Page 21 of Everything We Give

His mom religiously read her rag mags, as his dad called them, cover to cover.

“I don’t like it.”

“We’re not leaving until you find something.”

Ian groaned a complaint and wandered to a rack of graphic Ts. He flipped through the hangers, stopping at a black shirt with an illustrated camera and yellow star for the camera flash. The shirt was ugly. He wouldn’t be caught dead wearing it any more than the polo his mom wanted to buy. But the shirt reminded him of an idea he had on the drive home from the market last night.

He showed his mom the shirt. “What if I took pictures of you?”

She returned the polo to the rack. “Me? What for?”

“Remember when you asked me last night why I was upset?”

“Here’s a shirt.” She showed him a green T.

“Mom,” he complained, “you were acting funny at the grocery store and you didn’t believe me.”

“I still don’t.”

She never did when he told her. He’d show her the empty vodka bottles and she’d accuse him of pouring them out. Then she’d ground him. Since she couldn’t remember drinking the alcohol, it didn’t happen.

“Do you remember paying for the groceries?”

Her hand hesitated over the rack.

“Do you remember unbuttoning your shirt in front of Doug?” His neck heated just thinking about it.

She gasped. “Ian Collins, watch your mouth. I’d never do such a thing.”

“But I saw you. So did Doug.” He muttered the last bit.

She forcibly shoved aside a group of shirts. “I do remember shopping and driving home.”

But not those moments in the checkout line.

“What if I take pictures of you when you act differently? You know, those times you make Dad and me call you Jackie.”

His mom paused in her shirt hunt. She tugged away a few strands of hair stuck in the corner of her mouth and looked down and away. Ian saw her neck quiver and knew he’d hit a nerve. His mom didn’t like hearing that name spoken out loud. Ian first remembered hearing her say the name when he was five, but Jackie had been around since before he was born. His dad always begged her to stop. But how could she when she didn’t remember those hours, or days, she insisted her name was Jackie?

His mom fiddled with a hanger hook. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Ian.”

“Maybe the pictures will show you and Dad why Jackie needs money. She’s always looking for your wallet and I know you hide it whenever we’re home. I can find out why she needs it.”

His mom pierced Ian with her gaze over the rack. “How do you know this?”

“I heard you and Dad talking.”

“You shouldn’t be eavesdropping.”

“I know, I’m sorry. But I can show you what Jackie does and where she goes. Don’t you want to know what happens?”

“Ian—”

“I can follow Jackie and take pictures.”

“It’s too dangerous.”

Ian put on his brave face. He stood taller. “Jackie’s never hurt me. She’s just mean and I’m getting stronger.” And bigger. He’d be ten soon.

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