Page 74 of What He Doesn't Know

“Only if you eat,” I told him. “If Miss Robin brings you back a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, will you eat that? And drink some milk?”

He looked devastated that he had to eat, but he nodded. “I’ll try.”

Jeremiah made it through half a sandwich and took a few sips of milk before I allowed him to lie his head down on his desk for the rest of recess. I watched him resting there, his little eyes finally at peace for the first time since that morning, and couldn’t help but think of my Jeremiah.

I wondered if he would have had bad days, too. How would I have helped him? Would he have come to me when he was sad, or would it have been Cameron who would have comforted him?

I wondered if he’d know how to write his name by now, and if he’d still be okay with me holding his hand to cross the street. Would he be into little race cars, or Disney characters, or maybe science — the way Jeremiah in my class was?

Would he like to ride his bike, or would he prefer video games?

My thoughts ran wild with questions like that until the end of the school day.

It made me think of the nightmares I’d sometimes have where I’d wake up screaming.

Cameron was always there when I woke up, soothing me, holding me, telling me it was okay. But in my dream, and in reality, both — it was a lie. The dream was always me holding Jeremiah and Derrick in my arms at the hospital, happy and content, both of them alive and breathing and nuzzling into me with their warmth. But then the doors would fly open and nurses would rush in, ripping them from my arms as alarms went off. My body always felt heavy then. I couldn’t reach out for them, couldn’t scream — not until I woke up in my own bed, anyway.

I never told Cameron what the dream was. Then again, he never asked.

I wondered if he ever dreamed about them, too.

Fridays were always a rush out at the car loop, the energy of the weekend buzzing through the students and teachers, both. But I held back that day, helping Jeremiah pack up his bag before slowly walking him out to the loop with his hand in mine.

“I hope you have a good weekend,” I told him when I noticed his mom’s car at the front of the line.

“I won’t.”

I frowned, bending to his level. I motioned discreetly to his mother in the car, hoping she’d join me.

“Why do you say that, Jeremiah? You’ve always told me you love Fridays because you get to stay up past your bedtime and watch movies with your mom and dad.”

“We don’t have anywhere to watch movies anymore.”

His little lip quivered just as his mom reached us, and he buried his face in her side. I stood as she hugged him into her, and that’s when I realized her face was just as worn, her eyes just as puffy and tired as his.

“Did he have a rough day?” she asked, and her voice was thick and raw, like she’d been crying for weeks. “Oh, I wondered if it was too soon to have him back, but we just wanted him to escape it all for a while and have a little fun.”

“It was a tough day, but he made it. What happened, is everything okay, Laura?”

Her brows bent together. “He didn’t tell you?”

When I shook my head in response, she bent to kiss Jeremiah’s forehead, asking him to go wait in the car while she talked with me. We both turned to watch him, and once he was settled into the back seat, Laura spoke.

“Our house burned down on Tuesday night.”

My eyes were still on Jeremiah in the car, but my heart had fallen through my stomach to the ground at Laura’s words. I covered my mouth with one shaky hand, eyes filling with tears as I turned to face her.

“All of it?”

Her lip trembled, and she nodded as tears gathered in her eyes, too. “We lost everything. We’ve been staying at my parents’ house, but it’s across town, and there isn’t much room for all of us.” She choked out a sob. “We were with them the night it happened, thank God. It was Jeremiah’s birthday, so we had cake and presents at their house.”

It happened on his birthday.

Bile rose in my throat.

“It was an accident. My husband had gone back to the house to get a gift we’d left behind, and smoke was coming from the garage when he pulled up. He opened the door and saw the flames, called 9-1-1, but the roads were still pretty bad. It took them so long to get out there.” She sniffed, rubbing her raw nose with the back of her coat sleeve. “We have propane in there, you know? And gasoline we use for the chainsaws. Rob sells firewood every winter. The insurance company is claiming arson after the fire brigade said they can’t deem it accidental.”

“You’re kidding. They can’t do that, can they?”