The caveat is always that you have to lose something to gain something.

Give to get.

Ain’t nothing ever free.

That’s a lesson I learned early.

***

June of ‘98 was hot! Like 102 degrees, no wind, throat dry as a desert. Me and my cousins were cast outside as always by our nana, who usually kept an eye on us. We were deep that day. All my momma’s and aunties’ kids were there. The grownups were inside talking about grown folks’ business, so we HAD to be outside in the Devil’s basement. Nana’s youngest, Uncle Sal, was out there too, glaring at us resentfully and smoking a bogey he nicked from Granny’s purse.

A few times I could hear the high-pitched sounds of my nana scolding someone. I didn’t know what was happening, but I had a feeling it wasn’t good. My cousin Andrea was quietly crying next to me, so I knew it probably involved Aunt Tricia—or worse, Uncle Lamar. He was a drunk with a capital ‘D.' Aunt Tricia had been house-hopping between her sisters ever since he threatened to kill her. She and Drea had stayed with us more than once before moving on to Aunt Lacey’s. Aunt Lacey had been in the Air Force and still maintained a small arsenal in her study she called her “collector’s items.”

Regardless of what was going on, I knew Nana would get everything squared away like she always did. Nana always had the right answers—or at least I believed she did.

We were often on the defensive because we were a big mixed family and never quite fit anywhere, so we stuck together. Papa fell in love with Nana in 1962, when loving a white Italian woman as a Black man in the North still came with consequences. He didn’t care. He fought for her. After a few demonstrations, folks learned to leave our family alone. Nobody crossed my papa Everest and his brothers—not if they wanted to keep their teeth. One thing about us Raucclains—we were fiercely loyal. If you messed with one of us, you messed with all of us.

That reputation passed down like an heirloom. We didn’t start fights. But we finished them.

In the summer of ’98, I still believed that meant something simple: protect your own. Stand your ground. Let grown folks handle grown folks’ business. I thought I understood what that meant.

Then the Cadillac came screaming around the corner.

“Oh, no,” said Drea, standing.

“Shit,” I heard Uncle Sal curse as he scrambled through the rickety screen door, as it slammed behind him — sharp and final, like a warning shot.

“What is it?” one of the younger cousins asked.

“Uncle Lamar,” I murmured.

He jumped the curb and skidded to the porch. Clutching a brown paper bag in his fist, he staggered out, leaning on the car door. “I know that bitch in dere!” he roared. We formed a line, barricading him from the porch.

“Get the fuck out the way, you little bastards, or I’ll move you!” he flung beer at us.

“Daddy, mommy’s not here. She dropped me off and left,” Drea said, stepping forward.

He yanked Drea by the neck of her shirt, his bulging, watery eyes locking onto her terrified ones. “You don’t think I know you’re FUCKING LYING!” he snarled. He shoved her back. My mouth tightened. Hands balling into fists. I wanted to hit him—right then, right there.

Where’s Uncle Sal? I thought—just as he burst through the front door with a double-barreled sawed-off shotgun leveled between Lamar’s eyes.

We parted instinctively as Sal stepped forward and cocked the hammer.

“She ain’t here, Lamar. So get back in your shitty car and get the hell out of here scaring all these kids,” he said, voice low and ferocious.

My heart swelled with pride. My stomach dropped at the sight of the gun.

“You ain’t got the guts to use that thing, Sal. So you might as well move and let me get to her,” Lamar drawled, taking a step toward the porch.

We closed ranks behind Uncle Sal, guarding Nana’s door like it was a castle gate. Maybe that’s why she kept us outside in the first place. Maybe she knew exactly what we’d do.

“You kids get out of the way. I don’t want to hurt you—but I will,” Lamar warned.

He planted a dusty black boot on the first step.

Sal answered by pressing the barrel to Lamar’s forehead.

Sweat ran down my back. My muscles locked, ready to spring. Even outside, the air went silent.

Lamar scoffed. Took two slow steps back. One hand raised. A crooked, unbelieving grin twisting his mouth.

“Alright, Sal. You got it,” he said, kicking a rock in frustration.

“Well, come on, Drea.” His gaze slid to my terrified cousin, who clutched my arm.

“Daddy, Mama told me to stay here and wait for her,” Drea managed to choke out.

“You my daughter and I said get in the car!” Lamar roared.

Just then, Nana and Granny stepped out of the house, identical scowls carved across their faces. I knew it was serious. Granny ain’t never left that house unless she had to.

“Lamar Jebediah Edwards, you oughta be ashamed of yourself,” Granny said, her voice strong and full of censure.

“Lamar, I told you if you ever came by my house again, I’d cut your balls off, didn’t I?” Nana said, brandishing a knife I hadn’t noticed before.

He stumbled back, then squared his shoulders with a confidence only alcohol could fuel.

“I came here for my wife! And I mean to have her, gotdammit!” Lamar shouted.

Granny began herding us toward the house while his attention stayed locked on Nana.

Uncle Sal edged closer to her, the barrel of the gun never leaving Lamar’s chest.

I was the last one pushed inside, but I couldn’t pull myself away. I stood frozen behind the screen door, watching.

Nana took the sawed-off from her son and cocked it.

My heart thundered in my ears.

She couldn’t really mean to shoot him… could she?

Then again, he had just threatened to kill my aunt.

Maybe Nana thought this was the only way.

“Vattene, testa di cazzo,” Nana growled.

I took a step back. When Nana busted out the Italian, she wasn’t playing.

Uncle Lamar just stood there, taking another swig from his bottle.

“Che sorpresa. Stugotz!” Granny snapped, shaking her fist at him before turning toward the house.

I tried to scuttle out of the way, but she caught my ear and dragged me into the living room, forcing me into a seat.

Her rheumy eyes swept over our frightened faces, and she tutted.

From behind the closed door, I could hear my mama and aunties shushing, low and urgent, trying to soothe someone.

Granny rolled her eyes and sat.

Suddenly, a deafening shot rang out, followed by cries of alarm from inside the house.

Us older kids rushed to the windows.

“Ay, che palle! Sit down, oogatz! State zitt!” Granny barked.

From inside, I watched Uncle Lamar through the window, scooting backward on his butt, the brown bag spilled beside him, its contents rolling across the ground. His right arm flailed, searching for the handle of his Caddy, his eyes never leaving Nana.

“You crazy old bitch!” he yelled.

“I’ll show you crazy old bitch,” she snapped, firing another shot into the dirt in front of him.

He yelped and scrambled into the car, throwing it into reverse before peeling out of the yard on two wheels.

The screen door slammed — louder this time — like the house itself flinching as Nana stormed back inside, breath heavy with simmering anger.

“Daphne, Stella-Rose, Lacey, Tricia! Vieni qui, adesso!” Nana commanded from the kitchen.

Her daughters spilled from the back room, my mother — Stella-Rose — dragging a bawling Aunt Tricia behind her.

“State zitt!” Nana barked, holding up her palm as she set the gun on the table with a hard clop.

Aunt Tricia’s wailing shrank to a whimper.

“Lamar is a problem that must be dealt with,” Nana said, her voice leaving no room for argument.

Aunt Tricia sniffled, fighting another sob.

“Well, what can we do, Ma? Daddy and the uncles are still on their fishing trip, and we’re running out of places for Tricia to hide,” my mama said.

“No…” Nana repeated, slower now. “Lamar needs to be dealt with.”

Her eyebrows lifted so high they disappeared beneath her thick strawberry-blond bangs.

“Omicidio,” Granny muttered, pulling her shawl tighter around her shoulders.

“No!” Drea and Aunt Tricia cried in unison.

“Tu uccidi lui o lui uccide te. You choose,” Granny said evenly, her eyes steady.

No one spoke.

My ears rang. I was beginning to understand that when Nana said family protects family at any cost, she meant any cost. I swallowed my questions. If Nana believed it was the right move, then it had to be.

***

Later that day, Mama, Uncle Sal, Aunt Tricia, Auntie Daph, and Aunt Lacey sat chatting on the front porch. The sun was beginning to set, and the air had finally started to cool.

Inside, my sister Alyah was forcing everyone to watch The Little Mermaid for the fortieth time that week, so Drea, Ian, my cousin Quinn, and I set up a game of rummy at the kitchen table.

“No! Noooooo!” my mother screamed.

Then came pounding feet, chairs scraping, and the screen door slamming.

Uncle Sal tore down the hall toward the kitchen as we froze in alarm.

“What’s going on?” Drea cried.

I ran toward my mother’s voice, Ian and Quinn close behind.

“Wait!” Drea shouted after us.

I burst through the screen door as it slammed behind me, the sound cracking through the air like a drumbeat of panic, my eyes racing to find my mama.

Uncle Lamar was dragging Aunt Tricia across the lawn by her hair, her nose twisted, her face smeared with blood.

My mother clutched her sister’s shoeless foot, trying to pull her back.

Auntie Daph was on the phone, frantic with the police, while Aunt Lacey calmly loaded her nine-millimeter.

“Help!” my mother screamed, straining to pull her sister back.

Uncle Lamar yanked Aunt Tricia from her grip like they were in a tug-of-war. Tricia’s face streamed with tears, sweat, and blood, her screams raw and unbroken.

“Motherfucker wanna put his hands on women? Nahhhh…” Aunt Lacey muttered, slamming the magazine into her nine-millimeter and raising it toward Lamar.

“No!” Drea screamed, grabbing Lacey’s shoulders.

The gun fired into the air.

“You could hit my mother!” Drea cried.

Lacey turned and glared at her. An exasperated sigh was the only response Drea got before Aunt Lacey moved forward at a brisk, controlled pace, her soldier’s training evident in every step.

Uncle Lamar had made it to the driver’s seat, still gripping Aunt Tricia by the crown of her head. Her mouth was wide open, wailing like a siren. Half her body was twisted inside the car when he threw it into drive and lurched forward.

He drove with his knee, fist crashing into her face again and again, rage warping his features into something monstrous.

I squeezed Drea’s hand as she screamed for her mother.

Aunt Lacey sprinted to the curb, planted her feet, and fired.

The front tire exploded.

The rim shrieked against asphalt.

Aunt Tricia’s legs flew up as the car fishtailed wildly. Lamar grabbed the wheel with one hand, still clutching her hair with the other.

The Cadillac zigzagged down the street.

“Oh my God!” Uncle Sal shouted behind me.

The car veered toward a green dumpster.

Lamar slammed the brakes. A high, keening screech split the air.

My hands flew to my ears.

Aunt Tricia slipped from his grip and hit the pavement hard.

Aunt Lacey was already moving. She reached Tricia in seconds, dragging her clear of the

rear tires.

Then she fired again.

And again.

The remaining tires blew out one by one.

The Cadillac groaned forward on bare rims before slamming into the dumpster with a metallic crunch.

Sirens wailed in the distance.

Blue and red lights swallowed the street.

Lamar sagged back in the driver’s seat, mouth open, chest heaving, hands still gripping the wheel like he couldn’t understand how it had ended so badly.

Uncle Sal was pulling us back toward the house.

“Y’all don’t need to see this,” he kept saying, his voice sounding far away, like I was underwater.

All I could see was blood.

 So much blood on Aunt Tricia’s face.

He guided Drea and me onto the porch. I glanced back in time to see Mama and Aunt

Lacey helping Aunt Tricia limp toward the house, police officers close behind them.

Then we all crowded inside.

Aunt Tricia was hysterical as her sisters gathered around her, each trying in their own way to comfort her.

Uncle Sal stood off to the side in deep conversation with a burly officer who scribbled nonstop in a small notebook.

Nearby, two other officers hauled Lamar’s limp body from the wrecked Cadillac. His mouth hung open, drool streaking his chin.

They forced him facedown into the grass and began patting him down.

“Get the hell off me, you pigs!” he slurred, swinging wildly.

An officer twisted his arm behind his back.

Lamar howled as cold metal snapped around his wrists.

Granny appeared behind me and closed the blinds with a sharp tug.

I looked up at her.

Her eyes were sad as she slowly shook her head.

I went back to the couch with the other kids, pretending to watch The Little Mermaid, even though all I could see was blood and flashing lights.

***

“Call Daddy,” Mama’s voice cut through the quiet in the wee hours of the morning.

“They’re somewhere down the Quinnipiac — how am I supposed to call him?” Aunt

Daphne snapped.

I looked around the living room at the sleeping bodies of my younger siblings and cousins. Every surface was covered. Crocheted blankets made by my grandmothers were draped over everyone, a kaleidoscope of color glowing in the TV light.

I crept closer to the doorway to listen.

“And they just let him out of jail?” Uncle Sal asked.

“They didn’t let him out — he made bail,” Aunt Lacey corrected.

I peeked into the kitchen.

Aunt Daphne was hugging Aunt Tricia, whose face was swollen and pink, one eye blackened, her lip split. Mama and Uncle Sal paced in opposite directions, crossing paths like dancers.

Nana leaned against the sink, arms folded, eyes wide — calculating.

I could almost see her mind clicking into place.

“Sal, call Buddy and them. Tell them to get over here. Barbara bailed him out?” Nana said, glancing at Aunt Lacey.

“You know his mama did,” Aunt Lacey said.

“Then we know where he’s at,” Nana murmured, nodding slowly.

The wheels were turning.

“Stella, you know what to do. Take Daphne with you.”

Mama took Aunt Daphne’s hand — still gripping Aunt Tricia’s — and all three left the room.

“Lacey,” Nana said quietly. “I’m trusting you with this. Keep it clean.” She slid a ring of keys from the drawer into Aunt Lacey’s palm.

Aunt Lacey nodded once and walked out without a word, the screen door barely making a creak.

I hurried back beside Drea and laid my head on a couch pillow, my thoughts racing with everything I didn’t yet understand.

***

The thunder of footsteps jolted me awake just as the sun began slipping through the blinds.

Deep voices mixed with higher ones in the kitchen.

I rubbed sleep from my eyes, the night rushing back to me. Ian and Quinn were already crouched by the doorway, listening. I crept over to join them.

“They bury him deep?” Papa asked.

“Yes, Daddy. I helped dig the hole myself,” Aunt Lacey said, irritated.

“I don’t want nothin’ coming back on us, girl. You sure?” She shot him a glare and nodded once.

“We’ll go back tonight and check,” Uncle Petey said, meeting Uncle Travis’s eyes. Travis nodded.

Aunt Lacey threw up her hands. “Y’all gonna make it hot! Do what you want.” She turned and nearly ran into us.

“Monique! Dwayne! Up. Now!”

Her kids snapped to attention and followed her out the front door. The screen door slammed, sealing in everything that had already gone too far.

Nana said nothing. She just started the coffee.

Now it was only her, Papa, and his brothers.

“Well, I guess Tricia’s free now,” Uncle Travis said quietly.

“They both free from that drunk bastard,” Papa replied. “I never could stand a man who put hands on a woman.”

“I suppose he got what he deserved,” Uncle Petey said, accepting a mug from Nana.

“And I guess we’ll get what we deserve,” Nana said, setting two steaming cups on the

table.

Ian and Quinn stared at me.

Our wide eyes connected the dots.

Footsteps faded out the front door, the screen door slamming one final time.

***

Drea believed her dad had moved to Canada with his secretary, Nadine. She was glad he was gone and never questioned her mama’s explanation for his absence.

I suspected he was buried somewhere near Mill Pond, where no one would notice the occasional stench. It smelled bad there at low tide anyway.

Though we never said it out loud, Ian, Quinn, and I never spoke about what we’d heard that early June morning — the third day of summer in ’98.

That was the summer I learned what it really means to keep your family safe.

And to always make sure the hole is deep enough.