Chapter 2 - The Uncle Linda Didn't Want Inside
Mark Sullivan stood on the porch in a rain-darkened Ohio State jacket.
He was Linda’s older brother.
Forty-four.
Divorced.
A union electrician who lived twenty minutes away in Worthington and had spent most of the last year being described by Linda as “someone who loves a crisis.”
Brooke had believed that.
Until two weeks earlier.
Mark stepped inside and immediately saw Ethan.
Then the overturned chair.
Then the belt on the floor.
His face changed.
“What happened?”
Gary moved toward him.
“This is none of your business.”
Mark did not look at him.
“Ethan?”
Ethan remained behind Brooke.
Gary snapped, “I said—”
“Gary.”
Linda’s voice stopped him.
That caught Brooke’s attention too.
Gary obeyed her.
Mark looked at Linda.
“Why is he scared?”
“He broke a glass and dumped paint all over the kitchen.”
“I didn’t,” Ethan whispered.
Linda glanced at him.
“Enough.”
Brooke pointed at her mother’s hand.
“She had the paint on her.”
Linda looked down.
A thin green streak remained beside her thumbnail.
“She was cleaning it up,” Gary said.
Too quickly.
Brooke stared at him.
“You saw her before I did.”
Gary’s mouth tightened.
“You want to be careful with what you’re accusing people of.”
Mark finally looked at Gary.
“No. You want to be careful.”
Linda stepped between them.
“This is exactly why I didn’t want you here.”
Mark laughed once.
“You didn’t want me here because Brooke called me crying last week.”
Brooke turned.
“I wasn’t crying.”
“You were trying not to.”
Linda stared at her daughter.
“You called him?”
Brooke felt guilty immediately.
That reflex frightened her.
She lifted her chin.
“Yes.”
Mark had received three calls from Brooke in two weeks.
The first after Gary punched a hole through the laundry-room door during an argument with Linda.
The second after Ethan said Gary made him stand in the kitchen for forty minutes because cereal had spilled.
The third that afternoon.
Brooke had still minimized everything.
Gary had never struck Ethan.
He had never struck Brooke.
That was the sentence she kept using.
As though terror only counted after physical contact.
Mark crouched several feet from Ethan.
“You okay coming home with me tonight?”
Ethan looked at Linda.
Not Brooke.
Not Mark.
His mother.
Linda said, “Absolutely not.”
Ethan’s shoulders dropped.
Brooke noticed.
“Mom, just tonight.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because Mark has been waiting for an excuse to turn you against me.”
Mark stood.
“I’m not taking anybody anywhere without your permission.”
Gary muttered, “Good.”
Mark ignored him.
“But I’m also not leaving while that kid is shaking.”
Linda looked toward Ethan.
For the first time, something like uncertainty crossed her face.
Brooke pushed.
“One night.”
Linda rubbed her forehead.
“Fine.”
Gary turned toward her.
“Linda.”
She shot him a warning look.
Brooke caught that too.
Something was happening between them that had nothing to do with spilled paint.
Twenty minutes later, Brooke and Ethan were in Mark’s truck with overnight bags.
As they pulled away, Ethan stared through the rear window.
Then he asked:
“Is Mom gonna be mad I told the truth?”
Brooke looked at him.
“What truth?”
Ethan twisted one hoodie string around his finger.
“The other times.”
Brooke’s stomach tightened.
“What other times?”
May you like
Ethan looked down.
“Mom says I’m supposed to say sorry even when I didn’t do it.”
