He stayed planted beside the patio door for another second. Mom did not raise her voice. She looked at him, pointed toward the kitchen, and said, “Inside. Now.”
Something in her face finally convinced him this was not going to become another argument he could win by talking first. He went through the door without looking at my sister, although he made sure to pick up his keys from the patio table on the way.
Mom waited until the door shut behind him. Then all of her attention went to my sister.
“Let me see the dressing.”
My sister hesitated before moving her hand. The bandage had been white when Mom left that morning. Now it was dark with water, and a reddish stain had spread beneath one edge. Her shirt clung to her side. Her hair was dripping onto her shoulders.
Mom touched the skin beside the dressing instead of the dressing itself.
“Did the hose hit this directly?”
My sister nodded.
“More than once?”
Another nod.
I looked toward the kitchen door. Through the glass I could see my brother standing at the counter, arms crossed, watching us.
Mom saw him too.
She turned away from him and said to me, “Bring me the clean towels and her care instructions.”
I went inside. My brother stepped into my path before I reached the hallway.
“You know she does this,” he said quietly.
“Does what?”
“Makes everything look ten times worse.”
I stared at him. “I watched you spray her while she was trying to hide behind a chair.”
“I was spraying the cushion.”
“The cushion was not crying.”
His jaw tightened. “You walked in at the end.”
“That was enough.”
He followed me two steps down the hall before Mom called from outside.
“Leave them alone.”
He stopped.
I found the towels, the small bag of bandage supplies Mom had left on the bathroom counter, and the printed instructions she had been following since my sister came home injured. One sentence had been underlined in pen: keep the dressing clean and dry.
When I brought everything outside, Mom read that line once and immediately pulled out her own phone.
My brother came back to the doorway.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Calling the clinic.”
“For water?”
Mom looked at him. “For the injured person you were supposed to be watching.”
He gave a short laugh, but nobody joined him.
