Kathy’s expression flips from annoyed to sympathetic, like I’m a kid who doesn’t know any better. “They don’t do X-rays there,” she says, “and he needs a proper visit. It’s important.” She sighs, and Evan takes her keys from her hand and plays with the toys she’s attached to them for his benefit.
“Look,” she says to me. “I can take him. I’ll pick him up from school, go to the appointment—get him an ice cream after. Then I’ll bring him back by six.”
“Okay, fine,” I say. “But he has to be back by six. He has homework.”
“I can help him with his homework.”
“No,” I snap, but feel immediately apologetic when Evan looks up, alarmed by my tone. “No, that’s my job.”
“Savannah,” Kathy says, taking a step closer to me and lowering her voice. “I’d like to take Evan one more day per week. We can make it long weekends or midweek—whatever’s easiest for you. I know you’re doing your best, but I think—”
I don’t care what she thinks. She already gets Evan enough—nearly as much as I do. But before I can tell her no, she puts her hand on my arm.
“I’m not your mother,” she says gently. “And I’m not trying to be.” I yank away from her, not realizing how much that sentiment would hurt me. Kathy must see her effect, because she tucks her hands in the pockets of her coat.
“We’ll use the extra day for Evan’s speech therapy appointments,” she says, as if it’s a compromise. “Surely you see the benefit in that.”
I wish her argument didn’t make sense. But it does. I’m always late to Evan’s appointments—it’s hard to get across town on the bus, especially when I have to scrape together the funds for us. This would be good for Evan—I know that. But it still makes me feel threatened.
“Let’s go, Aunt Kathy,” Evan whines, growing bored of the key chain. I expect Kathy to scold him, but she’s patient. It’s painful to admit that she’s more patient than I am.
“Savannah?” she says, waiting for my answer.
“I’ll think about it,” I tell her. She waits a beat, and then nods, probably reading that the answer is a reluctant yes.
She takes Evan’s hand. “Say good-bye to Savannah.”
“Bye!” Evan yells to me, waving wildly.
“Bye, buddy.” I lean down and kiss his forehead. “Don’t torture Old Aunt Kathy too much. She can’t keep up with you like I can.”
“Old,” he repeats, then laughs.
“Good-bye,” Kathy says cordially, and heads toward the door.
I don’t say anything back. I watch as she holds my little brother’s hand and walks out of our house and into her waiting minivan. Evan likes her, so their closeness shouldn’t hurt me as much as it does. She is family, and Evan needs someone like her in his life. Someone mature and patient. Someone who can make a dentist appointment. But there’s no way she loves him like I do.
I wave from the porch so that Evan can see me, and when they’re gone I exhale heavily—worried, but also partly relieved that he’ll eat well tonight.
***
When my father gets home just after dark, I spend forty minutes trying to convince him to give me money for groceries. He stands at the kitchen sink, washing engine grease from his hands. He shuts off the water and shakes his palms dry before popping the top on his beer.
“How do I know you’re really going to buy food?” he asks.
“Because who else gets the food around here?” I ask, disgusted. “Not you.”
Not really me, either. Most of it comes from the food bank. Retha’s mom picks me up a bag once a week when she goes, but Evan’s been eating more lately. He’s growing so fast.
I work when I can and use the money for food, but because I take care of Evan, my available hours are limited. None of the places keep me on beyond a few weeks.
My father drinks from his beer, watching me, distrusting me. “You going to buy alcohol?” he asks.
I scoff. “No.”
“Drugs?”
“Don’t be stupid.” He’s pissing me off. “Look, do you want to eat or not?” I ask him. “There’s nothing here—not even mac ’n’ cheese. So if you want to go grocery shopping, have fun. Just bring back food.”
