Deacon stood on the porch, watching the plain tan four-door sedan turn into the driveway. Without a word, his father and mother left him there as they went out to meet the dressed-up woman climbing out of the driver’s side.
They exchanged words Deacon couldn’t hear. Though, he wanted to. He wanted to know what was being said between the three of them and how it would affect him.
His mom had said his Aunt Trixie and Uncle Ox had gotten into trouble and were in jail, so his cousins now had nothing and no one.
Deacon didn’t know much about his aunt and uncle because his mother didn’t want anything to do with her brother and his wife. He’d heard his parents talking about them in the past, and the word “trouble” always came up. Along with some other words he wasn’t allowed to say unless he wanted to be grounded.
So, he didn’t really know his cousins—the ones who no longer had parents to take care of them—even though they hadn’t lived far away at all.
He was only told this morning, while he was eating his Corn Pops, that his cousins, Judd and Jemma, were coming to stay with them.
People, who were practically strangers, were coming to stay in their house.
When his mother told him that, he dropped his spoon into his cereal bowl and splashed milk onto the kitchen table. He quickly used his napkin to clean it up before his father saw it. But Deacon said nothing until he was told he’d have to share his bedroom with Judd.
“What? Why?” How was that fair?
His mother had narrowed her brown eyes on him. “Because they have nowhere else to go except into the system. And we only have three bedrooms in this house. One needs to be for Jemma. That means you’ll have to share yours with Judd.”
“Why can’t they go into the system?” He didn’t want to share his room with anyone else. He didn’t want to share his parents with other kids.
He was happy the way things were.
And, anyway, Judd wasn’t even his age. He was like a million years older. Why would the teenager want to share a bedroom with a ten-year-old?
“Because despite the way my brother lived his life, they are family,” his mother said. “They didn’t choose this, they are victims of circumstance.”
Whatever that meant.
Deacon jutted out his jaw and pounded his fist on the table, making the cereal bowl jump. “But I don’t wanna share my room!”
Deacon’s heart began to thud as his father took three long strides over to him and cuffed him upside the head. “Boy, you have everything. They have nothing. You will share your room, your toys and everything else you have with your cousins. And I don’t want to hear a word about it. They’ve already been through enough and they don’t need to hear you whining like a damn crybaby.”
“But Dad—”
“Not another damn word about it, boy. They’re coming here because we’re all they have. What if it was you, huh? What if something happened to me and your mother and no one gave a shit enough about you to take you in? You’d end up in some foster home and probably spend the rest of your life in and out of the system. They’ve had no guidance in their life. They need that and a roof over their heads. And we’re going to provide it.”
Deacon’s bottom lip had trembled as he stared at the sweetened yellow puffed corn floating in the lukewarm milk.
But now, not even an hour after choking down the last of that soggy cereal, he stood on the porch and watched as his cousins got out of the back of the car and, when the woman popped the trunk open, his father grabbed two small garbage bags from it.
They didn’t have suitcases? That was all they had?
As his mother reached to pick up a five-year-old Jemma, Judd pushed past her, grabbed his sister and lifted her up instead. Jemma clung to her sixteen-year-old brother with her tear-stained face buried in his neck.
Why was she crying? She was getting her own damn room. Unlike Deacon. And his room wasn’t even big enough for two beds.
His father, carrying the black plastic bags, headed toward the house.
Judd stood in the driveway, his sister in his arms, staring at Deacon’s father’s back, then his gaze landed on Deacon. He couldn’t tell if Judd was mad or sad, or what, because the kid’s expression never changed.