Chapter 4
I climbed out of the trunk and stared blankly at their retreating figures.
A cold wind swept through the late autumn night.
Uncle David drapped a black overcoat over Mom’s shoulders.
I had never seen such a fine coat before. Back in the Appalachain Hills, Mom and I had only ever worn patched–up, worn–out clothes.
My own jacket was already ruined from scrubbing the car. All I had left was just a thin, long–sleeved shirt.
A shiver ran through me, and I lowered my eyes in silence.
Ethan had finished vomiting. When his eyes landed on me—hunched shoulders, filthy and ragged–he looked at me as if I were some filthy, terrifying monster.
He recoiled instantly and hurried inside.
I scrubbed at the trunk for a long time, but no matter how hard I tried, the stains wouldn’t come off.
I thought of going in to ask for a towel. But once Uncle David went inside, he locked the door.
Through the tall glass windows, I saw them sitting at the table for dinner.
The table was covered with dishes–so many dishes. Even through the glass, I could almost smell the delicious aroma.
My stomach growled, sharp with hunger. Pain twisted in my belly. I swallowed hard, forcing the saliva down.
Uncle David kept serving Mom food, while Ethan poured her water and set it by her side.
I couldn’t hear their words, but suddenly, Uncle David reached across and rolled up one of Mom’s sleeves.
He froze, staring at her arm. His hand trembled as he lifted it to wipe his eyes.
Ethan covered his face, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs.
Both Mom’s arms and mine were covered in scars.
Some were from the times Ray bat us while drunk. Some were from cigarette burns he pressed into our skin.
Others came from years of working in the fields, hauling and laboring in the mountains.
Through tears, Ethan leaned close and gently blew across Mom’s arm, as if the small gesture could ease her pain.
Chloe also moved closer, her face full of concern.
Mom’s hands trembled as she pulled both children tightly into her arms.
Just like she used to hold me–before I turned three. After that age, she had never held me again.
I stared at them, dazed, until I finally snapped back to myself.
By then, they had left the dining table and gone upstairs.
The housekeeper cleared away the leftovers–more than half the food still untouched–and dumped them into a large garbage can.
The sight made my chest ache, my stomach growling louder and louder.
When she finished, she tied up the bag and carried it out to the big garbage container in the yard.
After she went back inside, I crept forward on tiptoe and strained to reach into the tall garbage can.
I tried again and again, almost toppling inside myself.
At last, I managed to drag the bag out. The delicious smell of the food hit me, filling my nostrils.
Chapter 4
17.39%
W
