IRIS
Wenever have visitors. The only tires that ever roll down that dirt road are the ones on Sol’s truck. So when we hear the sound of a car engine approaching the cabin, we all know something is wrong.
“Is that a cop car?” Zinnia asks, pressing her face to the living room window.
“What?” Sol stands from the dining table, where he and a few of us are finishing our dinner of fried bologna sandwiches, and comes to look out of the window with Zinnia. His face immediately turns to stone, expression unreadable and jaw set. “Zinnia, Poppy, Rose—you three get upstairs. Now.”
“Why?” Rose asks, carrying her plate to the sink. “What’s going on?”
“We’ll talk about it later,” he says. “Now go.”
Poppy doesn’t need to be told a second time. She’s alreadyhalfway up the stairs before Rose and Zinnia have even begun to trudge their way toward the attic.
“Iris, come outside with me,” he says. “I suspect they’re here about your little incident at the grocery store last week.”
I’ve been frozen in place, standing next to the kitchen table, ever since Zinnia mentioned the possibility of police outside. My heart has stopped beating. My hands shake holding my empty plate. And all I can think about is the other times cops have shown up at the place I was living, and the world-altering fallouts that have come after.
“Iris,” Sol says. “Come on. The others will clean up the kitchen.”
I pass my plate to Lily before shambling over to the front door. Outside, I can hear the engine cut and the car doors slam. “Is Mr. Brophy pressing charges?” I whisper to Sol. My stomach drops at the thought that I’m about to lose my sisters, my home, everything.
“Why did he wait?” He grits his teeth. “And how do they even know where we live? Never mind. It doesn’t matter now. Let me do the talking, and try to look remorseful.”
There is nothing totry. I am remorseful. Not about stealing from the old man—I’m sure he’s fine—but about being caughtand putting Sol and the other girls in a potentially bad position. I wish I’d never been sent into town. I wish we’d gone a day or two without eating and just waited for Lily and Violet to be over the flu.
Because if Zinnia or Poppy or Rose get taken away—sent back to bad homes or put into foster care—and it’s my fault? I’ll never be able to forgive myself.
And ifIget taken away, if I’m out there alone again? I can’t even think about that.
Sol opens the door just as the two plainclothes officers are stepping onto the front porch. “Good evening, Officers,” Sol says, putting on a Southern accent I’ve never heard him use before as he steps outside and gestures for me to join him before closing the door behind us.
“Evening, sir,” one of the cops, a middle-aged man with dark brown skin and thick graying curls, says with a nod. His eyes fall on me, and he offers a second nod. “And young lady. I’m Officer Morris, and this is Officer Harrington. How are y’all doing tonight?”
“We’re just fine,” Sol says. “Is there something we can help you with?”
“We got a call from one of your neighbors in town,” saysOfficer Harrington, a younger woman with a brown braid hanging over her shoulder. “We were hoping to speak to you and the other residents of this house.”
“A neighbor in town?” Sol repeats, brows furrowing like he’s trying to understand something. Then he sighs and shakes his head, looking down at me before turning back to the officers. “Was this Mr. Brophy? From the store? I know he and my daughter here had a … well, altercation feels like too strong a word. My girl’s going through a bit of a rebellious phase, I’m afraid. But she apologized to him about the items, and things seemed settled.”
Hearing Sol call me his daughter feels like having my head shoved into a bucket of ice water. I’m not angry at him for it. It’s a reasonable lie in this situation. But having anyone call me their child feels startling and uncomfortable. Part of me feels guilty, as if even allowing this deception is some sort of betrayal.
“We don’t know anything about all that,” Officer Morris says. “We were just asked to come do a wellness check.”
“Wellness check?”
“Yes, sir. A neighbor claims you have several young women living here,” Officer Harrington says. “They were concerned about their well-being and asked us to come check in.”
Sol laughs. “Several young women? Now, I’m afraid whoevercalled you made my living situation sound far more exciting and salacious than it really is.” He rests a hand on my shoulder. “My daughter lives here, of course. And as you can see, she’s just fine. The other women he’s referring to are probably my nieces.”
Officer Morris turns to me with a smile. “What’s your name, miss?”
“Iris.”
“You doing all right out here, Iris?”
“Yes, sir. I’m fine.”
“Poor thing’s had a lot to adjust to, moving out here,” Sol says, giving my shoulder a squeeze. “She’d been living with her mama up until a month or so ago. Decided to come see how dear old dad does it out in the woods.” He gives the cops a conspiratorial grin and lowers his voice when he adds, “I don’t think she realized she wouldn’t be able to get service out here. No social media. I’m sure it’s driving her a little crazy.”
