The Push by Ashley Audrain (motivational novels TXT) 📗

‘He’s teething again,’ I told her. ‘Before we know it, he’ll have more teeth than you, if yours keep falling out.’

She shrugged her shoulders and skipped away to find you.

You were kind that night. You were affectionate with me. We snuck into their rooms together before we went to bed and stared at their soft, gorgeous heads.

44

We left earlier than I’d planned for some reason. It was just one of those rare smooth days when nobody made a mess of their clothes at breakfast, and Violet let me brush her hair without a fuss. So I didn’t have to yell things you aren’t supposed to yell. Hurry up! I’m out of patience! The morning was distinctly peaceful.

The three of us were rarely alone together on a weekday, but Violet’s school was closed for the day. I wanted to stop for tea on the way to the park. The owner of the coffee shop, Joe, talked to Violet like he always did while I stirred honey into my tea. He helped me get the stroller down the two big steps before he waved good-bye, and we walked to the corner, the fresh winter wind on our faces.

We stood at the intersection we crossed almost every day. I knew every crack in the sidewalk. I could close my eyes and see the graffiti tags on the redbrick building on the northwest side.

We waited for the light to change, Sam in his stroller watching for buses, Violet and I standing quietly. I reached for her hand, ready for our usual tug-of-war, but today there seemed no reason to argue.

‘Careful near the road,’ I’d said instead, one hand resting on the stroller. Sam’s arms reached toward Violet. He wanted out. I picked up my tea from the cup holder and brought it to my lips. Still too hot to sip, but the steam warmed my face. Violet looked up at me while we waited, and I thought she might ask me a question. When can we cross? Can I go back for a doughnut? I blew on my tea again as she watched me. I put it back in the holder, and then I touched Sam’s head in the stroller, a little reminder that I was there, behind him, that I knew he wanted out. I looked down at Violet. And then I lifted the cup to my lips again.

Her pink mittens left her pockets and they reached for me. She yanked my elbow with both of her hands. So swiftly, so forcibly, that the hot liquid scalded my face. I dropped the cup and gasped as I looked down. And then I screamed: ‘Violet! Look what you did!’

As those words were coming out of my mouth, as I was clutching my burning skin with both hands, Sam’s stroller rolled onto the road.

I will never forget her eyes in that moment – I couldn’t look away from them. But I knew what happened as soon as I heard it.

The stroller was twisted by the impact.

Sam was still strapped into the seat when he died.

There was no time for him to think of me, or to wonder where I was.

I thought right away of the navy-striped overalls I’d dressed him in that morning. That Benny was in the stroller, too. That I would have to take Benny home without him. And then I wondered how I would get Benny out of the mess, out of that stroller, because Sam would need him that night to fall asleep.

I stared in disbelief at the curb in the middle of the chaos around me – the slight slope of cement and then a groove where the sidewalk met the asphalt – how had it not stopped him? The ice had melted in the warmth of the day before. The sidewalk was dry. Why hadn’t the wheels slowed when they hit the groove? I usually had to shove it over the curb when we crossed, didn’t I? Didn’t I usually have to shove it?

I couldn’t breathe. I stared at Violet. I had seen her pink mittens reach for the stroller when I let go. I had seen her mittens on the handle before the stroller hit the road. I closed my eyes. Pink wool, black rubber handle. I shook my head vigorously at the thought.

I have no memory of what happened next or how we got to the hospital. I don’t remember seeing him or touching him. I hope I pulled him out of his straps and held him on the cold asphalt. I hope I kissed him over and over.

But I think maybe I just stood there. On that curb, staring at the groove.

A mother was driving the SUV with her two kids in the back, the same ages as ours. She went straight through the green light, as she had every right to, as she’d probably done three thousand times before. The two cars coming the other way slammed on their brakes when they saw the stroller, but she didn’t have time. She didn’t even brake. I’ve always wondered what thoughts had been occupying her mind when it happened. If she was singing songs with her kids or answering their trail of questions. Maybe looking in the rearview mirror, smiling at her baby. Maybe she was daydreaming, thinking about how much she’d rather be anywhere else but in that car, listening to her kids scream.

I wish it hurt more. I wish I could still feel it like it happened today. Sometimes I have moments when the pain is gone and I think, My God, I’m dead inside. I’ve died with him. I used to spend every minute of every day staring at his things, willing the pain to flood back. I sobbed because it didn’t hurt enough. And then days later the pain would