House Broken by Sonja Yoerg Page A

and—wait for it—the Consequences. Ella was pretty sure that was one of her first words. Dada, Mama, doggie, and consequences. When she was little, the review went like this.
    Fact: Toys belong in the toy box.
    Rule: When you are done playing with a toy, you must put it away in the box.
    Goal: To keep the house tidy so we always know where everything is.
    Consequence: Toys left out will disappear for one week.
    As she’d gotten older, things had become a little more complicated. Take the SAT, for example.
    Fact: Higher SAT scores will help you get into the colleges you want. (Complication: She wasn’t sure she wanted to go to college.)
    Rule: To score higher, you must practice, then review and understand your errors. (No argument there, unfortunately.)
    Goal: To complete as many practice tests as possible for the highest possible score. (Complication One: Her estimate of her highest score was lower than her mom’s. Complication Two: Her sense of how many tests she could complete without going stark raving mad was lower than her mom’s.)
    Consequence: She was thinking of telling her mom to shove it.
    But that evening her mom didn’t even ask about the tests. The day was overflowing with miracles.
    Then she noticed her mom’s nose.
    â€œWhat happened to your face?”
    Her mom touched it like she didn’t know she had a face. “Oh, that. Nothing. Just a little bump.”
    She thought about telling her about the poem but didn’t want to press her luck. Her mom didn’t seem to care about poetry anyway. Instead Ella checked her phone for messages.
    Her mom sighed. “Come say hi to Nana. Then you can return to whatever you were doing.”

CHAPTER NINE
    HELEN
    N o one had asked Helen if she wanted to go to Geneva’s. Her children made it sound as if they were asking, but the train had long since left the station. She couldn’t deny they had a point about the money—the bills Dublin showed her made her head spin—and she regretted canceling the darn insurance. Put her in a position of depending on them, and that wasn’t how she preferred it. First they’re helping you out; then they’re telling you what to do.
    Not that she wasn’t grateful. It wasn’t every grown child who would lend a hand to her mother, not these days. She only wished it could have been her son. He was easier. Always had been. Fidgety, the way boys often are, but he couldn’t hold on to a foulmood if it came with a handle and a lid. And so eager to make a person laugh. Nothing seemed to bother him, not disorder, not noise, and not flying by the seat of his pants. Helen preferred more order than that, but had learned people like Dublin were easier to drink around. They were more forgiving, or too disorganized to realize there was anything to forgive.
    When she came out to California she had the notion she’d be the one helping Dublin out. Right off she’d said she’d sit with the boys. But Talia put the kibosh on that. Dublin said they’d both decided she wasn’t safe with the children, but she figured it was only Talia. All because she’d put a bit of vodka in Jack’s bottle when he wouldn’t quit crying. Talia being Russian, Helen had reckoned it would pass for standard procedure. And now it turned out her grandson was catawampus. Could have filled his bottle with booze and it wouldn’t have made any difference. Little feller was wired up wrong. It put a terrible strain on their lives, but if they wouldn’t let her help, then that was that.
    Now Helen was the one in need of assistance, and she was stuck with Geneva. As much as her daughter kept her feelings to herself, Helen could plainly see she had a knot in her tail about inviting her in. That girl was as similar to Dublin as vinegar is to honey. She had to have her ducks in a row, numbered in sequence, and ready to swim. Geneva must’ve been cornered into taking her in