Chapter 2 - The Aftermath of Convenience
The baby shower was officially over. Within twenty minutes, guests were scurrying out the side doors, clutching their purses and avoiding eye contact like rats deserting a sinking ship. Chelsea was crying loudly on the living room sofa, cradling her pregnant belly and wailing that her special day had been ruined by her selfish sister.
Mom spent the entire time hissing threats and whispers at me from the doorway.
"You've disgraced this family, Erin," she spat, her fingers digging into the wood frame. "Over a box? It was sitting right there! We did you a favor! When your father loses his clean record because of your childish tantrum, don't ever expect us to help you again!"
"Good," I said, my voice completely devoid of the trembling fear she was used to eliciting. "I won't."
Grant retrieved the lockbox, wearing sterile gloves, and carried it out to his truck. He came back a few minutes later, kneeling down in front of Noah. Without a word, he opened the back door of his own county SUV, reached into a storage bin, and pulled out a clean pair of wool camp socks and a spare agency-issued fleece blanket, wrapping them gently around my shivering boy's feet.
"Thanks, Grant," I murmured, feeling the first real tear slip down my cheek—not from sadness, but from the crushing weight of relief.
"You can't stay here, Erin," Grant said, standing up and looking toward the house where my father was currently being lectured by Deputy Miller by the cruiser. "Your house is structurally compromised, and this environment..." He gestured vaguely at the front door, where Chelsea was now glaring daggers at us through the window. "This environment isn't safe for these kids right now."
"I know a motel off the interstate," I said, pulling Noah closer.
"No motels," a familiar voice said from behind us.
We turned to see my Aunt Clara—Mom’s older sister, whom the family had ostracized decades ago for being 'too independent'—pulling up in an older model Subaru wagon. She threw the car into park, jumped out, and strode across the lawn, her silver hair flying behind her.
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Clara took one look at Sophie's burned rabbit, glanced at the police cruisers, and then looked straight at me.
"Get in the car," Clara commanded, her voice thick with fierce, protective love. "Your mother called me fifteen minutes ago to bitch about how you were 'ruining Chelsea's party.' She forgot I live twenty minutes away and listen to the police scanner for fun. Get your babies in my car right now."
