Every Waking Moment

“We’ve got another thirty minutes or so.”

“Thirty minutes? Is that long?”

“It’s half an hour.”

“Is half an hour long?”

Preston chuckled. “Not really.”

“Can I have some ice cream when we get there?”

Emma made an effort to bring words to her lips. She’d given Max an insulin injection when they’d stopped, but his glucose level had reached 450 mg/dL, which was very high. She didn’t want him to have any more treats until she could get his blood sugar under control. “Don’t let him have another cookie, okay?” she mumbled.

Unless she was mistaken, Preston’s voice sounded almost gentle. “You’re supposed to be sleeping, remember?”

“He’s had enough sweets.”

“I won’t give him anything. We’re about to have dinner.”

She thought she said okay, but wasn’t sure. Exhaustion made her limbs heavy, her tongue unwieldy.

“My dad’s gonna be mad if we don’t go home soon,” Max announced.

The hot sun, glaring through her window, made Emma feel warm and lazy—as though she were lying at the side of their pool. Despite that, she realized her son was attempting to enforce his will by appealing to the power his father had always held in his life, and felt guilty for dragging him so far from home. They’d had to leave Max’s aquarium behind, his comfortable bedroom, his toys. Now they were struggling to deal with his health issues on the road. And they had almost nothing.

Except the chance at a new life, she reminded herself. She conjured up the little yellow house she’d imagined so often, and smiled inside. Soon they’d be safe and free.

“Does your dad ever play ball with you?” Preston asked conversationally.

“No.”

Emma let herself relax a little more. Maybe Preston wasn’t so bad. He was even trying to entertain her son. But his question almost made Emma laugh. Manuel wanted Max to excel at baseball, yet he couldn’t be bothered to stand out in the yard and play catch. He hired a private coach to work with him twice a week. Emma threw to him every other day.

“What’s your father like?”

The answers streamed through Emma’s mind like ticker tape: Controlling, obsessive, fanatical…

“He’s tall,” Max said.

“Did you live with him?”

Unfortunately…

“I still do.”

Not anymore, Max. Never again….

“So does he know you’re gone?”

“Um…” Max seemed a little puzzled. “He’s at work right now,” he answered at last.

“What does he do when he’s at work?”

Wouldn’t we all like to know….

“He wears a suit.”

“A suit, huh? Do you see him very often?”

“When he comes home.”

“Do you like it when he’s home?”

“Yeah. Sometimes he brings me a fish for my big tank.”

The fish Manuel brought home for Max’s aquarium seemed to swim through Emma’s thoughts. Shimmering. Colorful. Resplendent. And occasionally ferocious enough to eat the other fish in the tank….

“Then he takes my mom into the bedroom,” Max added out of nowhere.

Emma imagined Preston’s surprise that this comment would come from a five-year-old. She didn’t like her son volunteering such intimate information any more than she liked the way Max must feel about those occurrences; they’d obviously made an impact. But she felt strangely disconnected from the conversation. She was drifting in and out, baking in the hot sun. Sometimes she was beside the pool. Sometimes she was cooking in the house. Sometimes she was riding in the Hummer with Manuel at the wheel….

“What do you do while they’re in the bedroom?” Preston asked.

“I watch my new fish,” Max said.

Emma’s sluggish mind slowly presented a picture of her son standing in front of his aquarium while his father dragged her into the bedroom and locked the door. It never concerned Manuel, even when he hadn’t seen Max for a couple of weeks, and the boy was starved for his attention. Nor did Manuel care about the fact that Emma felt awkward and self-conscious with their child only a few feet from the door when he insisted on having sex with her. More often than not, Manuel went so far as to fasten her hands to the headboard. He liked bondage, but he rarely tied her feet. He wanted her to struggle. He relished having the power to subdue her while she tried to resist. Of course, if Max was awake in the other room, she had to do it silently, which Manuel enjoyed even more.

The heat became overwhelming. Too hot. Miserable. She wanted to find some relief. But there was no escape. Just as she feared there was no escape from the man she’d already lived with for five years. He’d never give up. He’d find her—

A hand touched her shoulder. She instantly recoiled.

“Emma?”

It was Preston. Breathing hard, she stared at him until the fact that he wasn’t Manuel could sink in.

“You seemed…agitated,” he said.

“The sun, it’s…hot on this side.”

He opened her air vent, which had apparently been closed, all the while watching her. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Letting her eyes drift shut again, she nodded while waiting for her galloping pulse to slow. She still longed to slip into a peaceful sleep. But she knew she’d never relax now. Her dreams had made Manuel feel too close. She imagined him speeding down the highway, quickly closing the distance between them.

When Preston spoke a few minutes later, he lowered his voice as though he thought she was asleep, but Emma heard every word.

“Is that where the accidents happen, Max?” he asked. “In the bedroom?”

“What accidents?”