Milk is for calves, he muttered. But he took another bite. He ate the entire cookie. Well, he said, brushing crumbs from his thin hospital gown. Don’t just stand there. You’re letting a draft in? It was a dismissal, but it wasn’t scat. Emma nodded. Yes, sir. She left. It became their secret ritual. Every day at 3:30, Emma would bring him a cookie.
Sometimes it was oatmeal. Sometimes, if her mother had extra baking money, it was a chocolate chip one she bought from the cafeteria. He never ever said, “Thank you.” Instead, he would complain. “This one’s too hard. This one’s too soft. Do you know how much sugar is in this? It’s poison.” But he always always ate it.
He started talking to her, not about himself, not about the war. He would ask her about school. What are they teaching you? You learning long division? Yes, sir. Waste of time. No one uses long division. You got a calculator? What about that nurse Jacobs? He’d ask. She’s a dragon, isn’t she? She’s just very strict, Emma would say. Hymph.
She’s wound too tight. Needs a cookie. Emma learned things about him in little pieces. She learned he hated the color green. He liked baseball, but only the old games. And he hated being called Henry. Name’s Hank. He told her. Only doctors and tax collectors call me Henry. One day, nurse Jacobs almost caught her.
Emma was just handing Hank the cookie when the nurse’s shadow fell across the doorway. Miss Carter, Nurse Jacob said, her voice sharp. Emma froze. Hank’s hand, which had been reaching for the cookie, snapped back. Your mother is looking for you. You are not to be in this room. Patients are not a sideshow. Mr.
Porter needs his rest. “She’s fine,” Hank growled from the bed. “She’s not hurting anyone.” “Hos policy, Mr. Porter. No unsupervised children. Now, Emma, go. Emma looked at Hank. He looked at her. Then, he looked away out the window.
He looked small. Emma ran out, her face burning with shame. Her mother was waiting.
Emma, what did I tell you? What did I tell you? Mary’s voice was shaking. Nurse Jacobs went to Mr. Henderson. She said, I can’t control my own child. She said, you’re a liability. Do you know what that means? It means I could lose this job. I’m sorry, Mama. Emma whispered. Tears pricricked her eyes. I just He’s hungry. He doesn’t eat the food.
That is not your problem, Mary said, her voice rising. Then she saw Emma’s face and her anger melted into pure exhaustion. She knelt and put her hands on Emma’s shoulders. Baby, I know your heart is good. It’s the best thing about you. But this world, it’s not kind to people with good hearts. We can’t afford trouble. We have to be invisible.
Do you understand? Number more cookies.The next day, 3:30 came and went. Emma stayed in her closet. She tried to do her math homework, but the numbers swam. She felt a heavy, cold feeling in her stomach. She pictured Mr. Hank staring at the door, waiting. She lasted two days.
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