“If you want to, you can sweep the edges, wherever I show you. Just don’t walk over anything until I say it’s clear. There’s a broom in the pantry.”
“On it!”
Outside, the rain picks up, pounding the windows.
Fall means darker, earlier nights. This normal weather only compounds the claustrophobia inside the house.
I shiver.
“Here, hold it open for me,” I say, passing him a big black trash bag from under the sink. After putting two mugs of milk in the microwave for chocolate, I start sweeping.
By the time Kane returns with his shirt plastered to his shoulders and his hair damp, the floor looks clear, and the kids each have a hot chocolate in hand.
Dan fiddles with the windup drummer boy. I’m glad he has it so he’s not hyper-focused on the break-in, even if the little toy feels a touch creepy right now.
“Did you see anything?” I ask Kane the second he’s through the door.
“Nothing.” He shakes his head. “A half-smeared bootprint in the mud by the driveway and some tire tracks, but nothing real useful.”
A flash of the old pickup driving past skips in my memory.
The distinctive dent on the side.
At the time, I hadn’t noticed much—but I recognized that vehicle.
“That truck,” I say, and Kane flicks his gaze to me. His eyes are dark with swirling fury, a forest at night. “The one we passed on the way in… it belongs to the Babins. I saw it when I went to their place.”
His jaw clenches.
I can tell he wants to rain brimstone on these ‘neighbors’ of ours.
That makes two of us.
They lied to my face, claiming they respected Gramps when they’ve been fighting him all this time. They flippingsuedhim.
Supposedly, they tried to burn the whole place down.
God.
“We should call the police,” I say.
“Yeah, better now than later. The kids will have to go home if the cops can’t find anything useful,” Kane agrees.
“What?” Sophie nearly spills her hot chocolate as she shoves her chair back.
“Dad, that’s not fair!” Dan shouts, glaring at his father. “We never go anywhere nice and now we gotta gohome?”
“Nooo, I don’t wanna be stuck with Mom.” Sophie’s bottom lip trembles. “She’s always dragging us on modeling trips and they’re so boring.”
“Yeah, her new boyfriend doesn’t even like me. He sucks at Minecraft too.” Dan snorts, shaking his head with disgust.
Poor munchkins.
My heart aches for them. I hate that they have a mother who makes them play second fiddle to her glamorous life.
Maybe because it feels familiar.
Our parents treated us like accessories growing up, just another thing rich people should have along with personal chefs and perfectly trained purebred dogs. Oh, and we nevergotto have a puppy.
