Chương 4
I thanked Miss Castellano and walked my daughter outside before anyone could turn the moment into another argument.
The air was cool, and the pavement was still wet from the morning rain.
Juny stopped beside the car and looked back at the house.
"Are they mad?"
I unlocked the doors.
"Probably."
She nodded.
"Okay."
I looked at her.
"That's all you have to say?"
She shrugged.
"I think I spent a lot of time trying to make sure nobody was mad."
She opened the passenger door but did not get inside yet.
"And it never really worked."
I did not know what to say.
There were moments when a parent wants to repair everything immediately.
A childhood.
A wound.
A sentence they wish they had interrupted.
But some things cannot be fixed by one perfect conversation.
They have to be rebuilt through hundreds of small choices.
On the drive home, Juny listened to music through one earbud and watched the streets pass by.
She did not talk much.
Normally, I would have worried.
Normally, I would have asked if something was wrong.
Instead, I let the silence exist.
When we reached our apartment, she went straight to her room.
I stood in the kitchen for a while, staring at the stack of unopened mail on the counter.
Bills.
Advertisements.
A grocery coupon that had expired two months earlier.
Ordinary things.
I found comfort in that.
After a week where everything felt like it was changing, there was something reassuring about a pile of boring problems waiting exactly where I left them.
My phone rang before I could make coffee.
It was my father.
I almost ignored it.
Then I answered.
"Hello."
There was a pause.
That was unusual.
My father rarely paused before speaking.
He believed hesitation made people look weak.
"We need to talk."
I leaned against the counter.
"About what?"
"You know what."
"No, I don't."
Another pause.
Then he sighed.
"The house."
Of course.
Not Juny.
Not the surgery.
Not how close we came to losing her.
The house.
"I don't think there is anything to talk about."
"You don't get to decide that."
The old tone was back.
The one that assumed authority.
The one that worked when I was twenty and afraid of disappointing him.
It did not work anymore.
"Actually, Dad, I think I do."
He was quiet.
"You have changed."
I looked toward the hallway where Juny's bedroom door was closed.
"No."
I said it softly.
"I think I stopped pretending."
He did not respond immediately.
When he finally spoke, his voice sounded older.
"Your grandmother knew how to divide people."
I closed my eyes.
There it was.
The explanation.
The story they would tell themselves.
Not that they ignored Juny.
Not that they took advantage of Augusta's generosity.
That Augusta had caused the problem by creating boundaries.
"She was trying to protect someone."
"She was trying to punish us."
"Why would she need to punish you?"
The question came out before I could stop it.
My father did not answer.
That silence told me more than any argument could.
"I have work," he said.
"Sure."
He hung up first.
Later that afternoon, I found Juny sitting on the floor of her room surrounded by old photographs.
She had taken them from a box in her closet.
Some were from school.
Some were from holidays.
Some were pictures my grandmother had taken.
"What are you doing?"
She looked up.
"Trying to figure out if Grandma knew."
I sat beside her.
"Knew what?"
"That everyone treated me differently."
I picked up a picture of her at age eight.
She was missing two front teeth and holding a giant ice cream cone.
Augusta was beside her, laughing.
"I think she noticed things other people ignored."
Juny ran her finger along the edge of the photo.
"Why didn't you notice?"
The question was gentle.
That made it harder.
I could have defended myself.
I could have listed every time I protected her.
Every time I drove her places.
Every time I packed lunches and stayed up late helping with homework.
All of it would have been true.
And all of it would have been incomplete.
"Because I thought if I kept everyone calm, you would be okay."
She looked at me.
"Was I?"
I looked down.
"No."
The honesty hurt.
But it also felt like the first honest thing between us in a long time.
"I should have told people to stop."
"You tried sometimes."
"Sometimes wasn't enough."
Juny folded one of the pictures and put it back carefully.
"I don't want the house if it makes everyone hate me."
I felt a familiar instinct rise.
The instinct to reassure her.
To tell her nobody hated her.
But that was not always true.
Some people hated what her existence forced them to confront.
"I don't think the house is the reason people are upset."
She looked confused.
"Then what is?"
"The fact that they don't get to decide everything anymore."
She was quiet.
Then she nodded slowly.
A few days passed before the family meeting happened.
It was not planned.
It happened because Davina showed up at my apartment without calling.
That alone told me she was desperate.
She had never visited without announcing herself first.
She liked control too much.
When I opened the door, she was holding a folder.
Not an angry folder.
A nervous one.
The kind people carry when they are trying to convince themselves they are prepared.
"Can I come in?"
I stepped aside.
Juny was at the kitchen table doing homework.
Davina looked at her and smiled awkwardly.
"Hey."
"Hi."
The distance between them was obvious.
Not dramatic.
Just different.
Like two people who had once stood on the same side of a room and now realized they had been looking at completely different things.
Davina sat down.
"I talked to Mom and Dad."
I waited.
May you like
"They think you are trying to take something away from us."
Juny lowered her pencil.
