PART 2
For one second, I thought I was going to watch my daughter die.
Then her boot hit the metal snow guard near the edge of the roof. A little row of brackets my late husband had installed ten years earlier, because he said this old house “throws snow like a cannon.” Remy’s foot caught on one.
She stopped sliding. Two feet from the edge.
She lay there on her back, frozen, clutching the shingles.
“Don’t move!” I screamed. “Baby, don’t move!”
Our neighbor, Mr. Ostrowski, a retired roofer in his seventies, came running across the street with an extension ladder. My sister held the bottom. He climbed up and talked to Remy the whole time.
“You’re okay, kiddo. Don’t look down. Look at me. I’ve got you.”
The fire truck arrived four minutes later. Two firefighters climbed up with harnesses and brought Remy down in one.
When her feet touched the snow, she ran straight into my arms.
I was so weak from treatment that I fell over. We sat in the snowbank together, holding each other, crying.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” she sobbed. “I’m sorry. I tried to do everything he said so he wouldn’t call you. He said you’d get sicker if I complained.”
The police arrived right behind the firefighters.
Kent was still standing on the porch with his coffee.
“It was an accident,” he told them. “She slipped. Kids slip.”
I showed the officer the insurance claim on my phone.
“Professional roof snow removal. Licensed contractor. $2,400.”
Then I pointed at my daughter.
“That’s the contractor.”
The officer read the claim. Then he looked at Kent.
The investigation found the rest.
Kent had filed three claims that winter. Snow removal. Gutter repair. “Ice dam prevention.” All done by Remy. All paid to him.
He’d also kept her home from school eleven days. To shovel. To clean. To cook for him.
Her school had called the house five times. Kent told them she had the flu.
He was charged with child endangerment and insurance fraud. The insurance company pressed charges too.
I filed for divorce from my hospital follow-up appointment the next week. My oncologist signed my paperwork as a witness. She said it was the best thing she’d seen all month.
Kent pleaded guilty in the summer. He went to jail for eighteen months.
Remy went back to school. She caught up on everything. Her teachers said she’s one of the hardest workers they’ve ever had.
I already knew that.
My scans have been clear for a year now.
This winter, after the first big storm, I hired a real roofing company to clear the snow. Mr. Ostrowski supervised from his front yard with a cup of cocoa.
Remy and I stayed inside. Under a blanket. Watching movies.
When the roofers finished, she looked out the window at the clean shingles.
“Mom,” she said. “That’s not my job anymore, right?”
“Baby,” I said, “your only job is being thirteen.”
THE END.
