Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 90084 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90084 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
“Mama?” I call out, stepping inside.
And stop dead on the threshold.
The living room is a wreck. The couch is torn to shreds, the lamp is smashed to pieces, fluff from the pillows is thrown all over, and the pictures are torn off the walls. The coffee table is flipped, and magazines are scattered in shreds. It looks like a pack of wild dogs ripped through the place. Even the TV is cracked and ruined.
“Mama,” I yell, panic starting to rise. What if something bad happened? What if people broke in and hurt her?
Everything’s a wreck. The whole downstairs is basically nothing but debris. The kitchen’s a shell of shattered plates and broken glass, and the refrigerator was left open. All the food’s been thrown on the floor.
I run upstairs, heart pounding. My phone’s in my hand, about to call 911, when I find her sitting in her bathroom on the edge of the tub with her head in her hands.
“Mama,” I say, breathless, and kneel down at her feet. “Are you okay?”
She looks up at me. Her face is tear-streaked, and an ugly, black bruise is forming around her eye. Her nose is crusted with blood. I gasp, leaning back in horror, before touching her to make sure she’s okay.
“I’m fine, I’m fine, don’t fuss,” she says, waving me away.
“What happened? We have to call the police. Mama, who did this to you?”
“No police,” she says sharply, jumping to her feet. She slaps my phone from my hand and sends it clattering to the floor. “Listen to me, Karine, you cannot call the police. Absolutely not.”
“Mama, what the hell?” I retrieve my phone. Fortunately, it’s not broken, since there’s no way we could afford to replace it.
Not with the wreck downstairs.
“I know this seems scary. I know, honey, I know, but you must not call the police. Please, I’m begging you. Don’t do it.”
“Okay, Mama, I won’t.” Slowly, so she can see, I put my phone down on the vanity.
She sinks back down to the floor, slumping her back against the side of the tub like all the energy’s sucked out of her. She groans, leaning her head back, her eyes screwed up shut. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers. “I know how bad this is. I know, Karine-jan, I know, I screwed up.”
“What happened?” I stare down at her, confused and afraid. I’ve never seen my mother like this before. This raw emotion wafting off her. The defeat, the terror. The ugly bruising on her face, the blood on her nose. Even when Dad died, she kept her head up. Even when the grief was eating at her insides like hungry parasites, she refused to let it show.
Even when I heard her sobbing alone in her room, she never let me see how badly she was hurting.
“I made a mistake,” she says. Her voice trembles, but she clears her throat and steadies herself. “I made a very, very bad mistake, and now that mistake is catching up with me.”
“Please, Mama. No more riddles. Just tell me what happened.”
She nods slowly and wrings her hands together in her lap. “I borrowed money back when Papa was dying.”
“I know that. We’re working on paying it down.”
“No, Karine, I borrowed money you don’t know about from men I never mentioned.”
My feet go very cold. I feel like my stomach’s contracting into the side of a pinprick. “Who?” I whisper.
“Family,” she says, meeting my gaze.
I don’t know what to say. That makes no sense. All I know about my mother’s family is that they’re back in Baltimore. I know Mama doesn’t talk to them, and Dad never got along with them, and that’s why they’re not in our lives. Dad’s parents died when he was young and he was an only child, but he’s got cousins in Wisconsin that we see maybe once every five years or so. But aside from that, I can’t think of any family that would lend us money.
Much less that would do this to her.
“They hit you,” I say when it looks like she’s not going to continue.
“Yes, Karine, they hit me. They told me that if we can’t pay them what we owe, then they’ll come back, and next time they’ll make sure you’re home too.” She chokes back a sob and starts pulling at her hair. “I’m sorry, honey, I’m so, so sorry.”
“Mom, stop it.” I restrain her before she rips her scalp clean off. “Tell me who they are.”
“My brother.” She gazes at me with a deep, horrible sadness. “He’s the head of the Armenian Brotherhood in Baltimore.”
I have no idea what to say. I’m too confused to find words. I’ve never heard of the Armenian Brotherhood before, and I didn’t even know Mama had a brother. But slowly, the implications of what she’s saying weigh me down, and I sink to the floor beside her.