I glanced at the clock. It was home time for my dad and brother and if they forgot their keys again I swear to God... The permanent sour face of my uncle Andrew and the round kind face of his wife Charity greeted me as I opened the front door of our tiny apartment. The car shop was owned by Andrew and my dad, and the tiny two-bedroom apartment we lived in was behind it. Since Andrew owned half of the garage, he loved to remind us how lucky we were that we didn't have to pay for rent since he let us stay here for free. And since in his mind this was his property, he could come and go whenever he wanted. He had asked my dad if he could have a key to our apartment, in case of emergencies. I told my dad he'd find me in Salome Avenue working with Faye, a family friend who worked as a prostitute during the weekends. My dad didn't give him a key. He settled his scrawny butt on one of the stylish chairs I refurbished in our living room. His eyes were assessing as he scanned our apartment. Charity sat beside him. There wasn't anything to boast about the size, and I might not be the most organized or cleanest person in the planet, but I knew how to spice up the place. Most everything we had was second-hand –stuff I've picked up from Value Village or Salvation Army that I've revamped or repainted, hand-me-downs from relatives and friends. Stuff my dad picked up everywhere. But I was meticulous in choosing what stayed and what didn't. Damon and Dylan had to build a shed for dad to store all the junk he collected. And to prevent me from murdering him. "Why is it so hot in here?" Andrew complained. "It's not even that cold outside. Do you know how much heating cost nowadays? Living here for free doesn't mean you can waste, kid. Turn the heater off." What did he think I was? A cold-blooded mammal? I narrowed my eyes at him. And leaned against the wall. Defiantly. When he realized I wasn't going anywhere, he looked at me with a disapproving curl on his lip. "Make us some coffee. A little hospitality won't kill you," he said. He just said it was too hot in here. I raised an eyebrow. "Well, I don't know. I'd have to boil water using the kettle and electricity costs money. Are you sure that's a good idea?" Charity let out a snorting laugh, then coughed to cover it up. Andrew glared at her. "Out of all my nieces and nephews, you're the only one who gives me a headache. Why are you always so disagreeable?" He had said different variations of this to me while I was growing up. It stung back then, and it still stung now. I crossed my arms. "Am I? Maybe because you're not particularly my favorite person." He didn't hold back, so why would I? He sneered. "I heard you're back in college now," he started. "You should stop fooling around and just finish your studies. Look at my son John, he's a successful pharmacist now. My daughters Chloe and Judith are both teachers. Your other cousins too—Cecille, Miriam, Naomi—they all graduated with degrees. What about you and Dylan? Your dad—" I could tolerate some insults about me, but if he thought I'd let him get away from insulting my dad, he was very wrong. I was going to boot his bald ass out. "Oh, but I'm very proud of my kids, Drew." My dad announced cheerily. He stood at the front door, wiping his shoes on the outdoor rug before entering. He was lanky like me, and six foot two inches of him was very hard to ignore. He took off his gimme cap and shoes and put them in the storage closet by the door. "They haven't murdered anyone... yet." My dad winked at me. "How's it going, Charity?" He trooped toward the kitchen sink to wash his hands of the grease that he could never get rid of entirely. For as long as I could remember, my dad's hands were always stained with it. He wiped his hands with the dish towel hanging by the fridge handle, put water in the kettle to boil. "You should encourage your kids more, Mike, so they can have big dreams, unlike..." Unlike you was what he wanted to say. Son of a bitch. I opened my mouth to deliver a killing blow, but my dad placed a piece of bread in my mouth. He sat on one of the barstools under the tiny kitchen island serving as our dining table. "I only need them to be decent human beings." He smiled indulgently at Andrew. "Kara helps me with paperwork and I'm training Dylan in the shop. They're both with me. Healthy, happy. All I need, Drew. All I need." Andrew's children didn't even visit him. They were too busy with their lives to bother with their parents. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Charity looked at my dad with longing. I heard from their sister that Charity liked my dad when they were younger, but my dad fell in love with my ho of a mother, who broke his heart and left him in the end. Maybe that was why Andrew always looked down on my dad. He was still bitter. My dad, however, always respected him. When my grandparents' farm wasn't doing well, Andrew sent money until they were back on their feet again. My dad always told me to have patience for my uncle because he owed a lot to him. I understood that. Why did he think I haven't murdered Andrew yet? But right now, I really needed to put some distance between me and my uncle. Besides, four people in the apartment felt a little claustrophobic to me, so it was either escape to my room which would upset my dad because he'd think it was rude or leave, which was the safest bet. I'd tell him I needed to go to the library and study like a responsible college student. But first... my phone. I tuned them out and stopped in front of the bathroom door, listening. My heart started beating faster at the thought of my phone ringing, but there was no sound on the other side. Taking a deep breath, I opened the door. 10 missed calls. From Dylan. What the hell did he do now? I turned the faucet on—I was sure I would hear a heartfelt lecture about paying hydro from Andrew later when I come out— and stood in the tub so they wouldn't hear me. The walls in the apartment were paper thin. "Kar? Why the hell weren't you answering your phone?" I scratched the back of my neck. Itchy. Frustrated. "Just so you know, Sour Face is here." "Ah. Glad I'm not there then." "Where are you?" "At a friend's house. Kar... I need your help." Pause. "Did you kill anyone?" I asked. "No." "Did you put someone in the hospital?" "No." "Are you in the hospital?" "No. I told you I'm at a friend's house." "I don't have money, Dylan, I told you—" "It's not that. I... you know this morning when I tried collecting that bill for the Camaro?" "Well, you failed that one big time and if I didn't have classes this afternoon I would have worked on that hairy Giganotosaurus a little bit more. And what's he saying that you owed him money? What's between you and—" "Kar, focus. Listen to me." The urgency in his voice made me stop. "Kar," he said quietly. I waited. "I..." He took a deep breath. "I hit someone's motorcycle."