“What’re you doing?” Jake asked. Dad snored as if to punctuate his question.
“Going through the mail,” I said, faking the perkiness in my voice. “Getting rid of the junk. Mom’s been running behind on everything lately, so I thought I’d help out. You could at least clean your room.”
Jake snorted. “It’s clean-ish. Besides I’m here all the time helping Dad while you’re out screwing your boyfriend.”
My shoulders dropped. I should’ve been pissed about the screwing comment, but I was more disturbed by the other part. He was only fifteen and he was forced to stay home to help Dad. Mom was rarely home in the evenings. I was out at the theater. Dad could probably be home alone, but he wasn’t. Jake wouldn’t let him be either. My brother was a dick, but he cared about us. The nurse Mom hired wasn’t scheduled to start for a few more weeks.
“You okay?” he asked, leaning over the edge of the couch with the remote still in his hand.
“Yeah, sorry. Just thinking about tonight’s show.” I yawned. Getting home at one in the morning then up at eight wasn’t easy. It didn’t help that it took me a while to fall asleep.
Jake nodded and went back to whatever he was watching.
I looked at the bills again, then opened them one at a time. The least I could do to help Mom was write the checks. She could sign them when she got home. I stood and went to her bedroom. When I was ten, she started to teach me about money. I learned how to balance a checkbook, how much I should save, and how to prepare for the worst case scenario. Mom was diligent about saving for the future. She explained online bill pay and taught me how to log into her bank account in case of emergency. Well, if we were getting a final notice from the mortgage company, this qualified as an emergency.
The checkbook was exactly where she always kept it. I opened the flap and read the register as I walked back down the hall. Negative fifteen? I stopped. How was that possible? Mom never let her account go in the red. The last deposit was just a week ago. How was all that gone?
Dad snored in the living room while Jake let out a muffled laugh.
We were broke. Beyond broke. I turned around and ran quietly into my bedroom, closing the door behind me. After powering up my laptop, I logged into the bank account. The savings was drained. There was only ten dollars left. The last of the money had been transferred out over a month ago. I moved back toward checking and verified everything against the register.
Most of the checks were for Dad’s medication and doctor’s appointments. He had insurance, though I didn’t understand how everything could cost this freaking much.
The mortgage company was going to foreclose on the house. The electric company was going to shut us off and so was the water company. I switched over to my account. Another thing Mom did when I was ten was set up a savings account. At sixteen, I’d opened a checking account after I started waiting tables in her restaurant. I’d planned on buying a car, but I realized that I would be better off saving to get out of Branson. So I saved everything except when I needed new clothes or stuff for school. There was enough money in there to catch up most of the bills. Mom would never have to know.
But I wouldn’t be able to leave in a few months either.
It didn’t matter whether I planned on L.A. or New York or Nashville. I wasn’t going anywhere if I did this. The savings would have to start over.
I closed my eyes and sighed. There wasn’t a choice though. I wasn’t about to let Mom and Dad lose the house. Grabbing my checkbook, I walked back to the kitchen table and saved our house for one more month. By the time I was done, there was less than a hundred dollars to my name. If Mom needed more help next month, I’d have a couple checks deposited from the show. I could help again.
If that was what I had to do, I’d do it. Leaving Branson would have to wait.
Dylan picked me up for the show a few minutes late. He was sullen, but so was I. We drove to the theater with the radio turned up and no desire for conversation. He parked in his usual spot. Neither one of us made an effort to open our doors.
“I talked to Dad today,” he said quietly. “Really talked.”
“How’d it go?” I asked, picking at my cuticles.
“He didn’t yell at me, so that was a plus.” Dylan reached over and stopped my fingers from destroying my cuticles. “He’s been seeing a therapist at the Hopewell Clinic. He told me he’s been taking his anger out on me when he’s really still pissed at my mom for cheating on him.”
I nodded. That was kinda understandable. My parents were devoted. I couldn’t imagine what it was like with Dylan’s mom and dad. Love and hate must be a fine line, I thought. That would make a great song. It stabbed my heart. Writing new song wasn’t going to help anything.
“Hey, what’s going on?” He laced our fingers together and pulled me closer. “And don’t tell me nothing, I can see it in your eyes. Do you... do you regret last night?”
“Not at all,” I smiled and debated about whether or not I should tell him about the money. It seemed pointless. I was staying in Branson. End of story. “Just tired.”
“Cam?” he leaned over the console and brushed his lips across mine. “I know you’re lying.”
I smiled sadly. “It’s nothing really. Just a lot on my mind. Let me sort through it, okay? Then we’ll talk?”
He nodded and kissed me again. “This isn’t getting weird,
