Chapter 4: Breaking and Entering
Every part of me wanted to get in the car and drive the twelve minutes home and scream at my brother on our father’s porch.
Renee’s voice in my head said, You call the police, not him.
I put my yogurt down. I closed the break room door. And I dialed 911.
“Akron 911, what’s the address of your emergency?”
“Fourteen-twelve Delmore Street,” I said. My voice came out steadier than I felt. “I’d like to report a break-in in progress. I’m watching it on my doorbell camera. A man is drilling out my front door lock.”
“Ma’am, are you inside the home?”
“No. I’m at work. Nobody should be there. I live alone.”
“Do you know the people?”
I watched Travis on the little screen, pointing the locksmith toward the deadbolt. “One of them is my brother,” I said. “He doesn’t have permission. I told him in writing.”
The dispatcher was quiet for half a second. “Okay. I’ve got officers on the way. Stay on the line.”
I stayed on the line. I watched the lock come apart in the locksmith’s hand. I watched my brother push the door open with two fingers and walk into my house like he was coming home from work. Kayla stood up slowly from the swing and followed him.
The first cruiser pulled up four minutes later.
By the time I got there, there were two. An officer named Delgado met me on the front walk. She was about my age, with a tight dark bun and a voice like a school principal.
“Ms. Hollis? Your brother says this is his father’s house and he’s the co-owner. He showed the locksmith a utility bill in your father’s name.”
“My father died two years ago,” I said. “The house was foreclosed before that. I bought it from the bank.” I opened the folder Renee had made me keep in my car. “This is the recorded deed.”
Delgado read it. She read it the way Renee did, twice, and then she looked over my shoulder at the porch, where Travis stood in my doorway in his black puffer vest, a box of kitchen stuff in his arms.
“Sir,” she called. “Can you put that down and come out here, please?”
“This is my dad’s house!” Travis came down the steps holding the box. “She’s lying! Ask anybody on this street!”
“Sir, put the box down.”
He didn’t. He held it up like evidence. “Dad told me this house would always be here for me! Always!“
“Sir. The county says this house belongs to her. Put the box down and turn around.”
The locksmith, sitting on the bumper of his van, said loudly, to nobody, “He told me he owned it.”
Travis put the box down on the walk. Pots rattled inside it. Then, instead of turning around, he took two fast steps toward me.
He didn’t get a third. Delgado’s partner had his arm before I even flinched.
I’ll remember the sound of the handcuffs for the rest of my life. It’s smaller than you’d think. Like a zipper.
“Meg!” Travis twisted around to look at me. His face was red and wet. “Tell them! Tell them it’s Dad’s!”
I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t.
They walked him to the cruiser. Kayla stood on my front lawn with both hands over her mouth. She was shaking. Mr. Brandt had come out onto his porch across the street, and two other neighbors had their phones up.
When the cruiser door shut, Kayla turned to me. Her mascara had run in two lines.
“He told me his dad left it to him,” she whispered. “He told me you were just staying here.”
“I know,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
She looked at the U-Haul. At the throw pillows still sitting in the laundry basket by the steps.
“Meg,” she said. “We turned in our keys yesterday. Everything we own is in that trailer.” Her hand went to her belly. “Where am I supposed to sleep tonight?”
