Page 11 of Kings Don't Break

The inside of our two-story, four-bedroom house resembles a model home in a magazine more than it does a home that’s actually lived in.

Eggshell white walls with sturdy wooden beams and farmhouse furniture make up the space. Every picture frame that hangs has been meticulously measured out so it’s just right, so it’s perfectly pleasing to the eye. Every stainless steel appliance gleams, and the sunlight pours in by way of the many bay windows.

There isn’t a crumb anywhere to be found. No smudges or dirt tracked on the floor—I know, I spent an hour scrubbing it spotless earlier.

It’s a house many dream of. It’s a house that makes me hold my breath from the moment I enter.

I take off Mama’s coat and then mine, hanging both on the coat hook on the wall. For a brief second, my gaze lingers on the third hook from which a thick bomber jacket dangles. The Pulsboro Police shield is stitched onto the shoulder in a deep navy-blue and bold shade of gold that’s supposed to be heroic and valiant.

Instead, all it reminds me of is today’s failure. The amazing dinner I won’t be preparing…

“I thought I heard you girls.”

I tear my gaze away from the coat hooks to find Ken walking up. His gaze is set on us, his lips spreading into a smile. He holds out his arms to welcome Mama with a hug that she steps into.

“My favorite son-in-law!”

Ken laughs, giving her an affectionate squeeze. “Sunny, you know I’m your only son-in-law.”

“Ain’t it great winning by default?”

“Just what every man wants to hear.” He turns his attention back onto me, his smile frozen on his face. “There she is. I’m glad you were able to find your missing daughter.”

Mama’s brows scrunch together. “I… was?”

“I sent you out to find her. Don’t you remember, Sunny?”

“Oh… yes… right.” Though, as Mama answers him, she still looks perplexed.

I step forward to intervene. “I’ll take her to her room. She shouldn’t be out unsupervised. She’ll get lost again.”

My arm curls around Mama’s shoulders to escort her up the stairs without any protests from Ken. He’s letting me make a getaway scot-free—’til we get halfway up the staircase and he speaks again.

His tone matter-of-fact, he says, “Your mother wouldn’t be out wandering unsupervised if someone were home on time to watch her, like was agreed.”

Every bone in my body goes stiff. I hover over the next stair, feeling like a bright spotlight has been shone onto me. Like I’ve been on the run from the police, and they’ve tracked me down via chopper, blinding me with their searchlight.

It might as well be the case—unease and guilt coalesce into one singular, belly-rippling, heart-pounding, clammy-skinned reaction.

“Yes, you’re right,” I answer. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, Kor. Just don’t let it happen again.”

“Let what happen?” Mama questions, clueless.

“C’mon, Mama. You need to lay down.”

We make it the rest of the way up the stairs as if I’ve found my escape; I’m fleeing the scene after all.

But it’s only momentary. A small reprieve from what will be a disaster.

My failure that won’t soon be forgotten…

* * *

Ding-dong!

“Oooh, somebody’s visiting us!” Mama squeaks, eyes wide and excited. “Should I go answer?”