CHAPTER 3: The Man Upstairs
CHAPTER 3: The Man Upstairs
The footsteps grew louder.
Then Frank appeared at the top of the staircase.
He was sixty-three, broad-shouldered, with a gray beard and the permanent scowl of someone who believed every room belonged to him. He wasn't my stepfather. He wasn't even my mother's husband.
He was just... there.
For almost eight months.
Supposedly "between apartments."
Eight months.
Looking back, I couldn't remember ever agreeing to that.
Frank leaned against the banister.
"What's going on?"
Melissa answered before anyone else could.
"David's having a meltdown."
Frank looked at me.
"That true?"
"No."
I held Sophie carefully against my chest.
"I'm asking everyone who's been living here for free to leave."
His expression hardened.
"You don't get to throw me out."
I almost smiled.
"I absolutely do."
Frank came downstairs one slow step at a time.
"This is your mother's home too."
"No."
"My father left this house to me."
He stopped halfway.
"Family takes care of family."
I nodded.
"I agree."
I looked at Emily.
"My wife is my family."
Then I looked at Sophie sleeping against my shoulder.
"My daughter is my family."
I finally met Frank's eyes.
"Everyone else is a guest."
The living room fell silent.
Frank walked the rest of the way down the stairs until he stood only a few feet away.
"You think you're a tough guy because you pay the bills?"
"I think I'm the homeowner."
He took another step.
"You'd better watch how you talk to your elders."
Before I could answer, Emily gently touched my arm.
"David..."
I knew why.
She hated confrontation.
She also knew Frank had a temper.
The problem was...
So did I.
Only mine had finally reached its limit.
"You've eaten my food."
"You've slept under my roof."
"You've used my electricity."
"You've driven my truck."
"You've watched my wife cook, clean, wash your clothes, and care for a newborn while the three of you sat in this house every single day."
Frank folded his arms.
"So?"
That single word erased every remaining ounce of patience I had.
"So?"
I walked into the laundry room.
Thirty seconds later I returned carrying two full baskets.
One belonged to Mom.
One belonged to Frank.
I dropped both onto the floor.
Hard.
"If you're wondering where to start packing..."
I pointed at the baskets.
"Start there."
Frank's face turned bright red.
"You don't tell me what to do."
"I just did."
He stepped forward so quickly that Emily gasped.
For a terrifying second I thought he was actually going to put his hands on me.
Instead, he jabbed a finger into my chest.
"You've changed."
I laughed once.
"No."
"I finally came home early enough to see what was happening."
That sentence changed the room.
Because everyone knew it was true.
I spent most weeks on the road.
Four days.
Sometimes five.
Occasionally six.
During those years, I believed Mom helped Emily.
Instead...
Emily had been taking care of everyone.
Frank.
Melissa.
Mom.
The baby.
The house.
While I mailed home paychecks and believed everything was fine.
I looked toward the kitchen sink again.
"Emily."
She looked up nervously.
"When was the last time someone made dinner for you?"
She frowned.
"I..."
"When?"
Her eyes watered.
"I don't remember."
That answer hurt more than any argument.
I handed Sophie to her gently.
"Go upstairs."
"What?"
"Take Sophie."
"David..."
"Please."
She searched my face.
For the first time since I'd walked through the door...
She nodded.
Without another word, she carried our daughter upstairs.
I waited until I heard the bedroom door close.
Then I turned back.
"No more pretending."
I walked to the refrigerator.
Magnets covered the front.
Receipts.
Shopping lists.
Utility bills.
One envelope caught my attention.
Electric bill.
Already opened.
I looked at the amount.
Nearly double our normal usage.
I picked up another envelope.
Water bill.
Higher.
Gas bill.
Higher.
I looked at Mom.
"Who's paying these?"
She shrugged.
"You are."
"No."
"I've been paying them."
"But you're the reason they're this high."
Frank scoffed.
"You've got plenty of money."
That made me laugh again.
"Really?"
I reached into my work bag.
Pulled out a notebook.
Every expense.
Every paycheck.
Every overtime hour.
Every mortgage payment.
Every repair.
Every grocery receipt.
I threw it onto the coffee table.
"You know how much overtime I've worked this year?"
Nobody answered.
"Six hundred and fourteen hours."
Silence.
"You know how many birthdays I missed?"
Nothing.
"You know why?"
I looked directly at my mother.
"So nobody in this house would ever have to worry about money."
Mom finally spoke.
"You owe your family."
I stared at her.
"No."
"My father taught me to provide for my family."
I pointed upstairs.
"That's my family."
Mom's face crumpled.
For a split second...
She looked genuinely hurt.
Then came the tears.
"Oh, so I'm nothing now?"
Melissa rushed beside her.
"Look what you've done!"
Frank shook his head dramatically.
"This is elder abuse."
I blinked.
"Elder abuse?"
"Throwing your own mother onto the street."
I couldn't believe what I was hearing.
"She has a pension."
Frank stayed quiet.
"She has Social Security."
Still quiet.
"She owns a paid-off condo in Columbus."
The room froze.
Emily had told me months ago that Mom rented it out.
She wasn't homeless.
She wasn't helpless.
She simply preferred living here.
Rent-free.
With someone else doing the cooking.
Someone else paying the bills.
Someone else raising her granddaughter.
I looked at Frank.
"Where do you actually live?"
His jaw tightened.
"I sold my place."
"So..."
"You have nowhere to go."
May you like
He didn't answer.
That told me everything.
