We hear yelling. That's love, he told us once. You have to yell; it shows you care. So, we hear yelling through the walls of our room. Baby Sis sits with her legs crossed, teddy snuggled in her lap.
"Is it love again?" she asks.
"Yelling shows you care," I repeat my father's words. Glass shatters on a wall somewhere.
"Do I love you?" she asks.
" Yes, why?" Her blue eyes sweat tears; they shimmer down her tomato cheeks. I wipe them away with finger.
"What's wrong? I ask.
"I don't yell at you," she says. "Does that mean I don't love you?" She looks at me with her childish stare and I find it hard to keep from crying myself.
"You do yell at me," I say. "Like when I take your teddy from you."
She glances down at the teddy in her arms. "Oh," she sniffs.
"Don't cry," I whisper in her ear.
Our stepmother, Angie, stumbles into our room: the neck of a whiskey bottle, tight in her hand. She has a cigarette between her lips; ash dripping off the end.
"Shh," she whispers. I am hiding from your father."
She lifts up her bra strap and falls in to the bottom of the bunk bed. She slumps over the doona like a dead body.
"Is it hide and seek?" Baby Sis asks.
"Yes," I answer.
Angie erupts into a snore and the cigarette falls from her lips. I quickly take it off my pillow.
"Is there another hole?" Baby sis looks down at my pillow.
"No. Just a smudge this time."
The door opens. Our father comes in.
"She's sleeping in my bed again," I say.
"Shh," Baby Sis says. " They're playing hide and seek. Don't give her away."
Our father pats her head. " It's alright, Kiddo. She needs to go to bed anyway."
He lifts Angie up and cradles her in his arms, then carries her out of our room.
"It isn't bed time."
"No," I say. " Hey, why dont' we do cartwheels outside?"
Her stumpy fingers take my hand. "Okay, is Daddy coming out too?"
We walk through the lounge on the way to the back door.
"No, he has to take care of Angie. Just us okay."
We find glass had been shattered. A picture of Baby Sis and I on the floor; its contents lodged deep in the carpet.
"Feet," I say and lift her up. I just narrowly avoid a huge chunk of glass sticking up from the floor.
"Don't worry, that photo is too small for the picture frame
anyway."
