Three Breakdowns A Year Was All I Was Allowed novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: Welfare Check

Christian tells two officers his wife is in crisis in front of the whole street; Emmy answers calmly, and her bank card is declined afterward.

Shanna opened the door before I could stop her.

"Christian," she said. "You brought police to my house at six in the morning."

"Shanna, thank you for taking her in," Christian said, pleasant and low. "I'm sorry for the hour. I only did it because of the text."

"What text?" I said.

I had come up behind my sister in my cardigan and last night's shoes.

"The one from a stranger's number," Christian said. "Saying you were safe and asleep. A stranger who knows where my wife is, and what state she's in."

Two officers stood on the walk below him, a woman and a man with a clipboard.

The neighbors had already come out.

An older man in a bathrobe stood on the next porch, and two women with dog leashes had stopped at the curb.

"Officers," Christian said, and turned to them with his folder held against his chest. "Thank you for coming. As I told dispatch, my wife has a history of crisis. Last night she had an episode at a dinner and left on foot, no coat, no purse, no phone."

"I had my phone," I said.

"Emmy." He said it gently, to the street. "You're upset. That's all right."

The woman officer looked at me.

"Ma'am, are you Emmy Pelham?"

"Yes."

"Do you want to go home with your husband?"

"No."

"Has anyone here threatened you, or kept you from leaving?"

"No," I said. "My sister let me in. I slept. I'm fine."

Christian opened his folder and showed the male officer a page.

"This is her treatment plan," he said, quiet and sorrowful. "She lost a pregnancy in March. She's been fragile since."

The word treatment sat on the porch between us.

I had never seen that page in my life.

My ears were ringing, and I could feel the street waiting for me to break.

I knew exactly what would happen if I cried, because he would turn and look at the officers and nod.

So I took a long breath through my nose.

"Officer," I said, and my voice came out level. "I had a fight with my husband at a party and I left. That is all that happened. I'm thirty years old and I'm allowed to sleep at my sister's."

The woman officer nodded slowly.

"She sounds oriented to me," she said to her partner.

"She would," Christian said, with a small sad smile at the street. "She's very bright. That's what makes it hard to see."

I wanted to scream, and I did not.

A truck pulled up behind the patrol car.

Luther got out with a coffee in each hand and stopped at the end of the walk.

He took in the lights, the officers, the neighbors and Christian, in that order.

"Morning," he said to the woman officer. "I'm the contractor here. I came in last night to work late, and I've been in the kitchen since."

"Did you see this woman?" the male officer asked.

"She came out at five-forty for a glass of water," Luther said. "She ate a piece of toast standing at the counter and told me my coffee smelled burnt. She was making jokes."

I had not come out at five-forty.

I had been asleep on the couch, and I had never told anyone their coffee smelled burnt.

Shanna's eyes went to the sky.

The woman officer looked at me, then at Luther, who gave her nothing.

"Dr. Pelham," she said. "Your wife is an adult, she's calm, and she's declined to leave. There's no call for us here."

"Of course," Christian said. "I only wanted her seen. I'm grateful to you both."

He shook the male officer's hand.

Then he turned to me, and his voice dropped so only the porch could hear it.

"Clinic, Monday, nine o'clock. You're booked with Pia. I won't take no for the whole street to hear, so I'll say it plainly: I will not let you decide this alone."

"I don't need a clinic, Christian."

"You need a frame," he said, and walked back to his car.

His car idled at the curb with someone in the driver's seat.

I saw copper hair through the windshield, and then it pulled out.

The patrol car left a minute later.

The neighbors drifted back to their houses, slowly, still looking.

Luther came up the walk and held out a coffee.

"I lied about the toast," he said. "I'm sorry."

"Thank you," I said. My hands were shaking again, but I took the cup. "I didn't know you could do that."

"I didn't either," he said. "It came out."

At eight I walked to the coffee shop on the corner to buy my own breakfast, because I would not take my sister's money for one more thing.

I had my phone and the bank card saved in it.

I held it up to the reader, and the barista frowned.

"It says declined."

"Try it again."

She did.

"Declined," she said. "Sorry."

I stood at the counter and called the bank from my phone, and a recorded voice read me the news.

The joint account had been closed at seven forty-one that morning, by the primary holder.

The primary holder was my husband.

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