Stealing Mt. Rushmore by Daphne Kalmar

Author:Daphne Kalmar
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Feiwel & Friends

Chapter 18

We stood in the doorway. Teddy pressed his hands over his ears and shook his head, like that would make the shouting stop.

I dumped the wet towels on the floor by the washing machine and walked through the kitchen. Teddy followed close behind. We stopped right inside the living room.

“She didn’t steal it!” yelled George.

“How do you know?” yelled Dad.

They were standing just a couple of feet apart, Dad still in his greasy work clothes. George was almost as tall as him. Skinnier, but at that moment he looked stronger and like a grown-up man.

“I just know, okay?” said George.

“She’d take it in a heartbeat,” said Dad, quieter now. “Walked out on all you kids. What would stop her from stealing?”

“Walked out on you, not us,” said George, under his breath.

“How would you know?”

“She said so. Couldn’t stay in this house with you another day.”

Tom came up from the basement and stood next to me. Abe squeezed up against Teddy, almost knocking him over. We didn’t move, stuck in that spot like we had glue on the soles of our sneakers.

“You talked to her?” Dad moved a step closer. George backed up.

“Yeah. She called and I talked to her.”

Dad stood there, frozen. I knew how he felt—the shock of it when George told me about Mom. There was a long, long silence. Dad stared at George like he was a person he’d only just met.

“I took the money.” George stood up straight and stuck out his chest like a kid on the playground making a dare. “She said she needed it and I gave it to her.”

Right that second Dad should have run up the stairs, gotten into bed, and pulled the covers over his head.

But he didn’t.

He shoved George.

With both hands, Dad pushed hard on George’s chest. “You little weasel,” he yelled. George’s right leg buckled and he tipped sideways. Dad pushed him again. “Thieving snake.”

George fell backward. He landed hard. His head thumped on the floor.

Dad moved forward and leaned down. “Get out of my house. Go find your precious mother.”

George scrambled backward, pushing on the floor with his hands. “She hates you,” he said loud and hard.

“Get out. NOW! I don’t want to see your damn face.”

Dad turned and climbed the stairs. Teddy crouched down, his arms around Abe. George’s face was red and his eyes were watering. Tears. Tears dripped off his chin.

“Dad’s not the one who left.” I said it low and soft. I hated George for what he’d done but he was crying. George crying. And Dad had knocked him down.

And Tom was crying, too. And Teddy. But I was too mad at George. At Dad. At Mom. Too mad to cry.

George wiped his face and stood up, a foot taller than me. His tears were gone. He glared at me. “Mom finding a place to live’s more important than all of you gawking at a bunch of rocks on some mountain.”

“She’s got a place to live. Right here,” I said.

“She couldn’t live here.

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