“Come on, kid. I’m here. It will be okay. Let’s just find you some pajamas.”
“Sterling…” Her eyes are as round as the moon outside and shining with tears. “I had an accident.”
“It’s okay,” I say softly. “All the more reason to get cleaned up. I’ll stick around tonight, okay?”
She bobs her head and timidly gets to her feet. I notice the smell then.
It’s been a few days since I came to see her. I’d managed to snag a bed at a good shelter across town and hadn’t wanted to lose it. It looks like she hasn’t had a bath since then. Her hair hangs in stringy strands around her shoulders. There’s a slight rumble and I realize it’s her stomach.
“What did you eat for breakfast?” I ask her.
“I snuck out yesterday and got some cereal.” She bites her lip before carefully pulling a small box of cereal out from under her pillow. It’s the tiny, individual size they give out for school breakfast some days. I take it and see she’s eaten maybe half of it. My own stomach churns on the full meal I’d gotten at school this afternoon.
“Is this all you’ve had?” I ask. “Did you eat at school?”
“I haven’t gone to school.”
Something begins to pound and I realize it’s my heart. “Sutton.” I take her by her thin shoulders. “This is important. When was the last time you went to school?”
“A few days. I don’t know. Daddy says to stay in my room.”
How could I have left her this long? Usually, our mom can be trusted to take care of her and Dad? He never touches her. He just pretends she doesn’t exist. “And Mom hasn’t checked on you?”
“She’s sleeping. Daddy says she’s sick,” Suttons says quietly.
My heart is beating so fast it feels like it might burst through my chest. I force myself to stay calm. “Okay, let’s find those jammies and then I’ll get you some real food.”
“Don’t!” Sutton squeaks. “Daddy is really, really mad. If he sees you…”
“Hey, I can take care of myself, right?” I proved that too well. I’m as bad as he is—always looking out for myself. I should have been here for her.
We find her a big t-shirt. Most of her clothes are dirty. From the looks of it, mom hasn’t done laundry for a while. She changes into it and some fresh underwear while I stare out the window. I know why Sutton doesn’t want me to go out there. She might not have experienced one of his rages herself, but she’d seen me bear the brunt of one.
But I can’t ignore the sick, nervous feeling in my belly. Mom isn’t doing laundry. She’s not feeding Sutton. I can’t ignore that. I can’t stick around either. Dad will kill me. I’m absolutely positive. And Mom? It looks like she’s finally given up. How sick is she?
I take the dirty sheets off Sutton’s bed, find a blanket, and tuck her in with a teddy bear. “I’m going to bring you dinner in bed.”
“Dinner in bed?” She giggles. “There’s no such thing.”
“There absolutely is,” I say. “You know those big hotels we see when we go to Central Park?”
She nods, hanging off my every word.
“When you stay at one of them, they’ll bring you anything you want in bed.”
“Anything?” she repeats in awe. “Even ice cream?”
“Oh yeah.” I nod.
“Have you eaten ice cream in bed? Is that where you stay when you aren’t here?”
I fluff the pillow behind her head and grin. “Yeah,” I lie. “Of course, I do, and someday, it will be me and you staying at one of those hotels and eating ice cream.”
“Promise?”
I hold up a pinky and she hooks hers through it. “Promise.” I stand up. “I’m going to go get you something to eat.”
Sutton sinks down, pulling her covers up and clutching the shabby dollar store teddy bear I bought her last Christmas. “Be careful.”
She shouldn’t have to warn me to be careful when it comes to our father. She shouldn’t live like this. I need to get her out of here. There’s a social worker who keeps showing up at the midtown shelter. Maybe she’d help me.
I open the door a crack and peer out. Instantly, the scent of old garbage and something worse—something rotten—hits my nose, and I gag. Mom must really be sick to let it get this bad. I turn and hold up a finger to my mouth, reminding Sutton to be quiet. She pulls the covers over her head.
Dad has passed out on the couch with a full bottle of beer, a cigarette hanging limply from his mouth, the smoke flickering with his snores. I should take it and put it out before he burns the place down. I will, but after I make sure Sutton gets something to eat. If he wakes up, I’ll be in no condition to make sure she gets food.
The fridge is mostly empty, except for half a carton of milk that expired last week. I open it and smell it. It’s not too sour and if she eats it with the cereal, she probably won’t notice. It’s a trick I’ve picked up over the years. You have to make do with what you’ve got.
Flies are buzzing around the garbage can, which is probably home to whatever disgusting smell is radiating through the apartment. I carefully open the kitchen window to let some air in. It’s snowing outside, so I can’t risk letting too much cold air. I can’t assume the heating bill has been paid this time of year.
I find a bowl and dig a spoon out of a drawer of mismatched silverware. A quick perusal of the cabinets yields nothing more to bring her. Tomorrow, I’ll get to school early and charm the lunch lady, Gladys, into giving me two breakfasts. I can make it back here and get Sutton fed and dressed and to school myself if Mom’s not up to doing it. They’ll feed her lunch, and that
