“Thank you so much for agreeing to take him.”
Jesse Pinkman heard the words through the walls of his aunt’s bathroom; his ear was pressed against the wall and he felt a sense of being a little kid again,
hiding from things he didn’t quite want to face up to just yet.
He had flocked in there shortly after their arrival, when his mother had announced that they hadn’t just come to visit Aunt Jenny,
but that this was where Jesse would be living as he was no longer welcome back at home.
“It’s no problem at all,” Jenny’s voice replied, in its cool, crisp, somewhat floaty tones. Familiar tones, safe ones in a sea of uncertainty and, more than that, unbridled fury.
“He’s impossible. I’m so grateful. We just didn’t know what to do with him, Jennifer.”
Pinkman continued to bluster along, adding a few more apologies and layers of gratitude for her sister – “and considering everything,
too” -- to be willing to take in her disappointment of an older son, in part to take care of her given her worsening lung cancer, but as much so or more because Mrs.
Pinkman had run out of places to put Jesse that were somewhere other than her own home.
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