“Carmen,” my father says, but there’s no real force behind it. Just the usual halfhearted attempt to maintain appearances.
“That’s what you’re thinking about right now?” I can’t keep the incredulity from my voice. “The wedding?”
“The money,” she snaps. “It would have saved your sister’s life. And now you’re pretending to care about her?”
I flinch. What? I don’t?—
“It’s not her fault,” Amelia says. “ That zombies are attacking us.”
“Stay out of this.” Mother’s tone softens, the way it always does for her. “You’re not well.”
“I’m well enough to know when you’re being cruel.” Amelia tries to stand, her body swaying with the effort.
“It’s okay.” I put gentle pressure on her shoulders until she sits back down. “Really. Let it go.”
“Let it go?” My sister’s eyes flash with rare anger. “She’s blaming you for?—”
“Don’t. Mom’s just upset.” I’m grateful she wants to defend me, but the stress isn’t good for her. “We all are.”
“The medication, Carmen.” Rosa shifts in her seat, hands gripping the arms of her chair as she hauls herself to her feet. “Give it to your daughter.”
Mother’s jaw works, but she reaches into the purse, removing a small pill case. She holds it out, not to me, but to Amelia.
Rosa snatches it from her hand and passes it to me. “Water?”
I reach for the half-empty bottle on the side table, helping Amelia sit up slightly, before popping open the compartments to get two of?—
“Two of the white ones, one blue,” Amelia whispers.
The reverend’s prayers rise in volume, a desperate counterpoint to our family drama. “Lord protect us from evil, shield us from the unholy…”
“Could someone shut him up?” Father snaps, pacing again. “His babbling is giving me a headache.”
At least he didn’t try to feed you to the monsters outside.
I place the pills in Amelia’s palm, helping her raise the water to her lips. She swallows with difficulty, throat working.
“Better?” I brush her hair back.
“Thanks.”
“Thanks?” My mother huffs, her voice dripping with contempt. “Don’t thank her. It’s the least she can do.”
I close my eyes. Count to three.
One.
“Mother—” Amelia starts.
“What man leaves a perfectly arranged marriage unless there’s something fundamentally wrong with his bride?”
“Enough.” Rosa’s voice cuts through the room.
“I’m talking to my daughter,” my mother says.
“You’re attacking your daughter.” Rosa’s eyes flash. “There’s a difference.”
Mother’s face crumples slightly before hardening again. “You don’t understand what we’ve been through. What we’ve sacrificed?—”
