My brother talks animatedly to my mother about his big plans. He’s convinced this shipment of guns is going to solve all of his problems.
Tiffany stumbles from my brother’s bedroom with her shoes clutched to her chest. Silas, or should I say Savage, doesn’t acknowledge her. He keeps right on rambling to my mother as she puffs on her Virginia Slims.
I notice Tiff’s cheek is bruised today. It’s a different shade than the bruise on her eye.
Savage disgusts me. He’s taken over every bit of the Silas I once knew.
“Would you like something to eat before you go?” I ask her before she reaches the door.
Both my brother and mother pause briefly but quickly go back to their conversation.
Tiffany’s eyes widen, and she turns to look at me over her shoulder. Her gaze then slides around the room before landing back on me. “That’s okay. I wouldn’t want to be any trouble.”
“It’s no trouble.” I move to the stove. “Here, I’ll pack you something for the road.” I’m sure she’s not interested in sitting at a table with my brother, or at least she shouldn’t be.
Her hand remains on the door handle while I quickly roll up a breakfast sandwich in a sheet of tinfoil. When I walk over and hand it to her, tears fill her eyes. “Why are you so nice to me?” she asks quietly.
“Because I don’t want to be the alternative.” I pointedly look at what’s left of my childhood family.
She stares at the sandwich in her hand. “Thank you.”
I place my hand on her arm. “You’re welcome.”
As soon as she leaves, I go back to the sink, watching the wind blow the trees as I clean the dishes. I’ve finally caught up. I think every dish they owned was dirty when I arrived. My brother might have a nicer place, but it won’t last long with the way they take care of it.
Something catches my eye just beyond the yard, and my heart stops.
It’s Carver. He’s hiding behind a tree, watching Tiffany pull out of the driveway.
He’s going to ruin everything. What the fuck is he doing here?!
My mind races to think of an excuse to go outside. I quickly hurry into the laundry room and pull the wet sheets out of the washing machine, dumping them into a laundry basket.
“I think I’ll hang these up outside. If that’s okay?” I ask Silas, waiting patiently by his side for permission like a child.
He pats me on the back. “It sure has been nice having you home. Hasn’t it, Momma?”
She looks at me and rolls her eyes. “It would be if she didn’t run that sewing machine of your grandmother’s all damn night. I didn’t get a wink of sleep.”
“I’m sorry. I was just working on a quilt Grandma never finished. I thought it would look pretty on your bed.”
“I didn’t hear a fucking thing,” my brother says. He stands, leaving his plate on the table for me to pick up. “I’m going to hit the shower and get ready for our shipment tonight.” He rubs his hands together excitedly.
“So, it’s okay to hang these out on the line?”
“Whatever tickles your pickle,” he tells me before leaving the room.
“I’m going back to bed,” my mother informs me, also neglecting to clean up after herself.
It’s funny how quickly they’ve reverted back to trusting me. I’ve only been here a week, but I have busted my ass trying to prove I’m on their side.
I take a deep breath, knowing what faces me outside might be worse than what’s inside.
My heart races as I hang the first few sheets. Once I’m sure no one has followed me, I begin to speak, facing away from the house in case my brother is watching from a window.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I ask, but my focus remains on my task.
Of course he doesn’t respond.