Chapter 6
My mother called ten minutes later. Brenna must have messaged her the moment Camille entered. The phone rang four times before I answered. “Emmett, what are you doing?” Mom demanded. “Your sister says you’re putting her and Maddox on the street.” I put the call on speaker. Brenna sat straighter.
“Last night I fell on the porch and broke my ankle,” I said. “They watched through the window and refused to help. Jonas had to call the ambulance.” There was silence. Then my mother said, “Brenna?” My sister wiped her face. “He was yelling at everyone. We thought he was exaggerating.” “I was lying in the rain.” “You always make everything you do for us sound like a sacrifice.” My mother’s voice changed. “What exactly did you say to him?” Brenna looked away. I answered for her. “She said they were not my servants.”
The line went quiet. I sent my mother photographs Jonas had taken: my swollen ankle, the spilled groceries, the wet porch, and the hospital report. Then I sent the list of expenses. My mother did not respond for nearly an hour. When she finally called Brenna, she was no longer defending her. We heard her voice through the phone from across the kitchen. “You left your brother outside with a broken bone?” Brenna hurried upstairs and closed the door.
That afternoon, Jonas installed temporary locks on my bedroom, office, pantry, and garage cabinet. We changed the Wi-Fi password. I removed my credit card from Brenna’s shopping accounts and froze the card she had used. Camille photographed every wall, appliance, and piece of furniture. Colter followed us from room to room. “This is humiliating,” he said. I stopped beside the television he had broken and replaced with my money. “Humiliating was asking for help through my own front door while you increased the volume on my television.” For the first time, he had no answer.
That evening, Jonas ordered chicken tortilla soup for both of us. The smell of lime, roasted peppers, and warm bread filled the kitchen. I had not ordered food for Brenna’s family.
May you like
Maddox stood at the doorway, watching us. “Can I have some?” His voice was quieter than usual. I looked at him. He was still a child, but he was old enough to understand what he had seen. “Why didn’t you help me last night?” He lowered his eyes. “Dad said you were probably trying to make everyone feel guilty.” “What did you think?” “I thought you looked hurt.” “Then why did you stay inside?” His mouth trembled. “I didn’t want them to get mad at me.”
I ladled soup into a bowl and placed it in front of him. “Eat.” He sat down. Before he lifted the spoon, I said, “Remember something. When someone is lying on the ground, helping them is not taking sides. It is being human.” Maddox nodded. Tears fell into the steam rising from his bowl.
