Danika
Molly screams on the living room floor, banging her fists and kicking her feet against the carpet. After what felt like a million tests and three days of observation, the doctors discharged us with the recommendation of occupational and speech therapy. From what they could tell, Molly didn’t have any brain damage, but it’s impossible to say how those minutes without oxygen will affect her in the long run.
What I can and plan to tell the doctors at our follow-up visit next week is that my child is no longer a quiet, happy kid. All she does is eat, sleep, and scream. It’s like I have an infant again. A full grown infant that I can’t understand or please.
“Do you hurt?” I ask, signing the word hurt.
Molly doesn't see my hand because her eyes are shut. Tears of frustration stream down her cheeks and mine. I tried giving her food, she threw the plate. Gave her every doll she has, same response. Turned on the TV. Turned off the TV. Pulled her into my arms only for her to wiggle away. Brought cups of water, juice, soda, and milk. Nothing I do is working and I feel like a failure because I don’t know how to help my daughter.
“For crying out loud, Danika.” Tessa stomps into the living room, hands on her hips. “What’s wrong with that child now?”
I assume this is how Tessa was with Logan growing up. Impatient. She was helpful for all of a day after the accident. The first day we brought her home to be specific. The day my dad was there. Now that he’s back to work and life has resumed to normal for everyone but me, Tessa has no qualms telling me how much she hates having us here.
“Danika,” she sighs. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know how much more of this I can take. You either need to teach that child how to behave again or we’re going to have to discuss different living arrangements.”
I cross my legs, sitting upright because laying on the ground to Molly’s level didn’t make a difference. “Are you kidding me?”
Tessa drops her hands to her sides. “This was supposed to be temporary, while you found a place of your own. It’s been over a month. You’re a grown woman. We can’t support you forever.”
“Molly and I have only been home two days!” She has to be joking! Although, I’m not surprised. She ignored Logan’s fits, chalking them up as tantrums and focused all of her attention on her normal children. I should have known she’d never love my daughter. Molly’s always been different, her differences are a little more noticeable now.
“Exactly. You should have been figuring out your living arrangements while hanging out in the hospital.”
“Hanging out?” This woman has to be bi-polar because there is no way my father married this monster. “No one hangs out at a hospital. We were there because you almost killed my daughter!”
“For crying out loud, Danika.” Tessa rolls her heavily lined eyes. “When are you going to let that go? It was an accident.”
“Never,” Logan booms. I didn’t hear him come in over the sound of Molly’s screaming. Hell, Tessa and I have to yell just to hear each other. “And neither will I.”
He swoops Molly into his arms, magically silencing her with the comfort only he can provide. I should be jealous that he has that power but I don’t have the energy to waste on pointless emotions. I’m just grateful for the quiet.
Molly presses her palms to her head and looks at Logan with tears in her eyes. Headache. I climb to my feet and head towards the kitchen, brushing my shoulder against Tessa’s on my way. Back in the living room, I give Logan two chewable Tylenol tablets which Molly happily takes from him. She chews them up, takes a sip from her water cup, then rests her head back on his shoulder.
“Go upstairs and pack a bag, Danika. You and Molly are done here.”
I don’t care to argue at this point. I’m basically living for when Logan gets off work because that is when Molly stops crying. He could take us to the moon and we’d go.
“You can’t take her to a hotel, Logan,” his mother chides. “They’ll kick her out within hours.”
I pause at the top of the steps, a bag with my stuff in one hand and Molly’s in the other. Most of our things are in a tiny storage unit, so packing what we have here is easy enough.
“I’m not taking her to a fucking hotel, Mother. I’m taking my family home, like I would have done the day Molly was discharged if you hadn’t insisted on bringing her back here.”
40
Logan
Danika and Molly follow me to the house. I'm not surprised Danika doesn’t remember where I live. She was drunk, it was dark, and she’s got a screaming kid in the back seat. That seems to be all Molly does when I’m not around. Cry.
I don’t know what changed from the hospital to now. Molly was fine when we were discharged, not smiley like she used to be, but nothing like this. Maybe she can sense the hostility between Mom and Danika. Kids are like sharks, perceptive to things most adults don’t notice. Hell, I’m uncomfortable around those two half the time.
I pull into my driveway, leaving space for Danika to park beside me. As expected, Molly is crying in the backseat and Danika looks thoroughly exhausted. As soon as she unlocks the door, I’m at Molly’s side. “Hey, pretty girl.”
Molly’s hair sticks to her face in a sweaty mess. I push her brown locks out of her eyes and frown. “Does she feel hot?”
Danika sighs, not from frustration but because lately it seems like it’s one thing after another with Molly. I’ve helped as much as I could these past two days, but it hasn’t been enough. Getting to Mom’s house at seven-thirty gave Danika enough of a break to take a shower, enjoy a few minutes of peace, and that’s it. I can’t imagine how hard these past two days have been, doing everything alone because let’s face it, Mom probably wasn’t any help.
Danika puts the back of her hand to Molly’s cheek then forehead. “A little, but it could be because she cried the whole way here. Let’s get her inside, get her something to drink, then we’ll check her again.”