Chapter 6 - Green Paint at the Kitchen Table
Ethan's third-grade class had a local-history project.
Build something representing “a memory of your neighborhood.”
Most children made parks.
Schools.
Football fields.
Ethan made a road.
Black construction paper.
Tiny trees.
Wooden sticks.
A truck.
Green.
He found one of Dad's old model pickups in a storage bin and painted it using acrylic paint from a craft set.
When I came home, he was sitting at the kitchen table.
Green paint covered his fingers.
The truck had a broken red mark near the front.
“What's this?”
He looked nervous.
“The road.”
“What road?”
His eyes filled.
“I don't know the name.”
I sat beside him.
“You don't have to tell me anything.”
“I remember rain.”
I froze.
Ethan stared at the truck.
“And music.”
“What kind?”
He shook his head.
Then whispered:
“Mom was crying.”
My throat tightened.
Before I could say anything, the garage door opened.
Gary.
Ethan swept one hand across the project.
Water spilled.
A glass hit the floor.
Shattered.
Gary entered.
Saw green paint.
Saw the truck.
Then looked at Ethan.
“What the hell is that?”
“School.”
“Throw it away.”
Ethan grabbed the truck.
“No.”
Gary stepped closer.
“Where did you get that idea?”
“He made it up,” I said.
Gary looked at me.
Then back at Ethan.
“Did Brooke tell you to draw this?”
“No.”
“Did that detective?”
“No!”
Mom came into the room.
She saw the truck.
Her face drained.
“Ethan.”
He looked at her.
Then said something none of us expected.
“You were there.”
Nobody moved.
Gary spoke first.
“What?”
Ethan began crying.
“You told me it was a dream.”
Mom gripped the counter.
Gary crossed the room.
I stepped between them.
“What did you tell him was a dream?”
Mom whispered:
“Brooke, stop.”
Ethan said:
“The green truck.”
Gary grabbed his arm.
Hard.
“Enough.”
I shoved him.
“Let go.”
He released Ethan.
Then smiled at me in a way that frightened me more than yelling would have.
“You need to leave.”
“This is my house.”
“No.”
His voice lowered.
“This is your mother's house. You're seventeen. Go cool off.”
Mom said nothing.
I looked at Ethan.
“Come with me.”
Gary moved toward the doorway.
“He stays.”
“Mom?”
She would not look at me.
I made the worst choice of the week.
I left.
Not because I abandoned Ethan.
Because Reed had told me repeatedly not to create a confrontation.
I drove three streets away.
Called him.
Gary had taken Ethan's phone months earlier.
I told Reed everything.
He said:
“Stay where you are. Do not go back in.”
Then I heard Ethan screaming through my memory louder than Reed's instructions.
I turned the car around.
Before entering the house, I texted:
I'm getting him.
Reed replied immediately.
BROOKE, WAIT.
May you like
I didn't.
Eight minutes later, I found Gary with the belt.
