Chapter 27 #2
She wrenched herself from Sayer’s arms. She elbowed him in the neck and pulled a lighter out of her pocket. Sayer bent forward, coughing; Emma started shouting from inside the house. Panicked, I raced after her.
“Don’t deserve none of it,” she shouted. But her hands weren’t steady, and I stumbled into her. Grabbed her wrists while she used both hands to try and light the Zippo.
“Stop it,” I demanded, eyes blurred. But it was useless.
We wrestled over the lighter, the sound of hurried feet after us as we careened closer to the porch.
Hadrian appeared at my right, just as Mom tripped on the first porch step.
He grabbed for her upper arm at the same time we went down.
The lighter went skidding across the porch.
She struggled to go after it, and I saw the split-second decision: If she got the lighter and flipped it—
Hadrian gave chase.
She cursed and kicked under me. I tried to shift my weight. My knee shoved awkwardly on the second step, and I attempted to brace myself with my left hand—right when she elbowed me in the jaw. “Let me go!”
Stars burst into my vision. I let go out of reflex. Hadrian’s blurred silhouette came into view right as I heard her footfalls barge into the house.
“What did she leave you?” she shouted. Something crashed. “You owe me money after keeping all her good stuff.”
I scrambled after her. A tantrum—that’s what this was.
She’d already turned over the foyer table by the time I shoved the front door open. Emma held the phone to her ear, eyes wide, relaying everything to the operator.
“Where’s her jewelry then, huh?” Mom shouted. She moved to the office, tearing anything and everything off the shelves—the book nook, encyclopedias, the journals—and heaved them onto the floor. She wrenched every drawer open with so much force they tried to bang shut.
“There’s no jewelry,” I said, voice rising. I went behind her and tried to close the desk drawers. Surely, the police would be here soon.
“Landry.” Hadrian said my name like a demand—urgent. The hairs along the back of my neck rose. A sinking feeling grew in my gut.
Something wasn’t right. But I couldn’t let her out of my sight.
“She has to have something in here,” she snapped. I tried to round on her and block her way to the hall, which led to the sunroom and library, but she clambered through quicker than I could move.
“Yes, as quickly as possible,” Emma said into the phone. Hadrian pushed by her, after me, eyes hard.
He took me by the arm. “Let me handle her.”
I tried to slip away as I heard books hitting the floor, splaying open, thump, thump, thump. I gave him a pleading look.
“She’s my mother,” I whispered.
“She is not—”
I jerked away, already crossing the hall. A tight ball of frustration rose in my throat. He didn’t know my mother—I needed to handle her, to stop this, but I felt like I was six years old again, trailing after her as she swayed in the hall, cursing and pointing at me.
“Look what you did, Landry,” she’d spat. Now, in an almost identical fashion, she whirled when I entered the library, Hadrian tight on my heels.
“All of this, for you? Really, Landry?” Mom muttered under her breath as she continued her search. Her pupils were blown, her breath smelled rancid, and her teeth—the roots were grayed. “Can’t even—”
She swayed.
I didn’t reach out, I didn’t grab her shirt, I didn’t try and get her back to the front of the house where there were witnesses, I didn’t do anything. I didn’t. I didn’t. I didn’t.
Because when push came to shove, I couldn’t. I froze.
She upturned books and boxes and portraits I’d hung on the walls. Then she stopped at the mantel, checked the bottoms of all the little elephants and roosters I’d found in Aunt Cadence’s things. And started pocketing them.
My father’s voice held me back. Why not let her? Your mother is going to get something whether you like it or not.
Hadrian slammed the door shut and brushed around me.
Something inside of me broke. I couldn’t let him do it—he couldn’t be the one—
Take, take, take, just like she always had when I was a child. But this time—I’d furnished this place. I’d fixed it, I’d polished and painted. Fissures in my heart started to crack wider until it split in two.
She reached for a blown-glass hummingbird just as I grabbed his elbow. He froze, eyes darting between me and my mother. I gave a tight headshake as she moved to the candleholder.
Please, I mouthed, forehead creased, face flushed with embarrassment.
His jaw clenched, nostrils flared, with the faintest flash of yellow over his eyes. But he didn’t move.
I turned to Mom. Eased closer. She swayed again. Whatever she’d taken was starting to hit, hard, and there I was, the truth molding itself to my lips: “Mom—I know where the jewel—”
I tried to grab her wrists, but she swung an empty candleholder. I hissed when it clipped my cheekbone; immediately, a heady iron scent filled the room, my skin on fire.
I held my hand to my burning cheek as she filled her pockets with anything she considered valuable.
When she reached for the new mirror I’d bought for the mantel, something overtook me.
“Landry—” Hadrian started.
“Mom, that’s enough.” I tried to grab her waist, but she had a hold on the bottom of the frame. It jerked forward, sending all the decor to the floor. She tried to bat my hands away, but I held fast. The two of us stumbled against the closest chair.
I heard the crunch before I felt the grind of a box under my foot. I glanced down—the wooden box I’d set on the mantel lay partially shattered, it’s latch now broken, contents spilled around Hadrian’s feet.
Three teeth had fallen on the floor—and I’d just stepped on two.