The Locket She Snapped Off His Neck

Lorna snapped the chain before Cole could catch it.
"You don't need this."
His mother's silver locket hung open in her fist.
Inside, Cole's parents smiled at each other.
He reached for it.
She dropped it on the floorboards and caught his wrist.
Cole was eight, in a faded hoodie and jeans an inch too short.
His aunt pulled him toward the mudroom.
He stumbled, one loose shoelace dragging behind him.
His torn sleeve rode up.
Small round scars showed on his forearm.
"The stove again?" Del asked from the doorway.
Lorna pulled the sleeve down.
Rudy watched from the table and said nothing.
"It's my mom's," Cole said.
"Your mother's gone."
Cole bent toward the locket.
Lorna hauled him upright.
"And your father forgot you existed."
She took another step toward the cold mudroom.
"One more word and I'll call the county."
Cole braced a sneaker against the doorframe.
"They'll find you a bed."
The old hired hand stepped into her path.
"Let him go."
Lorna turned on him.
"You're hired help."
She pointed toward the trailer beyond the dark window.
"You want to lose your place, too?"
Del didn't lift his voice.
"I'm your uncle, Lorna."
He looked down at Cole.
"Your mother's uncle, too."
Then he told Lorna,
"I called his father two days ago."
Her grip loosened.
Cole pulled his wrist free.
"Garrett doesn't want him."
"He's on his way."
Outside, a truck engine died in the drive.
Cole looked toward the door.
Then Del said,
"That's Cole's father. The one you told this boy forgot he existed."