Aunt Denise came by the next afternoon.
She brought no groceries and no treats for the kids, just perfume, pearls, and endless commentary.
“This house is falling apart,” she said, running one finger along the hallway wall. “Don’t you have access to the funds yet?”
“Not yet.”
Her mouth tightened. “What’s taking so long?”
Aunt Denise came by.
“I have no idea, but I have it covered.”
She looked toward the living room, where the kids were watching a movie on a bedsheet I had pinned to the wall.
“You know,” she said, lowering her voice, “asking for help isn’t failure.”
“Great. Help.”
She blinked. “What?”
“Tommy needs sneakers. Benji needs glasses. Sybil’s field trip is forty dollars without food. Pick one, Aunt Denise.”
“Asking for help isn’t failure.”
Aunt Denise’s smile froze. “I meant adult help.”
“You mean taking them.”
“I mean doing what’s best.”
I stepped closer. “For whom?”
She glanced at the kids, then back at me. “One day, Rowan, you’ll realize love doesn’t make you capable.”
“No,” I said. “But neither does a pearl necklace.”
She left without answering.
I thought that was the worst of it. Then Benji found the photo.
“I mean doing what’s best.”
It was almost midnight when he appeared in my doorway with dust in his curls and one sock missing.
“Buddy, it’s late. What are you doing?”
“I was looking for the Christmas lights, Rowan.”
“In April?”
His mouth trembled. “I missed Mom.”
He held out an old photo. “I found this behind the ornament box.”
“What are you doing?”
I took it.
Mom and Dad stood outside the courthouse. Dad had one arm around her, holding her up.
Behind them stood Aunt Denise and Uncle Warren.
Aunt Denise was smiling.
I turned the photo over.
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