“Ow,” I rasp again.

Dad’s hands cup my face – they’re so warm – and his eyes search mine. “What hurts?”

“Everything,” I groan, bringing a hand to rub at my neck while I swallow again.

He steps away, not far, and he returns to his chair with a pitcher of water and a small plastic cup. My eyes scan the room that I’m in while he fills the cup with water. The walls are lined with ugly brown cabinets, a sink sandwiched between them on one side, and another chair like the one that Dad is using sits tucked by a big glass sliding door that separates this room from a larger area. Dad offers me the water, and I work to push myself further up the bed, making my body sit more upright as I take a sip of it. The cool water scratches at the angry burn that runs down my throat.

“How did I get here?”