Momma

She’s perfect, really. The curls that cascade around her shoulders, dark as chocolate. Those wide eyes that follow my every movement. That giggle that seems to fill the room with sunlight and strawberries and every other good thing the world has to offer.

“Momma,” she says, “can we go play?”

“Sure, honey.” Honey. I love that word. She’s all the sugary goodness of honey, and more. 

Lydia hops down from the breakfast table and runs to the door, Barkley skidding on the hardwood floor behind her. She laughs and wraps her arms around Barkley’s neck, and his tongue slobbers her cheek.

I smile at them. My happy babies.

She grabs my hand as we walk to the park at the end of the neighborhood, and I try to hold on to the feeling of her soft fingers in mine. They won’t always be there--so I squeeze them, and she laughs.

“Catch, Barkley!” She snags the frisbee from my hands and throws it across the grass. I hold my breath, but it just misses the street, and Barkley catches it before it hits the ground. 

“Good boy!” says Lydia, clapping her hands. Barkley sprints over and drops the frisbee at her feet. 

“Watch the road, honey,” I warn, and she nods before throwing it again.

We take turns tossing, and after ten minutes, Barkley’s lying in the grass, panting hard.

“I think he’s done,” I say, laughing.

“One more, Momma!” she says. She tosses the frisbee with all her might. Barkley just looks at it flying through the air and rolls over onto his back.

I chuckle and kneel to rub his belly, so I don’t notice her running toward the frisbee.

It's on the street.

“Leave it! I got it!” I start to yell when I realize where it’s landed, but there’s no time.

A red truck zooms around the corner. I hear a sickening snap and watch her body disappear under the tires.

And then the truck doesn’t stop. I see the driver look over at me, and familiarity pierces my heart--I know that beard, and that tattoo on the shoulder--but when it bumps over her body, the truck just accelerates and screeches away. 

I’m screaming so loud the earth shatters. I see her body and nothing else, the odd angle of her legs, the blood-soaked dress. Barkley’s going mad beside me as I stumble toward my light, and she’s not moving, and the world is going black black black--

“Miss. Miss, can you hear me?”

Blackness. All I see is blackness. 

“Miss?”

I groan. I’m lying on something soft, and there’s a beeping on my right side.

“Miss, can you open your eyes?”

I groan again and start to squint, adjusting to the light. Two women in white coats peer down at me. The one on the right has very short hair, and the one on the left holds a clipboard.

“I’m Dr. Mary,” says the one on the right. “And this is Dr. Louise. You were in an accident.”

“Lydia,” I rasp. My throat burns when I try to clear it. “Lydia,” I say louder.

Dr. Mary knits her eyebrows while Dr. Louise looks at the clipboard.

“Do you remember anything, Miss?” Dr. Mary asks.

“Lydia.” My voice is louder. Stronger. “Where’s Lydia?”

“I’m afraid we don’t know any Lydia. Let’s just focus on you first, alright?” says Dr. Louise. “Can you tell me your name?”

I cough. “Um--Jess. Jess Hudson.”

Dr. Louise looks at her chart and nods. “Good. Can you tell me where we are, Jess?”

I stare at her. “I--I don’t know.”

She scribbles something on the chart. “Do you remember what happened? Anything at all?”

“There--there was a truck, a red truck…I don’t understand, I saw it hit Lydia, did it hit me too?”

I catch Dr. Louise’s glance at Mary, and feel a lump of panic in my throat. “What?” I croak.

“We have it here that you fell down some stairs and hit your head,” says Dr. Mary. “Were you in this car accident before that?”

I rack my brain, and the panic intensifies when all I can see is Lydia’s body disappearing under the truck. “I don’t know! I can’t--I can’t remember anything!”

A young man walks in suddenly, and I gasp. The beard’s shorter, but there’s that tattoo on his shoulder. It’s an eye, and it stares at me.

“You!” I yell, my throat burning. I half sit up and ignore my screaming muscles.

Dr. Mary shifts so she’s half-blocking my view. “And you are, sir?”

“Danny Hudson,” he says roughly, collapsing into a chair by the foot of the bed. “The husband.”

“No!” I shout. “He’s my--my ex-husband, he killed her, he killed her because I got custody….”

“How many meds did you give her, doc?” snaps Danny, inching the chair closer.

“Stay back!” I shout.

Dr. Mary clears her throat. “Mr. Hudson, I’m going to have to ask you to leave so Jess here can calm down and get used to her bearings.”

He glares at her. “Fine. Just tell me if Lydia’s ok.”

“...Lydia?” Dr. Mary glances at me and I widen my eyes.

“The baby!” he growls, and my mouth falls open. “What?” he snarls at me, and suddenly I want to curl in a ball.

Dr. Mary clears her throat. “All fine, from the ultrasound. Please wait in the lobby.”

He shoots her and Dr. Louise another glare before stalking out of the room.

Dr. Mary looks at me as soon as the doors close. “That’s your husband?”

“I don’t--I don’t understand…” I whimper, feeling my eyes brim with tears.

“You’ve just had a traumatic experience, Jess. Some memory loss is perfectly normal.”

“But I do remember. He hit her...”

“Jess,” said Dr. Mary, lowering her voice. “Are you...safe?”

I stare at her. “What?”

“Well, some of your bruises are fresh, but the ones back here are days old, even weeks.” She touches a spot on the back of my thighs and I wince.

“He killed Lydia,” I whisper. “That’s all I know. He killed her.”

Dr. Mary looks at me hard and lightly touches my stomach. “He didn’t, Jess. She’s there, healthy and safe. She’s fine. And you can both get out of this--this situation. Let me help you.”

“We can’t get out. We can never get out.” I watch the truck ram into Lydia, and her neck snap, and her legs break, and the blood pool below her, and I don’t stop screaming for a long time.