“To whom?”
“To everyone.”
Mom shook her head again.
“Not to us.”
Vanessa turned on her.
“You weren’t using half the house!”
The sharpness in her voice made Mom flinch.
That was the moment my anger stopped feeling hot.
It became precise.
I had spent the drive from Boston imagining emergencies.
An illness.
A fall.
Some stranger taking advantage of them.
I had not imagined my own sister standing in their kitchen explaining why their happiness was inefficient.
Dad slowly straightened his glasses.
“We told them no,” he said.
I looked at him.
His voice strengthened with each word.
“The first week, they asked if they could stay longer.
We said a few more days would be fine.”
Mom nodded.
“Then Craig moved boxes into the guest room.”
Dad continued.
“When I asked about them, he said they were only temporary.
Then more arrived.”
Vanessa’s eyes narrowed.
“Dad, don’t make this sound sinister.”
He ignored her.
“Yesterday, Craig told me we should move back to our old apartment.”
My stomach tightened.
The apartment my parents had left was no longer theirs.
They had ended that chapter because I had promised them this home was safe.
Mom spoke next.
“When we said no, he started shouting.”
Craig threw both hands up.
“Oh, come on.
Nobody touched anybody.”
As if that were the standard.
As if terrorizing two people in their own foyer became acceptable as long as he kept his hands open.
I looked at the cardboard box near Dad’s shoe.
“What was that for?”
Craig’s eyes followed mine.
“Just helping them get organized.”
Dad gave a bitter little laugh I had never heard from him before.
“He packed my clothes.”
The room went silent.
I looked at Craig.
“You went into my father’s bedroom and packed his clothes?”
He shifted his weight.
Vanessa spoke quickly.
“I helped.”
For a second, that hurt more.
Craig was arrogant.
Craig was a bully.
Craig had walked into a situation he did not understand and decided force would create authority.
But Vanessa knew our parents.
