Chapter 3 - What Was Left in the Kitchen
Emma remained under observation overnight.
Her breathing improved, but the swelling around her eyes made her look younger than ten. Each time she woke, she asked whether Rebecca had come back.
Lauren stopped answering after the third time.
A Columbus police officer accompanied Lauren to Diane’s house the next morning so she could collect Emma’s backpack and clothing. Diane had returned after midnight but was staying with Rebecca and had given permission through an attorney for Lauren to retrieve the items.
The kitchen had been cleaned hurriedly.
A damp streak crossed the tile where Emma had collapsed. The trash can had been emptied. The top of the refrigerator had been wiped except for a pale rectangle where the red pouch had rested.
Inside Emma’s backpack, Lauren found the safe breakfast she had packed: a sealed blueberry muffin from an allergy-conscious bakery, apple slices, and a carton of milk.
The muffin had never been opened.
On the counter sat a crumpled paper bag from Briarwood Bakery. Two product labels clung to the side.
Cinnamon cream.
Cashew praline.
One label had been peeled away from its wrapper.
Lauren photographed the bag and gave it to the officer.
At the hospital, Rebecca finally arrived wearing resort clothes and carrying the smell of chlorine.
“You called the police on Mom?” she demanded.
“The hospital called child services. Emma called emergency services.”
Rebecca’s expression shifted. “She had her watch?”
Lauren stared at her.
That was not the reaction of someone relieved a child had survived.
It was the reaction of someone learning that the child had been able to summon help.
Rebecca recovered quickly. She said Emma must have taken the wrong pastry from the bakery bag. She claimed she had placed the pouch on the refrigerator because Emma was swinging it and threatening to inject herself.
Emma could barely tolerate seeing needles.
Lauren waited until Rebecca finished.
“Why was Emma’s safe muffin still sealed?”
Rebecca looked toward the treatment-room door.
“She wanted what the other kids had.”
It was possible.
Six months earlier, Emma had secretly eaten part of an unmarked cookie at school because she was tired of being different. The nurse had called Lauren before symptoms developed. The incident had frightened Emma enough that she now checked every label twice.
Rebecca knew about it.
She also knew it could make her story believable.
Lauren asked hospital security to remove her sister from the floor.
Then she signed forms barring Rebecca and Diane from receiving medical information or visiting Emma.
When the social worker asked whether anyone else had seen breakfast, Lauren thought of Rebecca’s twelve-year-old daughter, Ava.
May you like
Ava had been in the kitchen.
And according to Michael, she had refused to speak since leaving the resort.
