“Anyway,” he muttered, hefting his record collection in his arms. “I’ll go ahead and bring this inside, make sure they’re home or whatever.” No sooner had the words left his lips than the front door was flung open. A woman with blond hair and wide eyes stepped onto the porch with a wave and an unsteady grin. Her stomach made a wide curve beneath her flowy top, revealing the final months of her pregnancy. The baby was due at the end of the summer.
From behind him came a sudden chorus of “Aunt Cara!” and then Anthony and Sadie leapt from the car, their tornado legs kicking up a storm of dust. The last time the twins had seen their aunt was nearly seven years ago, when they were still in diapers, but they clung to her legs as if they had missed her all this time. Ethan, who had been eight back then, had all but forgotten her face.
“Hey, hey.” Aunt Cara laughed, her eyes softening. Her voice rolled out in that smooth southern accent that her brother had lost after two decades on the West Coast. She pressed Sadie’s mousy hair back from her forehead and detached herself from their grips. “Hey, Andy.”
“Cara.” Ethan’s father had made his way onto the porch and leaned over to pull his sister into an embrace. “Great to see you again.”
“Hi, Aunt Cara,” Ethan murmured but stayed where he was.
His aunt’s smile slipped as she cleared her throat, pausing for too long with her fingers on her stomach before saying, “Come in, come in, and bring all that, Ethan.”
The kids immediately dove toward the house, but their father’s warning tone reined them back. “Anthony, Sadie, back in the car,” he said firmly, pointing to the blue sedan. “I told you we wouldn’t be long.” They peered up at him with rosy cheeks so like his own, their bottom lips already beginning to tremble. He silenced a chorus of protests with a kind but pointed look, and the twins moped their way back to the driveway.
“Trust me,” Ethan muttered as they passed him, “I’d trade places with you in a second.” Then he shook his head, repositioned the box, and forced himself onto the front porch.
“Oh, but don’t you want to stay for dinner?” Aunt Cara asked. “I made enough casserole for everyone.”
“Thanks, but we really shouldn’t,” his dad replied. “It’s a long drive back. Besides, the twins start summer camp in a few days and . . .” He trailed off, a frown coming to his lips as a pickup truck came bouncing down the road, slowing in front of Aunt Cara’s driveway before continuing out of sight. Ethan briefly locked eyes with the driver, a man about his dad’s age with a scowl on his lips. “Anyway, I want to get back as soon as possible.”
Ethan frowned, noting his father’s suddenly shifty eyes. Aunt Cara tilted her head.
“If you insist,” she said, holding open the screen door. “Go ahead and bring that inside, Ethan.” Sticking her head back into the house, she called, “Rob, the Harpers are here! Show Ethan to his room, would you?” A grunt sounded from somewhere inside. Aunt Cara’s smile grew painfully wide as she turned to Ethan. “Go on in,” she said.
Ethan silently obliged, kicking his sneakers against the doormat before stepping inside. He found himself standing in a small, neat living room with a TV near the window, running a game show on low volume. The powder-blue love seat was empty. He glanced back over his shoulder only to find that his aunt had already vacated the porch and was waddling over to help his dad unload Ethan’s record player and luggage.
“Um,” he said to the silent room.
“Ethan,” muttered a deep, accented voice. A tall man emerged from a doorway to Ethan’s left with the Sunday paper in one hand and a glass of beer in the other. He slouched in a casual button-up shirt, the barest beginnings of a potbelly stretching forward over the edge of his pants. There was no expression on his unshaven face and no shine in his blue eyes as he looked his nephew up and down.
“Uncle Robert?” Ethan asked, hesitantly.
“That’s me,” the man replied. “Come on.”
Ethan had never met his uncle. When Aunt Cara had announced her engagement two years prior, only his father had made the trip from Washington to Alabama for the wedding. He was expecting someone at least mildly cheerful—not this grunting, stoic man. Nonetheless, Ethan followed his uncle through a bright kitchen and into a hallway, where a door stood open in front of him.
“Your room,” Uncle Robert said, gesturing inside. He disappeared into the kitchen once Ethan was through the doorway.
Lowering the record box carefully onto the carpet, Ethan surveyed the room that would be his until September. It was simple: twin-sized bed, window seat, desk, dresser. Not quite as much space as his room back home, but he figured he could lock himself up with some records for hours on end and survive.
Back in the living room, there were sounds of conversation as his dad greeted Rob. Moments later, the two of them, along with Aunt Cara, appeared in Ethan’s doorway. His dad held the turntable in both arms, and Uncle Rob carried the suitcase behind him.
“Hope this is all right,” Aunt Cara said, poking her head into the room. “Not too big or anything, but I’ll tell you, it’s comfy as can be.”
“It’ll be fine,” Ethan and his father assured her in unison.
Ethan took the record player from his dad’s quivering arms and set it gently on the desk as Uncle Rob placed his suitcase next to the bed. Aunt Cara surveyed the space with satisfaction. “Now, I know y’all can’t stay long,” she said, turning to her brother, “but do you want something to drink before you hit the road again? We’ve got some Cokes in the fridge if you want ’em.”
“Well, I might just have to take you up on that.” He followed his sister out of the room, leaving Ethan and his uncle alone. For a long moment, they just stood still, neither willing to meet the other’s eyes.
Finally, Uncle Robert cleared his throat. “So,” he said. “Hear you got in a little trouble back home, got yourself sent down here.”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Ethan muttered, examining the floor.
“Right. Well, this town’s got a history of trouble with . . . with your folk, and we don’t want to see any more of that.”
Ethan frowned, eyeing his uncle in confusion. “Sorry?”
“All I’m saying is, we expect you to behave. The rest of the folks in town should barely know you’re here.”
Ethan remembered the sign they’d passed on the way in: Ellison, Alabama. Population 734. From Aunt Cara’s driveway, Ethan had had to squint to see the next house, which was about half a mile down the road. Ellison seemed like the kind of town you only stopped in if you were desperately low on gas. He almost scoffed and said, “What folks?” but forced himself to nod instead. “Yes, sir.”