“Heard you got a cat to feed.”
“Holy—” I reflexively lurch against the hallway wall at my grandfather’s voice behind me, knocking a bunch of framed photos onto the floor. Nearly every inch of their house is carpeted—including the bathrooms—so fortunately nothing breaks. I bend down to pick up the photos: mostly old pictures of my grandparents and their friends, but me and mom here and there too. “You don’t need to worry about the cat. I’ll take care of him.”
I don’t hear him moving behind me so when his arm shoots into my line of vision, I hurl myself back and throw my own arms up reflexively. My pulse stays sky-high even when I see that he was just reaching for a frame.
He freezes, his bushy gray-brown eyebrows drawing together. “Ethan?”
I shake my head, dismissing his concern, wishing I could shake off the fear as easily. My grandfather’s leathery brown arms have never been raised against me.
He gives me space, but I feel his gaze, heavy and assessing, and it makes my neck burn hot. He won’t ask questions that he knows I won’t answer, but he’s guessing a lot right now and I let him. He can choke on his thoughts for all I care. At least I was there for her, standing between her and the angry boyfriends or whoever wanted money we didn’t have. Where was he?
Before my anger can do more than simmer, I notice the bag by his feet.
“Cat food,” he says, slowly shifting the bag to the floor by me as if another sudden move might make me jump again. “Used to be a stray in the neighborhood that I would feed sometimes.”
I toss the bag back to my grandfather, who easily absorbs the impact like the former college football player he is. “He can’t eat this kind. He’s got like one tooth.”
“So what kind does he eat then?”
“I told you, you don’t need to worry about this.”
He sighs. “Cat food costs money.”
I stretch my arms out like I don’t care. “So I’ll get a job.”
“Yeah?” His pose mimics mine. “And how are you gonna get there?”
“I’ve got my mom’s car.” Sure, there are rust holes in the floor and the brakes are kind of mushy, but it got me here. Eventually.
“That car’s got maybe twenty miles left in it. Any more and we both know she’d have sold it to get high.”
She’d tried. More than once. The memory makes my muscles clench as I lower my arms and stare directly at him. “You’re kind of an asshole, Grandpa, you know that?”
“Don’t swear in my house.” My grandfather doesn’t swear, ever. He used to be an asshole in every sense of the word, even my grandmother will say that—she’ll even use the word. Now he’s a deacon at their church and leads a weekly Bible study at the prison where he was once an inmate. He lives by the “there but for the grace of God go I” mentality. Based on some of the stories I’ve heard, and the track mark scars I’ve glimpsed on his arms, I know he believes that. But it just pisses me off to follow his conclusion that mom and I didn’t get that same share of grace.
“Or what? You’ll kick me out? You’re the one that forced her to send me here.”
His voice rises for the first time. “We didn’t force her. She had a choice and she made it.”
A choice. Right. “I never should have called you.” I try to shoulder past him, but the hallway is narrow and he doesn’t let me by.
“The way I see it you should have called long before that night.”
My voice drops and I stare him straight on. “You don’t know anything about our life. Or me,” I add, thinking about Rebecca’s words by the pool. She’s right; we are different now. “I’m not a little kid anymore. If I’d called before, you’d have just tried to take me away sooner.” They’d tried to get custody of me before, but Mom always squeaked by—I learned quick how to lie to anyone who came around asking questions about how we were doing. Besides, there was only one person in our family with a serious record and I was looking at him. “I asked you for money because she finally agreed to check into an actual rehab. I didn’t ask you to pack up our apartment while she was still in the hospital and tell her you’d only help if I came here.”
Even now I feel sweat prickle my skin at the thought of him walking through our front door and holding his breath when the sour, vomit-laced air hit his nose. Her dried pool of sick had still been on the floor in the living room that doubled as my bedroom.
Here we are, days later, the soft scent of fresh roses drifting from a vase in the dining room. I can’t argue that the accommodations aren’t better. Still, he has no idea how much worse things would have been for her without me, how much worse they will be if I’m not there when she gets out.
“Joy’s been my daughter a lot longer than she’s been your mom. And struggled with addiction since she was younger than you.” I hear his throat constrict around the words, but he pushes through. “We’ve been down the money road with her and the promises road too. I’ve prayed for her every day of her life, and I’m gonna keep praying for her, but we weren’t about to leave you there on her say-so. Right now she recognized that the safest place for you is here and not somewhere that taught you to flinch when a man reaches past you.” His voice starts to shake with anger before he gets a hold of it. “We’re trying to do what’s best for you. And her. But help for her can’t come at your expense.”
My hand closes in a tight fist. “You know for years now I’ve been helping her a lot more than she’s been hurting me.”
“No, Ethan. I don’t know that.” Instead of saying more, he reaches into his pocket and tosses something metallic toward me. I catch it easily thanks to all the hours he spent throwing spirals to me.
“What is this?” I’m dumb, ask almost any teacher I’ve ever had, but I’ve rarely felt stupid until now. He can’t be serious.
“Starting tomorrow, you can come work for your grandmother and me at Good & Green, Monday through Saturday, hauling plants, laying sod, whatever the job is that day. You pay for your own gas, insurance, any food you eat outside of this house, phone, movies, whatever else you want to do. The rest will go toward paying us back for your car.”
Something claws at the inside of my throat as I stare down at the keys in my hand. My Doc Martens are more duct tape than leather at this point and he’s just given me a car.
“Only one thing I need you to promise me.”
I’m almost relieved that he’s being upfront about the catch.
“We all agreed that you’ll stay here for the next three months. You’re right that you’re not a kid anymore, but you’re not an adult yet either, not for another year. Your grandmother and I want you to consider staying here until you are.” He interrupts my scoffing. “And we want you to get your GED.”
I outright laugh this time. “Anything else? Maybe I’ll apply to Harvard while I’m at it.”
He’s dead serious when he says, “I was thinking maybe you start with one of the community colleges around here.”
“Oh, so now I’m staying here for years?” I laugh again. “What makes you think my mom is gonna leave me here? She always comes back for me.”
His head dips as though he can’t look at me anymore. “Not this time.”
My smile freezes on my face. “And why’s that?”
“Because she knew the deal. We promised to take care of her back rent, the hospital bill, and you if she completes ninety days.”
“She will,” I say in a voice gone strained as doubt creeps in.
“She checked herself out of rehab last night.”