“When?”
“Soon.”
“You’re lying.”
His jaw clenches.
“Mama’s too cold,” I say. “Her fingers are white.”
“She’ll be fine.”
“She has Raynaud’s.”
“I know what she has.”
“Then get her upstairs.”
“No.”
“Get her a heater.”
“No.”
“She could get hurt.”
“She can handle it for a little while longer.”
I stare at him.
He knows.
He knows Mama gets too cold. He knows it hurts her. He knows because he’s been around us for my whole life.
That makes it worse.
Rory knows and still doesn’t care enough to fix it.
“I hate you,” I whisper.
His face goes still.
I’ve never said that to anyone before.
Not even Eric, and he spit on Sabrina.
Rory swallows.
“You don’t mean that.”
“Yes, I do.”
“No.” He shakes his head. “You’re scared. That’s all. Once your mama wakes up, she’ll explain.”
“Mama’s going to be mad at you.”
“She’ll understand eventually.”
“No, she won’t.”
