Sarah Stevenson - Underneath (Sarah Jamila Stevenson)

It’s changed all of us.

“Mina, listen,” my dad says, his voice softening. “I hate to sound like a domineering jerk, but I can’t let you talk to him when he’s like this. It’s an issue of your safety. We don’t want anything to happen to you.”

Auntie Mina looks deflated. My stomach churns with worry. I hope she really understands what a loser he is, and how dangerous he is. All she has to do is remember that bruise on her shoulder, the one on her wrist. I sure can’t forget.

But I guess if you’ve loved someone that long, it’s hard to just stop.

There’s a sharp, angry knock on the front door. I go cold. My dad strides briskly into the front hall and goes outside, closing the door behind him. My heart in my throat, I start to follow.

“Sunny, no,” Auntie Mina says.

I keep walking to the door. I’m worried about Dad, but even more than that, I’m tired of hearing thoughts, snippets. This time I want the whole conversation. I want to see how Uncle Randall is going to act . And I want to be sure Auntie Mina treats him how he deserves to be treated.

What people think is one thing. What they do is another.

My mind flashes onto Spike—uncertain, hopeful, but kissing me as if there was no doubt in his mind what he wanted, no fear of repercussions. And Cody—who always seemed so confident, looking at me with fear, seething with desperation inside. I shake my head and focus.

I open the front door.

I sense Auntie Mina standing behind me, and she grabs my arm, but I pull away. I glance at her; she’s holding a golf umbrella. I look down at it stupidly.

“Just in case,” she says, the tiniest wry smile twitching at her lips. “I don’t think we’ll need it, but you never know.” I show her the phone in my hand, the numbers 9-1-1 already punched in. She squeezes my shoulder, gently this time, and I feel some of the tension, some of the fear for Auntie Mina, release its grip. I feel like we’re a united front.

I hope we are.

I turn back toward the open doorway. Dad is talking to Uncle Randall in the driveway. The white Mercedes is parked, somewhat sloppily, at the curb.

“ … doesn’t want to see you right now,” my dad is saying. His back is toward me, so I can’t see his expression; and he’s blocking Uncle Randall, too; standing between him and the cement walk leading up to our front steps.

“Well, at least let her tell me that herself,” Uncle Randall says, his tone polite but brittle. He tries to sidestep Dad, but Dad moves to block him. I take a big step back, my heart pounding, and crash into Auntie Mina.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Dad says coldly. “I think you’d better leave now. You shouldn’t be confronting her when you’re both angry.”

“Come on. You and Debby are always the ones so into talking and letting it all hang out.” He’s standing really close to Dad now, jabbing a finger at his chest belligerently. “Now you’ve got us going to a counselor, letting a stranger in on all our private family business and telling us how our marriage is supposed to work. All that talk, and you don’t want me talking to her ?” His voice oozes contempt and a dull fury swells within me. It’s a good thing I’m not holding the golf umbrella. I feel like smashing the windows of his precious car.

Dad’s back stiffens. “This has nothing to do with me or Debby,” he says, practically spitting the words out one by one. “It has to do with my sister, and the fact that you’ve been bullying her.”

“Oh, bullying ,” Uncle Randall says. His face is red now. “If I were going to bully my own wife, would I have brought flowers?” He waves a wilted bouquet in the air. “Would I be standing here right now arguing with someone who has no right to interfere?”

“Listen carefully,” my dad says, enunciating every syllable. “I’m asking you very politely now to please leave our property. Mina will talk to you whenever and however she’s comfortable doing so. Just not now .” His voice is quiet and dangerous. But Uncle Randall doesn’t leave.

I glance behind me. Auntie Mina looks pale and tight-lipped. Where’s my mom? She should be home by now.

“I just want to talk to her for a minute,” Uncle Randall says, his voice changing to a wheedle. “Can’t you just give me a minute?”

“Whatever it is, you can say it over the phone,” my dad says, standing his ground. I reach out to grasp Auntie Mina’s hand.

“I need to see her. We can’t accomplish anything over the phone.”

“You mean, you can’t dole out bruises over the phone,” my dad says flatly. I close my eyes for a moment and sigh quietly. Auntie Mina starts to tremble, just a little. I don’t know what to do, so I hold her hand tighter.

Uncle Randall says something very softly, so softly I can’t make it out, and then, to my horror, my dad brings his balled fists up from his sides.

“I’m giving you one more chance to leave,” Dad says, “before I call the police.”

Uncle Randall stands taller, trying to see past him. “I’m giving you one more chance to let me see my wife .”

My mouth drops open in disbelief as he shoves Dad in the chest. Dad takes a step backward but he doesn’t give up any more ground.

And then Auntie Mina somehow slips away from me, and she’s standing in front of us, in full view of Uncle Randall, the golf umbrella clutched to her chest like she’s hanging on for dear life.

“Here I am,” she says—in a different tone of voice, one I haven’t heard. She sounds stronger. She sounds angry. “You’ve seen me. Now you can go.”

“This is ridiculous,” Uncle Randall says, his face almost purple. “I’m not leaving.”

I take a deep breath. I can’t leave Dad alone out there for one more moment, but even more, it’s Auntie Mina who still needs me. Who needs us. But I’m terrified, my mind and heart are both racing, and I don’t even have a golf umbrella.

All I have in my hands is my phone. All I have is me.

I step up to join Auntie Mina, standing just behind her and Dad.

“Yes, you are leaving.”

The voice that comes out is strong, and hardly even sounds like me, somehow. Somehow it doesn’t betray that my insides could shatter like glass.

I sound confident; I sound like my mother.

Uncle Randall looks at me like he’s never seen me before, but he’s still standing there.

“ Get off my property ,” Dad hisses. He grabs the collar of Uncle Randall’s shirt before he can even react; he gives it one hard shake before letting go.

I suck in a startled breath. Uncle Randall stumbles backward a step, his eyes first widening with shock and possibly a little fear, then narrowing again as he regains composure. Moving forward again, he opens his mouth to say something, visibly enraged.

The automatic garage door opens. It’s Mom. Her car pulls into the driveway.

Uncle Randall stops short. He says coldly, “We’ll settle this later, then,” and stalks back to his fancy car and drives off. I know he’ll hire the best lawyer money can buy, and he might win that battle, but we’re not going to let him win the war. I’m sure of that now.

I let out my breath, shakily. The house, the neighborhood, feel quiet again. Safe.

Mom, Auntie Mina, and I rush to meet Dad as he comes up the front steps. He looks bent, tired; he looks ten years older. Inside, he walks into the living room and sinks down on the couch with an explosive sigh. His eyes are sad, not angry like I expected.

“So, you heard,” he says lightly.

I sit down next to my dad and hug him, leaning my head on his shoulder like when I was a little kid. I feel drained. At the same time I can’t help feeling foolishly proud of my dad. I know it’s all old-fashioned, and my mom would probably call it pre-feminist idealism and say she and Auntie Mina should have been the ones to go out there in the first place, but I like it that Dad’s willing to fight to defend his family. And we were right there, ready to back him up.