The Schedule Change

The hospital moved my mom's shift up by three hours, which is the only reason any of us know what Wednesday actually looked like when nobody was supposed to be watching.

I heard the balcony door rattling before I heard my mom's key in the front lock. Through the sliding glass I could see Pearl out there in the rain, in just a t-shirt, both fists pounding the glass so hard I was scared she'd put a hand through it, her whole face swollen and red from crying.

Damon was six feet away on the couch, phone in one hand, not even looking up.

"Damon." My mom's voice from the doorway didn't sound like her voice. "Why is my daughter outside."

"She's fine, she's just cooling off," he said, still scrolling. "She had an accident. It's been like five minutes."

Pearl had stopped pounding the glass. She was just standing there now, shaking, watching the three of us through the door like she'd already learned that pounding didn't work, that the only thing left to do was wait and hope somebody on the other side of the glass decided to let her back in.

My mom crossed the living room in about two steps and hauled the door open, and the sound Pearl made when the warm air hit her wasn't crying anymore, it was something with no shape to it at all.

"Five minutes," my mom said, wrapping her jacket around a three-year-old who'd gone the color of chalk. She wasn't looking at Damon when she said it. She was looking at me.

I didn't answer, because we both already knew five minutes had never once been true in this apartment.