“My point, Karie, is that my old man was a drunk and a big fucking baby but he didn’t hit us, he didn’t abuse us, and he didn’t neglect us and as soon as the social workers got that confirmed, they were over the moon. You could practically see them wipin themselves down they were so relieved. They don’t wanna take people away. It’s a pain in the ass and a major expense. ’Cause if you’re not looking after Kelli-bean, guess who is? Them. And that costs.”

We drove in grim silence for a good five minutes or so as my mind raced. It was obvious to me how this had happened — the dots were easy enough to connect. It even made a kind of sense. But at the same time it seemed so callous, so unfair. “How could she do it?” I muttered at last. I’d explained it to Trevor back at the restaurant, in the shell-shocked moments after I’d put down the phone. But I couldn’t get over how callous it was, how unfair. Not to mention out of character. “How could she do it?” I muttered now.

“Because,” said Trevor, setting his jaw. “She’s a rich bitch who’s had everything served up on a silver platter and she has no fucking idea what people like us have had to go through.”

I wanted to feel it, what Trevor was saying about Jessica. Of course, I knew the opposite was true. Jessica had, in fact, experienced the knock-knock-knock, the social workers at the door, and — unlike young Trevor with his damning Christmas drawings — the upheaval that came after. He and I were the ones who had no idea. But I didn’t tell Trevor that, I didn’t contradict him. I couldn’t, because I needed him on my side now that I knew I had an enemy.

24

She was waiting for me, because I’d called to make sure she stayed put once she’d finished showing the house. I told her I wouldn’t keep her long. I tried to keep my tone light as we spoke on the phone, almost sing-song, as if it was important to deceive her about how I was feeling — as if I were laying a trap.

When we pulled into the driveway, Jessica was sitting in her car with a pair of potential home-buyers — two middle-aged men, one blond and buzzcut, the other with a striking, shoulder-length mane of silver hair. Even though I could only see the backs of their heads, it was pretty clear the three of them had become buddies in the time they’d spent wandering around my mother’s blank slate of a house. Now the men were leaning toward her and waving their hands around, telling the same story simultaneously it looked like, as Jessica laughed hugely, flashing her excellent teeth.

Jessica said something as we pulled into the driveway that prompted the silver-haired man to turn and wave at me. I climbed out of Trevor’s truck and — even though it felt forbidden to be interacting with him, somehow, like I was violating some kind of real estate taboo — raised a hand in return. In further defiance of the taboo, he pointed at the house and gave me a thumbs-up as if to say, Good house! By now, Jessica had climbed out of the car and was walking toward me, her bright, realtor’s smile fading as she took in the sight of Trevor, taking Kelli’s hand with an exaggerated air of courtliness, to help her down from the truck. He looked like one of Cinderella’s footmen, helping the princess from her enchanted coach. It was a performance for Jessica’s benefit, just like when he stood with his legs spread and his hands on his hips at the yard sale, putting himself on display.