I shoved the tin box at the neighbor. "Want this for your grandson? Next time he's sick, maybe skip the hospital down the street and take him to some back-alley clinic instead?"
The neighbor shuffled backward, embarrassed. The box clattered to the ground.
Aunt Naomi moved to charge at me again, but Mom grabbed her arm, choking out: "Tomorrow I'll go buy you the most expensive imported ones—"
"Don't bother." I turned and walked away. Passing the reporter, I muttered under my breath, "Got enough footage?"
Aunt Naomi's voice cut through the air behind me, dripping venom: "Just wait until your uncle gets here! We'll see how smug you are then! No father to keep her in line—no wonder she's out of control!"
Mom crouched on the ground, picking up the scattered pills. Her knuckles were swollen and rough, her graying hair trembling in the wind.
The crowd kept swelling. Their whispers buzzed around me like flies.
Mom was still making excuses. "It's my fault I couldn't give her better..."
I stood off to the side, arms crossed.
June. Sweltering. Everyone else wore short sleeves. I was still in my school jacket.
Sweat trickled down my back. The fabric clung to my skin like a damp cocoon.