Chapter 2 - IN THE CAR
Nobody spoke until we reached the end of the block.
Rebecca sat in front because she got carsick in the back.
Samuel and Jacob were behind us.
Three white aprons lay crumpled on the floor.
I should have thrown them away.
I didn’t.
Not yet.
My hands tightened around the steering wheel.
“Did Grandpa hurt any of you?”
“No,” Samuel said quickly.
Too quickly.
“Samuel.”
“No.”
“Grandma?”
He looked out the window.
Rebecca answered.
“She grabbed Jacob’s arm when he tried to leave.”
My jaw tightened.
“How?”
“Just grabbed him.”
“Hard?”
Jacob said:
“A little.”
I looked in the mirror.
“Show me.”
He held up his forearm.
No obvious bruise.
Still.
“What happened today?”
Rebecca stared straight ahead.
“We got there at eleven.”
I had dropped them with my parents because I had to handle an emergency at work.
The party began at one.
I planned to arrive before two.
It was almost three when I walked in.
“What happened at eleven?”
“Grandma gave us aprons.”
“Why?”
“She said family members have to earn their place before they enjoy things.”
My stomach turned.
“Did you eat?”
Silence.
“Rebecca.”
“We had crackers.”
“How many?”
“I don’t know.”
Samuel said:
“Grandma said the barbecue was for guests.”
I pulled onto a side street and stopped.
I could not drive.
Not safely.
I turned around.
“You are guests.”
Jacob whispered:
“She said we were different.”
“How?”
“Because you spoil us.”
My throat tightened.
Rebecca stared at her lap.
“She said everyone thinks we’re rich kids.”
“Everyone?”
“She said cousins talk about us.”
“Which cousins?”
“I don’t know.”
Then:
“She said we needed to understand that money doesn’t make us important.”
I closed my eyes.
My parents had spent years telling me my success meant I owed family.
Now they were teaching my children that the same success made them morally suspect.
“Why didn’t you call me?”
Rebecca’s face changed.
“Grandma took our phones.”
Samuel did not have one.
Rebecca had a basic smartphone for school and emergencies.
It was not in her hand.
“Where is it?”
“Grandma’s kitchen drawer.”
I stared.
“She took your phone?”
“She said working children don’t need phones.”
That sentence brought my anger back so quickly I had to inhale through my nose.
“We’re going back.”
All three children reacted.
“No!”
Jacob’s voice was the loudest.
I stopped.
Not going back.
Good.
My first instinct was recovery.
Mine.
Not theirs.
“We’re not going back.”
Jacob leaned into Samuel.
I turned the car on again.
Then Rebecca said:
“Dad?”
“Yes?”
“Grandma said you would be angry but you’d forgive them.”
My hand froze on the gear shift.
“What exactly did she say?”
Rebecca thought.
“She said, ‘Your father always gets dramatic. Then he remembers who his family is.’”
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For years, I had called my silence patience.
My mother apparently called it predictability.
