#link's uncle

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Mama stared out the window at the rain. The house was close enough to the docks that she could see it landing on the churning waves. Lin could see it, too, when Mama lifted her up; she was too short to see out the window otherwise.

Mama looked away from the window for a minute to check on the pie dough in Lin’s bowl. It was nearly ready to be rolled out. They were making hand pies for Father.

Lin wasn’t sure why they were putting in so much effort. Father would be mad they’d taken so long no matter how good the pies tasted. Still, Mama said they had to do their best, and Lin wanted so very much to be good for Mama.

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The boxes and chests crowded her, the darkness near overwhelmed her with terror, and still Lin pressed in deeper to the space under the bed, hands over her ears to block out the yelling.

She wasn’t sure what had caused it this time — Father got angry over so many things, after all — but Mama had yelled back for the first time in Lin’s memory. They’d been shouting at each other for over twenty minutes, now, and Lin just wanted it to stop. It was past suppertime. It was probably past bedtime, too. She was hungry. She was tired. She was scared.

The yelling stopped, the front door slammed, and the house became horrifically silent. Footsteps, almost unbearably loud, walked closer to the bed. Father’s shoes became visible. Lin pressed her hands over her mouth in the hopes of quieting her breathing further. She may want to be given supper, but she wanted Father to not know she was hiding under the bed more.

Father grabbed the bag he usually took to work and threw it on the bed. He stomped about the house, throwing things into it. Then, he, too, left the house. The door slammed with finality.

Lin slowly crawled out from her hiding spot and peered around the empty house. She couldn’t help the sobs that spilled out of her. Mama was coming back, right? Someone would come for her, wouldn’t they?

After a few minutes of crying, Lin took a deep breath and wiped her tears. If no one was going to come back for her, she needed to take care of herself. She’d been helping Mama make stew before the argument had started, so she’d just have to finish it herself. She pulled the step stool she used to help Mama cook over to the stew pot and stirred it. The stew was done, and so she pulled hard on the swing arm that kept it over the fire. It took all of her weight to get it to move, and stopping it was even harder. She yelped slightly when it bumped into her arm and burned her.

Lin sat at the table, alone, with the bowl of stew and ignored how salty it tasted with her tears. When she was done eating, she put the empty bowl near the washing basin. If no one had come back by tomorrow morning, she’d clean it herself.

She spent a few minutes staring at the large pot of stew, but she’d never been around when Mama put it away for the evening and so didn’t know what to do with it. Eventually, she shrugged, made sure the lid was on, and put herself to bed.

It took her a long time to fall asleep that night.

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Mama had returned by morning, but Father took a couple of days. He didn’t look happy to be back, and Mama didn’t seem pleased either. They yelled a lot, mostly at each other but occasionally at Lin.

After a week, Mama started looking ill. She became pale and shaky. It became harder and harder for her to lift things. Lin had to beg her to stay in bed. Father refused to call the doctor, saying that they didn’t have enough money.

One day, Mama collapsed while Father was at work, and so Lin ignored her father’s orders and went to the doctor herself for help. The doctor helped get Mama in bed, but said that there wasn’t anything he could do for her condition.

Father had yelled at Lin afterwards like he never had before, but she knew she’d made the right choice even if nothing had come of it. The look Father gave Mama scared her.

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Lin cried through the funeral. It was small, devoid of friends. A few of Father’s fellow fishermen were there, but not many. A couple of them apologised to Father. No one apologised to Lin.