Chapter 5 - THE HOUSE EMPTIES
Ray and Diane did not leave quietly.
They tried to take furniture.
Elaine stopped them.
They tried to claim my mother promised Diane her jewelry.
The inventory said otherwise.
They tried to take the washer and dryer because Diane said she had “improved the laundry room.”
That almost made Mrs. Alvarez swing her purse.
The deputy who supervised the removal looked like he had seen many ugly family scenes and still found this one special.
Diane cried when she carried her bags out.
Not because she was sorry.
Because Mrs. Alvarez had three neighbors watching from the sidewalk.
“You’re enjoying this,” Diane snapped at me.
I stood on the porch holding Owen while Eli slept inside in a bassinet donated by the hospital.
“No,” I said. “I’m surviving it.”
Ray stopped at the bottom step.
His face was red.
“You think you can raise two babies?”
“I already was.”
“You’ll come begging.”
I looked at the house behind me.
My father’s house.
My mother’s curtains.
The nursery I had cleaned at midnight after Diane used it as storage.
“No, Ray. I won’t.”
His eyes narrowed.
“You’re just like your mother.”
For once, it did not sound like an insult.
“Good.”
After they left, the house was too quiet.
Not peaceful at first.
Just hollow.
Every room carried evidence of invasion.
Diane’s perfume in my mother’s closet.
Ray’s cigar smell in my father’s office.
Jean’s old boxes in the nursery.
A locked drawer where the baby monitor should have been.
Mrs. Alvarez came over with cleaning supplies and tamales.
“You need food,” she said.
“I need sleep.”
“You need both.”
She was right.
The first night back, I put the twins in the same room with me.
I slept on the floor between their cribs because a bed felt too far away.
At 2:12 a.m., Eli woke crying.
Normal crying.
Hungry crying.
Alive crying.
I made a bottle, sat in the rocking chair my mother bought before they were born, and fed him while moonlight crossed the carpet.
Owen stirred, sighed, and went back to sleep.
For the first time since my parents died, no one yelled from the hallway that I was spoiling them.
No one counted scoops.
No one told me formula was expensive like babies should apologize for needing food.
I looked down at Eli and whispered, “You’re safe.”
He blinked at me with dark, serious eyes.
May you like
As if deciding whether to believe it.
I understood that.
