“This isn’t working,” my father says, motioning the way my brother had gone. “And it’s not going to work.” But there’s a crack in his voice, maybe the last bit of his conscience wearing away.
“It’s getting better,” I say, knowing it’s not true, but desperate to believe it.
My father blinks a few times as if clearing tears, and slowly moves to grab the dishrag hanging near the stove. “Just keep Evan out of my face tonight, Savannah,” he whispers.
So I do. I walk into the living room and find my brother curled into a ball on the couch, most of his crayons broken on the carpet. He’d just gotten them back, too.
I close my eyes for a second, hating the moment. Hating my life. But then I straighten up, brush my hair away from my face, and get down on the floor to shove the crayons back into their box. Broken.
CHAPTER TWO
I have my brothermostly settled by the time our aunt arrives to pick him up an hour later. Once a week and then on weekends, our aunt Kathy takes Evan to her house, where she feeds him vegetables, washes his clothes, and reads him bedtimes stories. She won’t be happy to know I already filled him with processed meats and cheeses, but it was the only way to get him in the house.
Tomorrow morning Kathy will personally drive Evan to school. But when the day is done, my brother comes back here, back to this. Back to me.
Kathy used to invite me along, before I was a dangerous felon. But I’ve been expelled from more than school. My mother’s sister wrote me off. I’m not even welcome in my own family.
Travis’s car is parked at the curb when I walk onto the porch. Evan and Kathy are already gone, and my father uses these nights as an excuse to get drunk. I prefer to be gone when he does that.
I let the screen door slam shut and jog down the stairs toward the car. Retha leans her elbow out the open passenger window.
“Evan go with Kathy okay?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I say. “She’s got him this weekend, too. I should have told her no.”
“She’s a bitch.” Retha’s the type to hold a grudge. The minute my aunt stopped letting me in her house she went on Retha’s shit list. In fact, the two can’t be in the same room together without Retha cussing her out. But I like that about her—I like that Retha always has my back.
I get in the car and slide to the middle and lean between the front seats. When I do, I notice bruises on Travis’s knuckles where he’s resting his right hand on the steering wheel.
“That from Gris?” I ask him, motioning toward his hand. He didn’t seem as banged up when he brought me home earlier.
“Naw,” Travis says, flexing his fingers as he studies them. “I was working on the engine. Must have knocked it against something.”
Retha glances at him, her brow furrowed. Travis’s hangover should be gone by now, but you never know with Travis. He might be nursing a completely different bender at this point.
I nod and rest back in the seat. It’s none of my business how he got those bruises. Retha turns away, and Travis shifts into gear before pulling his car out into the street.
I watch out the window as we drive. On my nights without Evan, I never know where I’ll end up, and I never know when I’ll be home. But it’s nice. It’s nice to be free for a little while. Even if it’s not very often.
Our evening starts at 7-Eleven, just like it always does. Travis has his brother’s ID, which is a direct violation of his parole, but it’s not like we’d turn him in for it.
We park in our usual spot along the side of the building and Retha and I wait in the car as Travis makes the run. My beverage of choice is nonalcoholic. I watch my father get drunk all the time at home—I don’t need to inherit his problem.
“I’m thinking of piercing my nose,” Retha says, examining her face in the rearview mirror.
“You should,” I agree. “Just don’t let it get infected like your eyebrow.”
She spins toward me and her black ringlets whip her cheek. “It wasnotinfected!” she says.
“It looked disgusting.”
“Shut up.” She turns around. “Did I say shit when you pierced your belly button?”
“Uh, yeah. You called me a poseur.”
She smiles. “You are a poseur.”
I laugh and tell her to fuck off.
