“All right, give me five.”
“What?” She frowns, her plump lips twisting in displeasure, and it might as well be a knife in my chest.
“I’m coming with you.”
“To my café?”
“I need to borrow the Camaro.”
“Where are you going?”
“I need a few things.”
She nods to the keys on the counter and collects her purse. “I’ll be outside. Lock up.”
She leans down to pet Beau and gives him an exaggerated kiss, and I’m instantly jealous.
Age Eleven
I glance at the clock when the front door slams, and a second later, Delphine cuts the music off. The clink of a bottle to glass in the kitchen tells me she’s not going to be driving us to school in a few hours, which means it’s up to me to make sure we make it. Truancy will have us scrutinized, and we don’t need social services at our door, not with the state the house is in. And once again, I’ll have to be the one to clean it. It’s only been a few months since our parents died, the worst months of my life. Dom’s not getting any better. The happy kid he was has all but disappeared because of our aunt’s indifference and cruelty. She doesn’t have the motherly gene, and she’s made it clear, daily, that we’re an obligation she never wanted. But if she falls suspect by outsiders as unfit to parent us—which she is—we’ll be taken away, and I won’t have that. I won’t be separated from my brother.
Deciding to get a little sleep, I set my cheap alarm hoping the batteries don’t die, and settle back into my mattress when I hear the unmistakable sound of my brother’s stifled sobs across the hall. Tossing my thin, itchy sheet off, I walk into Dominic’s room to see him lying on his stomach. His head is pressed into his pillow to muffle his cries, his shoulders shaking. Turning on his plastic lamp, I sit on the edge of his twin bed, and he freezes, fear in his eyes until he sees it’s me.
“It’s okay, Dom. They’re gone. The party is over. Go back to sleep.” I cup his shoulder and feel his skin blazing through his thin pajama top. I turn him over, lift his shirt, and realize he’s covered in chickenpox.
He stares down at his chest and stomach in fear. “I didn’t do anything.”
“It’s not your fault. You have chickenpox.”
“Am I going to die like Mama and Papa?”
I grind my teeth at the ache in my chest. “No. They’ll itch for a while, but you only get them once.”
“You had them too?”
“Yes, and it made me stronger. I’ll get you some medicine to help the itch in the morning.”
The door bursts open, and Delphine eyes us both.
“What are you two doing awake?”
I roll my eyes. “How could we sleep with all that noise?”
“That’s grown-up business. Go back to bed.”
“He’s got a fever and chickenpox.” She looks at Dominic warily as I lift his shirt for her to see. “He can’t go to school. They’ll send him home.”
“Well, I can’t take off work,” she huffs, “we can’t afford it.”
“Then I’ll stay home,” I argue back. “He’s not going to be sick and alone.”
“You can’t miss school.”
“I’m not leaving him here. End of.” That’s what Papa used to say when he meant business, and I hope it’s just as effective.
She glowers at us before she turns and slams the door.