“That’s as closed as it gets,” I say.
“Oh.” Ben puts the grocery bag on the table and both of us pretend it isn’t there. In the beginning, we had this awkward exchange of thank-yous and you’re-welcomes. As time went on, the politeness kind of fell off because it made us both feel weird. It’s hard enough receiving charity from your extended family, but giving it, I guess, can be just as awkward because I could see how much Ben hated each of my thank-yous.
Almost as much as I hated giving them.
“What’s the deal with your neighbors?” Ben drops into the nearest chair and pushes a hand over his close-cropped dark hair.
“Which one?”
My cousin’s laugh is short and hard. “The fact that you have to ask proves my point that this neighborhood is a shithole. You need to get out of here. I’m talking about the ones who look like meth addicts. You have any anonymous tips you want to give me?”
“Not really.” Couldn’t if I wanted to actually. I know who he’s talking about—young couple who come and go at all hours of the night—but I don’t know their names. The renters in that trailer never stay long. There’s no point in making friends, even if it is to throw my cousin a tip. Ben’s been with the Peachtree City Police Department since graduating high school two years ago. He loves it and is always looking for a way to impress his bosses.
“You want some water or something?” I ask. I sound like I’m on the phone with Sipkins again. It’s like I can’t turn it off sometimes.
“Nah.” Ben nudges his chin toward my mom’s bedroom door. “So is she still . . . ?”
“Yeah.”
My cousin sighs in a way that always makes me want to punch him. “You should come home with me.”
“Then she’d really be alone.”
“You can’t save her, Griff.” Ben shakes his head, turning the words carefully like he’s imparting great wisdom to me. “Women like that . . . you can’t save them. You have to save yourself.”
“By ditching her?”
“Maybe it would wake her up.”
“Maybe it would make her worse.”
“Look, Griff, she’s my aunt. I care about her too, but I’m getting really close to calling DFCS. You’re a minor. It’s my duty.”
Duty as family? Or duty as a police officer? I don’t ask. I don’t want to know. I’m suddenly so tired I want to sink through the floor. I want out of here—not just on my own, but with her, with her the way she used to be. Maybe it’s staying here that’s killing her.
I push the small of my back against the countertop. “You’re going to call Child Services and get me put into foster care? Not likely. Then she’d be your problem.” I didn’t realize how true it was until I said it, watched Ben shudder. It’s so like my own, I pause.
Is that how I look when I stare at her? God, I hope not. Ben and I may have the same blood, but we’re not the same people. Or at least I don’t want us to be.
“I’m not leaving her, Ben.”
“Fine. Whatever. I have another job for you.”
I stand straighter. “Yeah?”
“There’s a detective in a different department who needs help investigating a potential credit card scam.” My cousin glances across the living room at my mom’s closed bedroom door, studying the wood veneer like it has some answer. “Computer thing—just your speed. Off the record, of course, but it’s good money.”
Now I’m the one to look away. “I appreciate the offer, but we’re doing okay.”
Such a lie. I’m out of jobs, out of money. I should pawn my computer or sell my bike and yet I can’t bring myself to do it. They’re all I have left. I’ll have to tap the buried emergency fund, and after that . . . I don’t know. I do know it’s kind of funny Ben wants to hire me for computer work when I might not be able to keep the electricity on long enough to finish the job.
“What will it take?” Ben asks, and my neck goes hot. I’m so tired of being his charity case.
I’m tired of being everyone’s charity case.
“It would take something I’d actually want,” I say, forcing myself to meet his eyes. He’s trying to help. I don’t need to be a jerk about it. “We’re doing fine. I like firewall stuff, but the kind of work you’d need for a credit card scam is beyond me. I don’t want to promise anything I can’t deliver on. My dad should call soon. Once he’s settled—”
“Yeah, we need to talk about that.” Ben’s tone rolls lower like he’s sharing a secret, and my stomach goes cold. It’s probably the same voice he uses when issuing tickets. It’s two parts authority, one part condescension. “Your dad’s not in California. He’s not looking for work. He’s hiding. From you two.”
No way. My dad wouldn’t do that. My dad would have told me. My dad would not have left us.
I don’t trust myself to say any of that though, so I say nothing and Ben stares me down, gaze crawling over my face.
“Prove it,” I say at last.
Ben nods, starts for the door, and after a beat, I follow.
2