What kind of answer is that?
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t have a future.” The bitterness in her tone can’t be hidden. “I’ll end up marrying some rich, successful guy and popping out a bunch of babies. The end.”
“Sounds like a lot of sex, though.”
She smiles even though I can tell she doesn’t want to. “I’d do something with my hands.”
“Hand jobs?”
“Oh my God. I’m hanging up.”
I laugh and then laugh harder when she sticks her tongue out. It’s so cute. If I were there, I’d suck it into my mouth and make her forget she was mad.
“When my mom was alive, she used to do all the floral arrangements for Dad’s parties. I loved helping her. We’d spend hours working with exotic flowers. It’s when we’d have our best talks.” She smiles wistfully. “I miss her.”
“I miss my mom, too.”
“She’s gone?”
“Yeah.” I close my eyes and then sigh. “So, a florist, huh? I could see you in a cute little shop cutting flowers.”
“It’s not exactly dreaming big,” she mutters. “What about you?”
I shrug. “I don’t have choices either. I’m my uncle’s bitch.”
“His bitch?”
“I run errands and shit for him.”
“He’s in the mafia?”
We both laugh.
“I wish. That shit would be entertaining. But, nah. I just go to parties and do odd jobs. It’s boring and pointless. My brother hates him for it.”
“Are you and your brother close? What’s his name?”
“Sullivan. And we’re close as brothers can be. Still, he’s a fucking prick most of the time.”
“My little sister can be a monster, but I’d never admit that to anyone but you.”
God, I wish I could kiss her right now.
“So?” she says. “What would you do if you didn’t have this uncle of yours?”
“Honestly, I don’t know. I haven’t allowed myself to think that far ahead. At one time I thought I’d follow in my mom’s footsteps. Become a doctor. But…shit happened. I just don’t think about it now.”
“Maybe you’ll figure it out.”
“Maybe.”
“I should go to bed now,” she whispers. “It’s late and your eyes keep drooping.”
“Send me a picture and I’ll get off the phone.”
She rolls her eyes but nods. “Fine. I’ll send it after you hang up.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow, Laundry.”
“Bye, Chevy.”
She hangs up. I stare at the screen until a picture comes through text. In the photo, she’s smiling at me. It’s sweet and adorable. Rolling onto my side, I take a selfie and send it back to her. She sends me some sleeping emojis and I take the hint.
I fall asleep staring at her face and then I have dreams about her sassy mouth.
Chapter Twenty-One
Landry
Is Ford nice to you?
Della makes a sour face before signing, He’s a dummy.
I bite back a laugh and then probe some more. He isn’t a good teacher?
He’s a good teacher, she signs, and then shrugs. Just a dummy. Even Heathen knows it.
“You’re a brat,” I tease, signing and saying the words. “You know that?”
She nods happily, grinning. Then, she makes an evil face at me before signing, Is he your boyfriend?
My blood runs cold. Is it that obvious that me and Ford have something going on? If it’s apparent to my sister who doesn’t pay much attention to everyone around her, I can only imagine what my dad thinks, since he watches my every move.
“No,” I say in a harsh tone, making sure to enunciate so there’s no mistaking what I’m saying to her.
She signs, Liar.
“Enough.” She’s so brazen sometimes and if she gets too comfortable, it could be bad for her. “Apologize.”
Sorry. She snaps her hands in a jerky way, not looking at all sorry, but it’s better than nothing.
I need for her to stay on her toes because the weekends are always the worst for us. Two whole days stuck at home with Dad. Our chances of pissing him off are greater, which means she can’t afford to behave this way. Not even with me.
“I’m going to check on Dad.” I make sure to also sign the words.
Her playfulness fades and she scowls. Why?
“Della,” I admonish. “Don’t be rude.”
Don’t be mad at me. She swallows hard and then signs, I just don’t want to live with Dad anymore. I want us to move far away. Can we, Landry? Please? She signs the word please like five more times in a row, her eyes glossing over with tears.
My heart cracks right down the center. I know she hates him as much as I do. Sometimes, when curled up in bed together whenever Dad’s out of town, she expresses these types of wishes. They all seem like far away fantasies. This plea, though, isn’t some fantasy. It’s desperation—a desperation I feel echoing in my soul.
One day soon, I sign to her, but no more talk of that right now. It’s not safe.
Her shoulders slump, dropping her gaze to her lap. The defeat written all over her kills me. I wish I could give her what she wants right now, but I can’t. And talking about this stuff is reckless and dangerous. Neither of us can afford to slip up. Especially when he’s at home, forced to rest. It’ll give him too much time to think—too much time to notice what his daughter is up to.
He’ll notice Ford.
Start asking questions.
Then, the accusations will fly.
I can’t allow that.
Since my sister is done talking to me, I get up and leave her room. Sandra is off for the weekend. One of the cooks, Gloria, comes in early on Saturday mornings to prepare meals for the weekends, but is usually gone by noon. Then, it’s just the three of us.
Suppressing a shudder, I make my way to Dad’s room. At one time, I loved running in there on Saturday mornings. I’d wriggle between Mom and Dad, begging for them to turn on cartoons. They’d indulge me and Dad would have Gloria bring us all breakfast in bed. Chocolate chip pancakes with extra whipped topping for me.
I haven’t touched one since Mom died.
I haven’t done a lot of things since she died.
That innocent kid died right along with her. That kid was forced to grow into an adult who has to protect her little sister. I’d be bitter that I’ve lost the easy parts of my life, but I don’t regret the relationship I have with Della. I love her and know Mom would be proud that I look after her, making sure her life is as normal as possible.
God, I miss Mom, though. So much.
Dad is sitting up in bed on his usual side, a laptop perched on his thighs over the sheet. His hair is messy and dark blond scruff is growing in on his cheeks. The bruising on his face is worse today, swollen and dark purple.
“Hi, Dad,” I greet, my voice cheery. “Doing okay today?”
He looks up from his laptop, cutting his icy blue eyes my way. “Feel like hell, but I’ll heal. Work never stops. Missing two days while in the middle of this Tokyo deal has really been an inconvenience.”