SARA WOKE TO THE PHONE ringing. Not her cell. The jangly kitchen phone. A leftover of the previous residents, the yellow, corded phone sat across the kitchen by the refrigerator plugged into an old answering machine. Sara hauled herself up, using the toilet, then the counter, for leverage. She squinted her eyes against the bright bathroom light, against the pain in her cheek where she must have struck the toilet on her way to the floor.
She stumbled down the hall and stopped just shy of the kitchen door. The knock on her head didn’t strike the memory of blood everywhere from her mind. She sidled to the entry and peeked inside. No blood. It had all been cleaned up.
It was never there.
She crossed the kitchen just as the old answering machine picked up. Sara and Jordan’s cheery voices inf
