Don't Tell Mom

This month’s pay came in on Monday and the rent went out on Tuesday, sapping half my wages in one fell swoop. I refrained from complaining too much – at least I could pay the landlord in full this time and eviction notices would be spared a little while longer. Checking my balance online confirmed the hefty payment had left as expected but with that, I spotted my first surprise of the day. In addition to my remaining balance, a sum of twenty thousand dollars entered my account under highly suspicious reference:

DONTTELLMOM

I gawped at the huge mistake, my heartrate spiking when the transaction showed Hannah’s account as the sender. The phone slipped from my hand, bounced off the mattress and clattered to the floor where it lay while I ran down to the kitchen to make a strong coffee. My mind puzzled over the reference quote repeatedly, unable to decipher one specific meaning.

“Don’t tell mom, hm?”

What bothered me so deeply wasn’t the enormous pile of her money sitting in my account – Hannah’s managerial job paid well and she handled her finances near perfectly – but the fact that my sister had been missing for three weeks at this point. Twenty-one days ago, she up and left with her phone switched off, one suitcase in the trunk of her car, and a brief word to her neighbours about leaving her useless boyfriend for good.

Not a peep out of her until day twenty-two, when she dumped the staggering gift into my account without a single word. No messages or calls accompanied it, not a whisper of information, no rhyme or reason as to why my perfectly sensible older sister had taken off without a goodbye.

The fresh caffeine sparked a hundred ideas of what to do next and most of them started with retrieving my freshly cracked phone from the bedroom. While I already knew she wouldn’t pick up, hearing my calls ring out meant her phone had been switched back on since mom last tried calling, although that proved nothing other than the fact that somebody had it on them. Before I even had time to formulate my next step, the doorbell interrupted my thoughts and alerted me to my third surprise.

“Morning, Tony.”

“Hannah! What the hell is going on?!”

Before she could take off again, I grabbed her bony wrist and dragged her into the living room. My missing sister sat on my sofa, visibly underweight and exhausted, dressed head to toe in designer labels worth more than I made in a year. Heavy makeup failed to conceal the bruises under her eyes while a fur coat fell baggy on her diminished frame, not even the forced smile could hide her distress. Her expensive attempts to cover it all up added to the peculiar image of a mentally and physically fragmented person who appeared equally as determined as she was damaged.

Once seated, her behaviour only exacerbated the strangeness. She glanced at everything other than me, totally on edge, running shoes twitching on the floor. I stared at her new sneakers. Hannah never wore running shoes.

“You didn’t tell anyone, did you?”

“Not yet but-“

“Please don’t. I sent you some hush money.”

“Some? Some twenty grand, you mean?”

“I know things aren’t going well for you,” she nodded to the stack of overdue payment notices piled up on my coffee table, “so I thought I could pay you to help me.”

“Tell me what’s up first and I can. Where have you been?”

“Tony, please, I need you to trust me.”

“Do you have any idea what you’ve put mom and dad through? The whole family’s losing their mind over you. Your friends, even your boyfriend, have all been round ten times asking if we’ve seen you yet.”

“I know, I just need time, please.”

“Time for what?!”

My shout echoed around the house. When her eyes welled up, I calmed right back down, too worried I’d scare her off before getting any real answers.

“I’m sorry, Han, I just want to know what’s going on. Like, I don’t know, why you won’t go home or answer your phone or where you’re staying. Are you in trouble?”

“Not exactly,” she looked through the windows for a while, “but I do need your help.”

“I don’t know how much good I can do if you won’t let me in on the situation.”

“It’s nothing difficult, I promise, and you’ll have all the money to keep for yourself. Maybe don’t tell anyone about that either – I don’t want anyone getting jealous.”

“If you’re not going to tell me what the hell is happening with you, you’ve got to answer my questions before I agree to anything.”

“Depends on the questions.”

“Hannah...”

“Tony.”

Her old smile returned, thin and pale from stress but no less cheerful than before her disappearance and, for a split second, I recognised my big sister beneath this bizarre disguise.

“You’re not getting me involved in any gangster stuff, are you? No crimes or anything?”

“God, no, nothing that exciting. I’m not putting you in any danger, don’t worry.”

She flushed pink through her makeup. Each of the white gold rings on her manicured fingers glinted as she fidgeted with them. Her leggings creased around her knees where her legs no longer filled them out. Hannah never looked this emaciated.

“Are you involved in any of that stuff?”

“Next question.”

“Do you need the police?”

“I’m not answering any questions about me. Next one, Tony.”

“Why?”

Instantly, her smile vanished into desperation.

“Please trust me. I need you.”

“How am I supposed to trust you when you act like this?”

“The money is supposed to help.”

“Do you not think that makes all this so much worse? I mean, you up and leave for three weeks, then you put twenty grand into my account, and now you won’t tell me anything?”

She hated my accusatory tone and, after the first mascara-tinted tear rolled down her cheek, the sobbing commenced.

“Can I have some coffee please?”

“Sure. Three sugars, no milk, yeah?”

“Yeah, thank you.” She sniffled.

With everything overwhelming my tolerance, I made a beeline for the kitchen so she could collect herself in private. While waiting for the kettle to boil, I calculated how much more I could pull out of her before she clammed up on me. Here she sat, in my home, begging for my help and confidentiality, on the brink of falling apart. While I needed to know more, I couldn’t risk scaring her off in the process, nor could I deny the importance of maintaining her dependence on me. If retaining that vital confidence meant ditching my interrogation, I would settle for a little mystery.

Stirring in the sugar, I resolved to respect her wishes and keep my mouth shut unless something dreadful happened but for now, I’d bring her the drink without my line of questioning, to begin the conversation afresh.

Except Hannah had other ideas.

My eyes fell on the empty sofa, occupied by a small book instead of my sister. With hot coffee spilling and burning the back of my hand, I ran straight to the open front door and looked down the empty street for any signs of movement. I called her two more times and, as expected, both went straight through to her voicemail without ringing. My gut knew I’d not hear from her again.

Back inside, I examined the scuffed black book placed perfectly straight on the sofa cushion. Nothing on the front hard cover appeared unusual, or at least any more unusual than the fact that she left it there at all. Flipping it over, a thin white label peeling at the corners caught my eye. It contained a short note in her messy scrawl.

Help your sister clean up.

I love you.

Catch me later.