24. Hannah
Hannah
Ipulled into my father’s driveway with both suitcases in the back of my Subaru and sat there until the engine started ticking. Dad’s truck was parked crooked on the left side of the drive. I got out with my tote bag hooked over my shoulder and grabbed my small suitcase from the back.
Inside, the house smelled like coffee and the faint dusty smell houses get when they’ve been closed up with the air conditioner running all day.
“In here,” Dad called.
He was at the kitchen table with a coffee mug and the sports section open in front of him.
“You need help with your bags?”
“No,” I said. “I’ve got it.”
He nodded and stayed seated.
I went back for the larger suitcase. The wheels rattled over the porch boards and bumped against the threshold before I dragged the suitcase inside and down the hall toward my old room. The door stuck the same way it always had. I nudged it open with my hip and stopped in the doorway.
Dad had moved some things, but the room was still cluttered with old junk.
Plastic bins lined one wall. A cardboard box of tangled Christmas lights sat under the window.
Dust covered the top of the dresser, and the bed was bare except for a folded quilt I didn’t recognize.
I set both suitcases beside the closet, and Dad came to the doorway behind me.
“You can stay as long as you need.” His voice was kind.
“Just a few days,” I said.
“Okay.”
He looked at the bins, then at the floor, then back down the hall.
“I’ll let you get settled.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
He nodded and left me with the dust and the boxes. I’d told him on the way over that something had happened at work. But I hadn’t gotten into the full story. It was better if he didn’t know the truth.
I stood there for another minute, then walked out to check the hall closet for sheets.
The first shelf held towels. The second held a stack of sheets folded into lumpy rectangles.
I pulled down a floral fitted sheet and held it to my face.
It smelled like the lavender detergent I used the last time I’d come over and washed his piles of dirty laundry.
I carried the sheets back to my room and set them on the bare mattress. The fitted sheet fought me at two corners before I got it tucked under. I shook out the top sheet, smoothed it flat, and pulled the quilt over everything. The work helped me not ruminate over what I’d just done.
I moved the Christmas lights under the window, stacked two bins beside the closet, and wiped the dresser with an old rag from one of the bins. By the time I was done, the room was clean enough to sleep in.
I took the dirty rag to the kitchen and rinsed it.
There was a stack of plates leaned precariously beside the sink.
Two pots sat on the stove, whatever had been cooked in them long since dried on the bottom and sides.
The trash can was full enough that the lid wouldn’t close.
A ring of spilled coffee stained the counter beneath the machine, and something sticky had collected dust near the toaster.
The dish towel hanging from the oven handle was stiff.
I washed a plate before I thought about it, then another, then started clearing space beside the sink.
The water ran hot against my hands. I scrubbed dried egg from a fork, rinsed coffee rings from the bottoms of mugs, stacked clean dishes in the rack, and reached automatically for the next thing waiting in the basin.
The rhythm was familiar enough that I didn’t have to think about it.
Wash. Rinse. Drainer. By the time I finished, the sink was empty and the counter around it looked lighter somehow.
The mail was spread over half the table. Grocery ads. A water bill. Two envelopes marked urgent that were not urgent yet, which was Dad’s preferred stage for dealing with things. I stacked them by size and moved them beside the napkin holder.
Then I opened the fridge, feeling like I should make something for lunch.
There was no butter or eggs. A carton of milk smelled sour the second I unscrewed the cap.
Two slices of cheese were folded into a sandwich bag, and a jar of salsa held maybe a spoonful at the bottom.
In the drawer, a green pepper had gone soft.
I threw out the milk and the pepper. Dad watched me from the table.
“I’ll make something for lunch.”
I found tortillas in the bread box, a can of refried beans in the pantry, and enough cheese to pretend. The beans slid into the pot in one thick lump. I stirred them until they softened, warmed the tortillas in a dry skillet, and scraped the last of the salsa into a bowl.
Dad got plates down without being asked.
“We need groceries,” I said, opening the junk drawer for a pen.
He looked at the tortillas, the beans, the empty refrigerator behind me, and didn’t argue. I turned over an old receipt and started writing while the second tortilla browned.
Milk. Butter. Eggs. Bread. Coffee. Chicken. Apples.
Dad sat at the table and ate what I put in front of him.
I added trash bags to the list.
I was halfway through my tortilla when the front door opened.
“Kyle?” Dad called.
“Yeah.”
My brother came in like he still lived there, keys in one hand, phone in the other. He stopped at the kitchen doorway and looked from Dad to me to the grocery list beside my plate.
“Hey,” he said. “Dad said you were staying here for a while.”
“Temporarily,” I said.
Kyle leaned one shoulder against the doorframe. “What happened with your job? Don’t you usually stay in those short-term rental places between gigs?”
Dad set his tortilla down. “Kyle.”
“What? I’m just asking.”
“Don’t pry.”
“It’s fine,” I said, even though it wasn’t. “I need to run to the store.”
Kyle pulled out the chair across from me and sat. “I actually have something important to ask you.”
That was not good. My hand tightened around my fork as he set his phone on the table. Dad rubbed a hand over his mouth and looked at his plate while I stared at the grocery list: milk, butter, eggs, bread.
“What is it?” I asked.
“I got accepted to the Austin Tech HVAC program for the fall session.”
“Congratulations.”
“They’ve got placement after. Apartment complexes, commercial maintenance, refrigeration stuff. Real jobs.”
Dad nodded once. “It will be good for him.”
Kyle looked relieved by that and kept going. “I was supposed to pay the exam deposit last week.”
“And you didn’t?”
“I know. I know. I messed up. My Uber Eats orders have been slim.” He leaned forward, elbows on the table. “But they’ll still hold my spot if I pay by tomorrow at five. It’s the deposit plus the late fee.”
“How much?”
The question came out before I could stop it. Kyle’s shoulders loosened.
“Six-fifty.”
I folded the grocery list.
“Six hundred and fifty dollars?”
“It’s not like I’m asking for party money.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“This is me trying to do the right thing for my future.”
Dad rubbed his thumb along the edge of his plate. “It is a good program.”
I looked at him. He looked back, tired and hopeful and already halfway out of the decision. Kyle saw the opening. “Mom would’ve wanted me to do something with my life.”
I looked at Kyle’s phone on the table. He had the payment screen open already. The total sat there in black numbers.
I thought of my own accounts. First month’s rent if I needed it.
Groceries. Gas. I thought of the Vossics’ custody claim and my name in those legal documents.
My agency position was on the line. The little emergency cushion I had built one careful paycheck at a time was looking thinner by the second.
I’d have to go back to the hospital if I was let go from my agency.
Then I thought of Kyle with a steady job. I knew I couldn’t say no to this.
“Let me see it,” I said.
Kyle exhaled. “Seriously?”
“Before I change my mind.”
Dad’s whole body loosened, and that hit harder than Kyle’s relief. Kyle slid his phone across the table. I pulled my wallet from my purse and took out my credit card. Kyle watched while I typed the number into his phone and hit enter. The confirmation screen loaded and then it blinked complete.
“There,” I said.
Kyle grinned. “Hannah, you’re amazing.”
I stood and picked up the grocery list.
“If you don’t complete the course, I will personally murder you. I don’t even care if I go to jail for it.”
“You don’t have to worry about that,” Kyle said.
“He’ll finish,” Dad added.
I took my keys from the counter and folded the list into my palm.
“I’m going to the store.”
Neither of them tried to stop me.
I walked out of the kitchen with my keys in one hand and the grocery list crushed in the other. In the front hall, I passed the family photo that still hung crooked over the entry table.
Mom was in the middle of it, smiling into the sun with baby Kyle in her arms. Dad stood beside her, squinting like the whole day had been too bright.
Megan stood on Mom’s other side with a baby-toothed grin and her hands clasped behind her back.
I was next to Dad, one hand hooked through his.
My heart hurt so sharply that I stopped walking.
Then Kyle laughed at something in the kitchen, and Dad answered him.
The sound pushed me out the door. I got in my car and drove away from the curb too fast. Adrenaline flooded my blood until my hands felt light on the wheel.
By the time I reached the first stoplight, hot tears were sliding down my face.
“Stop it,” I snapped.
I wiped them away with the heel of my hand, hard enough to hurt, because crying while driving was stupid and dangerous. I was not going to wreck my car after paying six hundred and fifty dollars for Kyle to maybe become responsible.
At the store, I grabbed a cart and went straight through the produce section. Apples. Carrots. Lettuce. Bananas. Into the cart. Milk. Butter. Eggs. Bread. Into the cart.
I was moving too fast and accidentally rammed the cart into the corner of a display. A bag of hamburger buns slid sideways. I fixed it and stood there breathing through my nose.
I knew I had to help my brother finally make something of himself. Dad was right. The course would be good for him. He’d finally start his life. But no one seemed to care that I was operating on fumes. This would be the last time I ever let myself get roped into funding Kyle’s life.