On the screen, my mother was wrapping her heavy wool coat around her shoulders while Mark hauled two large coolers out of our kitchen.
Chloe, my sister, was twisting her heavy silver necklace around her finger, watching him pack the canisters of prescription baby formula into the bottom of the blue cooler.
“There was a winter storm coming,” Mark said, his voice dropping its warm tone. “We were just securing the food so it wouldn’t spoil when the power went out.”
“The thermostat in the apartment was set to forty-two degrees because you took the radiator key,” I said. “The baby was shivering in his bassinet.”
Mrs. Gable leaned closer to the monitor, her glasses slipping down her nose. “Eleanor, is that the baby’s medicine in that box?”
“My son is overreacting,” my mother said, though her face had gone pale under her heavy makeup. “Maya was refusing to feed him. We had to take the formula to keep it safe.”
