Page 6 of Sharp Lies

I hadn’t told her about Tony’s rules or the increasing temper because I’d known what she’d say about that, too.

I hated that she’d been right.

But I also loved the living daylights out of her for showing up when I needed her most.

“Mom?” I called out weakly, wondering if she was here. I looked around, half expecting to see her sleeping on a chair in the room, but didn’t see anything more than the machinery and the white curtain. I did find, however, a button that I figured must be a call button for whatever nurse was supposed to be looking after me. I pressed it quickly, wondering what hospital I was actually in. We didn’t have one in Oakville, but there was one in the next town over. Not a real hospital. Not like one they would have in Chicago.

But enough to treat a bump on the head.

When the nurse came bustling through the door, I saw bright red hair and a freckled face that I recognized.

“Sally!” I gasped, happy to see a friendly face.

The woman I’d known since I was in first grade looked up and smiled, though I noticed that it didn’t touch her eyes. Instead of answering, she went and checked the monitor, then held her fingers to my wrist and counted for a second as she measured my pulse. She took a small flashlight out of her pocket and shone it into each of my eyes for a second, and then, evidently satisfied, finally stood up and gave me a stern look.

“Lily,” she said firmly, “do you remember how you got here?”

“Well, no,” I replied. “But I’m guessing it had something to do with my mom and her station wagon.”

“You’re lucky you didn’t have to be brought here in an ambulance,” she said by way of answer. “You’re concussed and bruised, and you’ve got a dent in the back of your skull that could have been a fracture if he’d hit you any harder. What happened?”

I gulped. I didn’t have a plan for this, but I realized now that I probably should have thought about that before I pressed the button. Of course, there were going to be questions. I’d come in with bruises around my throat and probably on my arms, passed out and with, I guessed, signs that I’d hit my head on something.

Evidently that was enough for the doctors and nurses to put two and two together.

Only I didn’t want to get Tony in trouble.

Or... No, that wasn’t quite right. I did want to get him in trouble. I wanted him to pay for what he’d done, and even more than that, I wanted him off the street so he couldn’t do this again. I wanted someone to go over there and throttle him for thinking it was okay to lay hands on me and blame me for something I’d never done!

I hated him for what he’d done.

But a deeper, darker part of me was terrified of what he’d do if he found out that I’d told anyone. And I was even more frightened of what he might do to my mother.

And now Sally Allen was standing there looking at me like she knew everything going through my head and was expecting me to tell her what had happened. But if I told her...

If I told her, and Tony found out that I’d told her, I had no doubt he’d come after me again.

“I was cleaning underneath the sink and tried to get up while I was still in the cupboard,” I told her, trying my damnedest to sound rueful and embarrassed. “Hit my head so hard that I saw stars, and then felt so stupid about it that I jerked and hit it again. Knocked myself right out.”

Her eyes narrowed, and she stared hard at me, trying to draw the truth out of me with her eyes alone. “You did this to yourself?”

“I know. Stupid, right? You’d think I’d be able to stand up like an adult without half-killing myself in the process.”

“And what about the marks on your neck?”

I put a hand to my throat, knowing exactly what she was referring to. “Scratched myself until I bruised, I guess,” I muttered. “It happens sometimes.”

She knew I was lying. I knew she knew, and she must have known I knew she knew.

But I wasn’t ready yet.

I didn’t have a plan. And I wasn’t going to put my mom in danger until I knew how to handle it.

“Um, can I get some water?” I asked, wanting nothing more than for her to leave me alone. “And is my mom here?”

“Went home to get some rest,” she said. “She was here all night, but we finally convinced her that you’d need her in good working order. She’ll be back in a few hours.”

Relief bled through me at the thought of her being here. She’d know what to do. And I could tell her the truth. I was sure of it. She’d know how to handle everything.