After My Husband Helped Cover Up My Parents’ Murder

Georgina arrived on a Thursday with three suitcases and a mouth like a knife.

She didn't knock. She had a key. Garrett must have given it to her. She walked into our apartment at nine in the morning while I was still in my bathrobe, and she looked at me the way you look at something stuck to your shoe.

"This place is a mess," she said.

It wasn't. I'd cleaned the night before. But Georgina set her purse on the counter and ran one finger along the edge of the sink, and when she held it up there was nothing on it, but she looked at it anyway like she'd found evidence.

"Garrett's at work," I said.

"I know where my son is." She turned. "Make me tea. Not that bagged garbage. Loose leaf. You do have loose leaf, don't you?"

We didn't.

I went to the corner store and bought some with money I'd been saving for Ethan's new shoes. When I got back, Georgina was sitting in the living room with her coat still on, looking at the furniture like it had personally offended her.

I made the tea. I brought it to her on the tray we got as a wedding gift and never used. She took one sip and set it down.

"Weak," she said.

She stayed.

Not for a visit. She moved into the guest room with her three suitcases and her opinions, and Garrett didn't ask me first. He told me at dinner that night, in front of her, like it was already decided.

"Mom's going to stay with us for a while. She's between places."

Georgina smiled. "I'm sure Eve doesn't mind. Do you, dear?"

I looked at Garrett. He was cutting his chicken. He didn't look up.

"Of course not," I said.

The next morning she handed me a list.

Scrub the baseboards. Hand-wash the curtains. Reorganize the pantry by category and expiration date. Make a roast for dinner with potatoes and that gravy she liked, the one that took two hours.

I looked at the list. My shift at the grocery store started at eleven.

"I have work," I said.

Georgina looked at me over her reading glasses. "Garrett provides for this household. The least you can do is keep it properly."

"I also work."

"Scanning groceries." She said it like the words tasted bad. "That's not work, dear. That's something to do while you wait for your husband to come home."

I called in sick. My manager sounded tired. It was the third time that month.

I scrubbed the baseboards on my knees while Georgina sat in the living room and talked on the phone about how hard it was to find good help these days. She wasn't talking about a housekeeper.

At dinner, she took one bite of the roast and set her fork down.

"Dry," she said. She looked at Garrett. "Your father's new wife makes a roast that melts in your mouth. Doesn't she, sweetheart?"

Garrett nodded. He was looking at his phone.

Georgina turned to me. "You'll do better next time. Won't you, Eve?"

"Yes," I said.

Ethan pushed his potatoes around his plate. He hadn't eaten much all week. I reached over and felt his forehead. He was warm.

"Ethan. Do you feel okay?"

He shook his head.

Georgina made a sound. "Children are always warm. It's normal. Don't coddle him."

I put Ethan to bed early. By ten his fever was climbing. By midnight it was 104.

I stood in his doorway with the thermometer in my hand, watching his small chest rise and fall too fast, and my own chest went tight.

I went into the bedroom. Garrett was asleep. I shook his shoulder.

"Garrett. Wake up."

He rolled over. "What."

"Ethan's fever is 104. We need to take him to the ER."

He looked at me. Not at Ethan's room. At me. "Give him Tylenol."

"I did. It's not coming down."

"Then give him more."

"Garrett. He needs a doctor."

He sat up. His voice came out flat and cold. "Do you know what the ER costs? Do you have any idea?"

"I don't care what it costs. He's burning up."

"He's fine. You're being dramatic." He lay back down. "It's your problem. Handle it."

I stood there. The room was dark except for the light from the hallway. I could hear Ethan coughing in the other room.

Your problem.

I went back to Ethan. I sat on the edge of his bed and smoothed his hair back. It was damp with sweat.

"We're going to the hospital," I whispered.

He nodded. He didn't even argue. That scared me more than the fever.

I carried him to the car in his pajamas. Georgina's light was off. Garrett's door stayed closed.

I drove to the ER with one hand on the wheel and one hand on Ethan's leg, and halfway there I remembered I had sixty dollars in my wallet and no idea what the bill would be.

I pulled over two blocks from the hospital.

I sat there with the engine running and my hands shaking.

Then I reached up and unclasped the necklace.

The gold one. The wedding gift. The one Garrett had fastened around my neck on our wedding day while he whispered that I was his forever.

I held it in my palm. It was warm from my skin.

The pawnshop sign was still lit.

I walked in with Ethan on my hip and set the necklace on the counter. The clerk looked at it. Looked at me. Looked at Ethan.

He didn't ask questions.

He counted out four hundred and twenty dollars in twenties and slid them across the glass. I watched the necklace disappear into a drawer behind him.

I didn't feel anything.

Not sad. Not angry.

Just empty.

We went to the hospital. They gave Ethan an IV and antibiotics and a bed with rails. He fell asleep holding my hand.

I sat in the chair next to him and looked at the fluorescent lights and the gray linoleum and the clock on the wall that ticked too loud.

A nurse brought me a cup of coffee. I didn't drink it.

Ethan woke up a little after dawn. The fever had broken. He looked at me with those big tired eyes and asked for his crayons.

I found some in the play area down the hall. I brought them back with a piece of paper.

He drew while I sat next to him and pretended I wasn't falling apart.

When he finished, he held it up.

"The Guardian," he said.

It was a woman. Tall. Standing in the rain. She was holding an umbrella over a small child.

The woman's face was just a circle. No features. But I knew who it was.

"It's you," Ethan said. "You're the guardian."

I took the picture. My hands were shaking.

I folded it carefully. I put it in my wallet, behind the sixty dollars I had left and the receipt from the pawnshop.

I didn't know yet that I would carry it through everything that came next.

I didn't know yet that I would look at it in the moments I wanted to give up.

I just knew that my son had drawn me as someone strong.

And I didn't feel strong.

I felt like someone drowning in shallow water.

But I kept the picture anyway.