Chapter 2: The Family Emergency Nobody Mentioned
Diane pulled into a shaded parking space outside the community center but didn't get out of the car.
The building's glass doors reflected the late-afternoon sun. Through the windows, she could see women arranging paper bingo cards across folding tables.
Her friends were already inside.
Somebody would be saving her a seat.
Patricia was still on the phone.
“Start talking,” Diane said.
“Not over the phone.””
“Patricia.””
“I'm serious. You need to come by my house.””
“Why?””
“Because I don't want Tasha finding out I told you.””
Diane looked toward the community center entrance.
“You're telling me my niece has left three children on my porch, and now you're telling me there's another problem, but you won't explain it?””
“I didn't say another problem.””
“You said Marcus isn't the only person she made promises to.””
“That doesn't mean what you think it means.””
“Then tell me what it means.””
Patricia exhaled.
“I'll explain when you get here.””
Diane ended the call and stared at the steering wheel.
She could go to bingo.
She could ignore the mysterious warning and let the adults in her family sort out their own messes.
Or she could drive to Patricia's house and risk becoming involved in something that had nothing to do with her.
The choice irritated her because she knew exactly what she was going to do.
She put the car in reverse.
“Lord,” she muttered, “if this family ever gets organized, I'm going to assume the rapture has started.””
Patricia lived fifteen minutes away in a townhouse with a porch crowded by potted plants. When Diane arrived, her sister was waiting outside with her arms folded.
Patricia was sixty-five, three years older than Diane, and had perfected the art of looking concerned without giving away useful information.
Diane climbed out of the car.
“You have five minutes.””
Patricia opened the front door.
“Come inside.””
“I said five minutes.””
“And I heard you.””
Diane followed her into the living room.
A ceiling fan rotated above a glass coffee table. The television was muted, displaying a daytime talk show. On the dining table sat a stack of envelopes, a spiral notebook, and a printed document folded in half.
Diane pointed toward the papers.
“What is all that?””
Patricia closed the blinds.
“Sit down.””
“No.””
“Diane.””
“Patricia.””
They stared at each other.
Finally, Patricia picked up the document.
“Do you know how much money Tasha owes?””
Diane's face changed.
“Owes whom?””
“Different people.””
“That's not an amount.””
“Nearly six thousand dollars.””
Diane slowly lowered herself into a chair.
“Six thousand?””
“Between credit cards, a personal loan, and money she borrowed from relatives.””
Diane rubbed her forehead.
“Why am I hearing about this now?””
“Because she's been telling everybody she's getting back on her feet.””
“Isn't she?””
Patricia looked down at the paper.
“Not exactly.””
Diane studied her sister's face.
“What does that have to do with this trip?””
Patricia hesitated.
Then she pulled out the chair opposite Diane.
“Marcus paid for the flights. He told Tasha he'd cover the hotel and the cruise package. But Tasha told her friends she was paying for the whole thing herself.””
“Why would she lie about that?””
“Because she wanted people to think she had money.””
Diane gave a humorless laugh.
“Wonderful. She's pretending to be rich while dropping her children off without permission.””
“There's more.””
“Of course there is.””
Patricia slid the folded document across the table.
Diane opened it.
It was a printed message thread, with names and timestamps at the top. She scanned the first few lines, then stopped.
*TASHA: Aunt Diane will keep them. She always does.*
Diane read the sentence again.
Below it was a response from a contact named Keisha.
*KEISHA: Did you ask her?*
*TASHA: No, but she'll say yes once she sees the kids.*
Diane felt her jaw tighten.
She kept reading.
*TASHA: She can't stand seeing them upset. I'll tell her I'm desperate if I have to.*
For a few seconds, the room seemed unnaturally quiet.
Patricia reached for the document.
“Diane—”
“No.””
“Let me explain.””
“No, let me understand this first.””
Diane laid the paper flat.
“She planned it.””
Patricia looked away.
“Yes.””
“She knew I had plans today?””
“I don't know.””
“She knew I hadn't agreed to babysit?””
“Yes.””
“And she decided that if she put three children in front of me, I'd have no choice.””
Patricia nodded.
Diane leaned back.
The anger that rose inside her was sharp, but underneath it was something more painful.
Embarrassment.
She thought about all the times she had rearranged her life for Tasha. The weekends when she canceled lunch with friends because Tasha had an appointment. The school pickups.
The last-minute grocery runs. The money she had slipped into birthday cards because Tasha was short on rent.
Diane had never kept score.
She had helped because she loved her niece.
But apparently, Tasha had been keeping a different kind of score.
She had calculated how to make Diane say yes.
“Where did you get these messages?”” Diane asked.
“Keisha sent them to me.””
“Why?””
“Because Tasha asked her to take the children first. Keisha refused. Then Tasha sent her this.””
Patricia turned the paper over.
A second message was printed on the back.
*TASHA: Don't worry. Diane will fold. She always folds.*
Diane stared at it.
Then she began to laugh.
It was not a happy laugh.
It was the kind that escaped when something was so insulting that anger couldn't contain it.
Patricia watched her carefully.
“What are you going to do?””
Diane folded the paper and slipped it into her handbag.
“Nothing.””
“Nothing?””
“I'm going to bingo.””
“Diane, this is serious.””
“Yes, it is. Which is why I'm not going to reward it.””
Patricia shook her head.
“What about the children?””
“They're with their mother.””
“What if Tasha can't find anybody to watch them?””
“Then Tasha will have to change her plans.””
“You make it sound easy.””
“No. I make it sound like parenting.””
Patricia looked toward the window.
“You know people are going to say you're being cruel.””
Diane stood.
“People who want to volunteer my time can take their opinions and put them on a calendar.””
For the first time since Diane had arrived, Patricia smiled.
It disappeared quickly.
“There is one more thing.””
Diane closed her eyes.
“Please tell me you're joking.””
“I'm not.””
Patricia took a second sheet from the notebook.
This one contained a list of dates and handwritten amounts.
“Two weeks ago, Tasha asked me to sign a document saying I'd cover her rent if she couldn't pay it. She said it was just for an apartment application.””
Diane's stomach tightened.
“Did you sign it?””
“No. I told her I needed to read it first.””
“Good.””
“But she left the document with me. I checked it later.””
Patricia pushed it across the table.
Diane read the heading.
It was a financial guarantee.
Her name appeared halfway down the page.
So did Patricia's.
Both signatures were blank.
Diane looked up.
“She put our names on this?””
“She listed us as people who had agreed to help.””
“Without asking?””
Patricia nodded.
Diane's fingers tightened around the paper.
“Has she submitted it?””
“I don't know.””
“Then we find out.””
Patricia looked relieved that Diane was finally taking action.
But Diane was no longer thinking about the vacation.
She was thinking about how many times Tasha had treated a request as an agreement, and how often the family had let her get away with it because correcting her seemed harder than accommodating her.
At the front door, Diane stopped.
“Patricia, why didn't you tell me about the debt before?””
Her sister looked genuinely ashamed.
“Because I thought she'd straighten herself out.””
“And now?””
“Now I'm worried she'll drag everybody down with her.””
Diane nodded slowly.
“Then we stop helping her hide the problem.””
She stepped outside.
Her phone rang before she reached the car.
Tasha's name appeared on the screen.
Diane answered.
“What?””
“Where are you?”” Tasha demanded.
“Out.””
“You need to come back.””
“No, I don't.””
“Aunt Diane, I'm serious. I have a flight to catch.””
“And I have a bingo game to attend.””
“This isn't funny!””
“Neither is leaving your children with somebody who never agreed to take them.””
Tasha lowered her voice.
“I'm standing in a parking lot with three kids and a suitcase. People are staring at me.””
Diane leaned against her car.
“Then perhaps you should call the people who helped you plan the trip.””
“They're not answering.””
“That's unfortunate.””
“Auntie, please.””
The word landed differently this time.
It sounded smaller.
Diane closed her eyes for a moment.
“Have you called their father?””
Silence.
Then Tasha said, “Which one?””
Diane went still.
“What do you mean, which one?””
“Jordan's father is working. Nia's father is out of state. The baby's father isn't answering.””
“Have you called all of them?””
“I don't have time to coordinate a whole family meeting!””
“No one asked you to coordinate a family meeting. I asked whether you called their fathers.””
Tasha's breathing became uneven.
“Auntie, I need you to help me.””
Diane looked down the quiet residential street.
She could hear the community center's bingo caller faintly through an open window behind her.
“I have helped you, Tasha. For years.””
“Then why are you doing this?””
“Because you need to learn the difference between help and control.””
Tasha started crying.
Diane didn't immediately respond.
She knew her niece's tears could be genuine. She also knew that genuine distress did not erase the consequences of somebody's choices.
Finally, Diane said, “You have options. Call the children's fathers. Call the relatives you asked for help.
Contact the airline and change your flight. But I'm not taking responsibility for a decision I didn't make.””
“You're really going to let me lose all that money?””
“You spent the money before arranging childcare.””
Tasha inhaled sharply.
Then she said something that made Diane straighten.
“You don't understand. Marcus already knows the kids are taken care of.””
Diane's eyes narrowed.
“What exactly did you tell him?””
Tasha didn't answer.
“Tasha.””
A car horn sounded in the background.
Then Tasha whispered, “I told him you were keeping them.””
Diane looked at the phone as though it had suddenly become something unpleasant in her hand.
“You told your boyfriend I had agreed?””
“I didn't think you'd make me look stupid!””
Diane's voice went quiet.
“No, baby. You did that part yourself.””
She ended the call.
For several seconds, she stood beside her car, staring at the screen.
Then another notification appeared.
It was a message from an unfamiliar number.
*UNKNOWN: Ms. Diane, this is Marcus. We need to talk before Tasha boards that plane.*
And beneath it was a photograph.
A photograph of a document with Diane's name on it.
May you like
Her signature appeared at the bottom.
Only Diane had never signed it.