Chapter 2

02.

"What happened?"

Mom came rushing out at the sound, and the second she saw the terrible blisters spread across my arm, the color drained from her face.

She grabbed Georgette's arm and pinched it, hard.

Georgette's tears dropped to the floor, one after another.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to! I just wanted to pour Connie some tea to help her cool off!"

"It's bad enough you're useless, and now you can't even do a simple thing without being clumsy about it!"

Dad snapped too. "If anything happens to your sister, you'll be sorry."

I froze where I sat. In the past, when I heard my parents talk like this,

I would always say I was fine, tell them not to worry, that it was only a little scratch.

But this time I just sat on the couch and said nothing.

I let the wound bleed and ooze. None of it hurt as much as the ache inside.

She finished shouting at Georgette, then turned and clutched my arm, her whole face pinched with panic.

"Noel, go find the insurance card, quick! If my Connie is left with a scar, how am I supposed to live with that?"

The two of them darted around the house like headless flies.

Cabinets slammed shut and swung open, snapping and banging, grating on my nerves.

But the insurance card was right there, in the second drawer of their nightstand.

Every single time Georgette had needed it, they'd griped and grumbled but pulled it out at once.

The searing pain in my arm bored deeper into the bone in waves, and beads of sweat dropped to the floor one by one.

An insurance card sitting in a drawer, and they searched for it for a full hour.

The sun slid down inch by inch, until the sky darkened, until the blisters broke open, and still they hadn't found it.

I just watched them pretend to bustle around the house in circles, and the bitterness inside me churned and rolled over.

I smiled a little and said softly, "Mom, don't bother."

She stopped.

Her tears dropped to the floor, one after another.

"Connie, it's Mom's fault, Mom's useless. I couldn't find the insurance card, so I can't take you to the hospital."

"Wait, Mom will go find some burn ointment for you!"

Her voice shot up in an instant.

Dad frowned and grumbled that she was hopeless.

I didn't say a word. I took the crumpled, dented tube of ointment and spread a little over the wound.

Then a sharp sting shot through my skin, and my eyes snapped to the date on the box.

Two years past its expiration.

My eyelids suddenly felt heavy, and my nose stung.

Last year, when Georgette ran a fever of ninety-nine, they hadn't hesitated for a second.

They scooped her up and ran for the hospital, Dad so frantic he didn't even change out of his slippers.

Several doctors said there was no need for an IV, but Mom insisted at the top of her voice,

"This one gets sick every few days, might as well just do it now and be done with it!"

"Save us running back and forth all the time!"

The IV line ran cold, and Mom frowned and cupped it warm for her, scolding under her breath about what a handful she was.

The dense, prickling pain crawled over my skin, and I smiled.

My parents loved me only with their mouths.

They hated her, and gave her everything they had to give.

I went back to my room and locked the door behind me.

Leaning against the cold panel of the door, in that moment I finally set down the calm I'd been forcing.

My body slid slowly down.

Tears dropped, one after another.

Thinking of what they'd just done.

Thinking of that family portrait of the three of them they'd hidden away.

All these years, it really must have been exhausting for them, standing in front of me, performing a love that was never real.