Them were his daughters—Anna and Zella—both a little older than me.
We were living in their house with their dad. As in the story I was trying to remember about a girl named Ella, Gordon Maples was a widower. Unlike the story, he was also a drunk who yelled more than spoke. He seemed perpetually angry and mean, not only to us but also to our mom.
I preferred him that way.
The few times he tried to be nice, it made my skin feel wrong, itchy like the blanket.
Once he told me and Missy to sit on his lap. Our mom stopped us, telling us to go to our room—the attic. As he yelled, Missy and I ran up the stairs. Whatever happened, when Mom came to see us later that night, one of her eyes was swollen and there was blood on her lip.
Before our grandmother died, she watched over Mason, Missy, and me. We rarely saw our mother. When she would show up, she’d be all smiles, bringing gifts and calling us her babies. And then in a few days, she’d disappear again.
Everything was different now.
A lady had come to Grandma’s house and took us to the police station. She said that our grandma was gone, and if our mom didn’t claim us, they’d find us all homes—separate homes.
Every day, I remind myself that if we didn’t stay here with Mr. Maples, Mom, Anna, and Zella, I’d lose Missy and Mason. At least here, the three of us were together.
“Why does Mom stay here?” Missy asked softly.
“She says she loves him.”
Missy shook her head against me. “He scares me.”
“Me too, sis.”
“Is Mason coming back?”
Her question tugged at my chest. “He will. He always does.”
Mason was our brother, a year older than me, two years older than Missy. While I’d done my best to help with Missy, Mason had always looked out for both of us. Even though he was still a kid, he was the closest thing we had to what a guardian should be.
It wasn’t fair to him or to us, but being too young to understand, we didn’t know.
Laying my head back on the mattress, I recalled how today went from bad to worse.
After school, Missy and I came home. Together, we began chores.
Each day, Mr. Maples left Mom a list. What she didn’t get done during the day was Mason’s, Missy’s, and my responsibility. Today, our mom must have been sick. When we got home, she was asleep and the house was a mess.
Anna and Zella’s school dismissed before ours, but instead of helping, they were in the living room watching television with a bowl of popcorn.
“Can I have some?” Missy asked.
Both girls laughed.
“Come on, Missy,” I called.
“You better do your mom’s chores,” Anna, the oldest, said with a smirk. “Or when Dad gets home, he’s going to beat all your asses.”
Instead of arguing, Missy and I went to work. As the time for Mr. Maple’s arrival approached, the dishes were washed, some of the laundry was in the washing machine with more in the dryer, and dinner was in the oven.
I may be young, but Grandma was a great cook and taught me well.
Missy spent time coaxing our mom. Finally, she helped her get up, shower, and dress.
When Mr. Maples came home, everyone was present—everyone except Mason.
Our brother had a job at a local gas station after school. In reality, he was too young to be employed. The owner, Mr. Sweeny, took pity on Mason and paid him cash to sweep and stock the shelves at the convenience store. It wasn’t a lot of money, but Mason promised he’d save it and one day get us our own place.
It was Mr. Maples’s rule: if you weren’t at the table when he sat down, you didn’t eat. So, Mason was usually careful to leave the gas station in time for dinner.
From the moment Mr. Maples walked in tonight, he was angry and complaining. The living room was too messy. It was, but that was because Anna and Zella wouldn’t pick up their things and spilled the popcorn. The washing machine was too loud.
Why didn’t Mom do the laundry earlier?
“I’m sorry, Gordy,” Mom mumbled, her green eyes pleading as she stared at him.
“You will be.”
It was then that Mason came in.
We all turned as he slammed the front door.
Fire sparked in Mr. Maples’s eyes as he lurched for Mason. Chairs scooted and flew. Mom screamed. Anna and Zella ran to their rooms.