Chapter 2
“Lena.”
Her name slipped out of me before I knew I had spoken.
The hand disappeared.
The curtain snapped shut.
“Nia?” Marcus said.
“My sister’s upstairs.”
“Get in your car.”
“I saw her hand.”
“Lock the doors. The police are coming.”
My knees weakened.
“Why are the police coming?”
“Lena sent me a message when my phone came back on after landing. She said she couldn’t leave the house.”
I stared at the upstairs window.
My sister had supposedly gone away to clear her head.
My father had told me she was staying with a friend.
For six weeks, I had worried that grief had swallowed her.
Now she was behind a curtain in the room where we used to share secrets.
“Why did she message you?”
“She said your father checks her phone. She found an old tablet. My number was saved on it from when I helped her set it up.”
“What did she say?”
Marcus took a breath.
“Help me. Don’t warn Dad. Don’t let Nia sign anything.”
A car turned into the street.
I flinched so hard my phone nearly slipped.
“Someone’s coming.”
“Your car. Now.”
I moved.
For the first time since arriving, I listened without arguing.
I climbed inside and locked every door.
The approaching car slowed in front of the house.
I recognized the silver sedan.
Uncle Victor.
My father’s younger brother stepped out wearing a dark coat and carrying a leather folder.
He looked toward my car.
I sank lower in the seat.
He could still see me.
He smiled.
That smile frightened me more than a shout would have.
Victor had managed money for half our relatives. At church dinners, people called him the smart brother.
My mother had never called him that.
She used to say a person could be clever without being honest.
I had thought she meant his habit of avoiding questions.
Now I wondered how much she had known.
Victor walked toward me.
I held my breath.
He knocked lightly on the window.
“Nia. Your father says there’s been a misunderstanding.”
Marcus was still on the phone.
“Don’t open it,” he said.
I lifted the phone where Victor could see it.
“I’m speaking to my husband.”
Victor’s smile thinned.
“Marcus likes turning little problems into big ones.”
“What problem?”
“Come inside. We can talk.”
I looked past him.
The front door had opened.
My father stood in the light.
He did not call me.
He did not wave.
He shook his head once.
Victor noticed me looking.
His expression changed.
“Your father is tired. He’s been dealing with your sister’s behavior.”
“What behavior?”
Victor leaned closer.
“Lena has been confused lately.”
My stomach turned.
“Where is she?”
“Safe.”
“Then let me speak to her.”
“She doesn’t want that.”
“Let her tell me.”
Victor tapped the glass with one knuckle.
“Open the door, Nia.”
Marcus spoke firmly.
“The responding officers have your description and location. Stay where you are.”
I pressed the phone tighter against my ear.
Victor heard enough.
His face went still.
“You called the police?”
I did not answer.
He turned toward my father.
For the first time in my life, I saw Robert look smaller than his brother.
Victor walked back to the house quickly.
My father stepped aside.
The door closed.
I started crying.
Not loudly.
The tears just came, one after another, while I watched the place where my family had vanished.
“Marcus, I should have known.”
“You couldn’t know what they kept from you.”
“I believed him.”
“Stay with me.”
A patrol car appeared at the corner.
Then another.
I flashed my headlights.
Two officers approached my car. Both were Black women, and something about seeing their calm faces allowed me to breathe.
One introduced herself as Officer Freeman.
I lowered the window a few inches.
“My sister’s inside.”
“We received the report. Are you injured?”
“No.”
“Stay here while my partner speaks with you.”
I tried to open the door.
“I need to go with you.”
Officer Freeman shook her head.
“You can help us by telling us what you saw.”
So I told her.
The hand.
The locked silence.
Victor trying to bring me inside.
My father telling me to call Marcus before Marcus had even landed.
Her partner wrote while I spoke.
At the house, Freeman knocked.
My father answered.
Victor appeared beside him almost immediately.
I could not hear everything.
I heard “family matter.”
I heard “adult daughter.”
Then I heard Officer Freeman say, clearly, “We need to speak with her directly.”
Victor stepped forward.
My father moved his arm across him.
It was a small movement.
But it stopped him.
The officer went inside.
I gripped my phone until my fingers hurt.
Minutes passed.
The porch light reflected off the hood of my car.
I counted each breath.
Then the front door opened again.
Officer Freeman came out supporting my sister.
Lena wore gray sweatpants and one of my mother’s old cardigans.
She had no shoes.
Her face looked thinner than I remembered.
I jumped out before anyone could tell me to wait.
“Lena!”
She lifted her head.
For a second, she stared as if I were another trick.
Then she tried to run.
Her knees folded.
I reached her before she hit the porch steps.
She grabbed my sweater with both hands.
“I tried,” she whispered.
“What?”
“I tried to tell you.”
I held her carefully.
Behind her, another officer guided Victor out of the house.
My father followed, his face empty.
Lena saw them.
Her grip tightened.
“Don’t let them take me upstairs again.”
I looked at Officer Freeman.
She had heard.
Her expression hardened.
“They won’t,” she said.
An ambulance pulled up.
Lena pressed her mouth against my shoulder.
“Nia, the folder,” she whispered.
“What folder?”
“The one Victor brought.”
I looked back.
An officer was already holding the leather folder.
May you like
Lena began to shake.
“Your name is on the next page.”
