“Sarah, what kind of joke is this?” I asked, confused and a little annoyed. “We don’t have time for games. Not with guests about to arrive.”
“It’s not a joke.” Her voice was just a whisper. “Please, Mom, trust me. You need to get out of this house now. Make up anything. Say you feel sick, but leave.”
The desperation in her eyes paralyzed me. In all my years as a mother, I had never seen my daughter so serious, so scared. “Sarah, you’re alarming me. What is going on?”
She looked at the door again, as if afraid someone was listening. “I can’t explain now. I promise I’ll tell you everything later. But right now, you have to trust me. Please.”
Before I could insist, we heard footsteps in the hall. The doorknob turned, and Richard appeared, his face now visibly irritated. “What’s taking you two so long? The first guest just arrived.”
I looked at my daughter, whose eyes were silently pleading. Then, on an impulse I couldn’t explain, I decided to trust her. “I’m sorry, Richard,” I said, bringing my hand to my forehead. “I suddenly feel a little dizzy. I think it might be a migraine.”
Richard frowned, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Right now, Helen? You were perfectly fine five minutes ago.”
“I know. It just hit me suddenly,” I explained, trying to sound genuinely unwell. “You guys can start without me. I’m going to take a pill and lie down for a bit.”
For a tense moment, I thought he was going to argue, but then the doorbell rang, and he seemed to decide that dealing with the guests was more important. “All right, but try to join us as soon as possible,” he said, leaving the room.
As soon as we were alone again, Sarah grabbed my hands. “You’re not going to lie down. We’re leaving here right now. Say you need to go to the pharmacy to buy stronger medicine. I’ll go with you.”
