Then they raced around the table, grabbing plates and Sam grabbed me. He took my arm and lifted me out of my seat, nabbing the bottle of wine from the table as he did. I snagged my glass and Sam’s hand slid down my arm to curl around my fingers. He picked up his glass with practiced ease, carrying it and the bottle as he guided me to the study.
I’d put Tim’s old desk in there with our old computer and the girls sometimes studied in there at their Dad’s desk. I’d also put the two recliners Tim had in his man cave at home in there at angles in the corner and that’s where Sam took me. I curled into a recliner, my feet in the seat, knees to the armrest and Sam topped up my glass then his own then sat in the other recliner.
“Sam, the gift cards –” I began, knowing he didn’t have that kind of money.
Sam cut me off, saying, “Dad.”
I felt my mouth go tight.
“Vi, don’t,” Sam warned, “just take it and use it for somethin’ stupid. You know that’d piss Mom off most.”
It certainly would. Mom hated anything frivolous, most especially frivolous spending, and trendy clothes and makeup, for that matter.
“She know Dad gave you the money to buy those cards?” I asked.
“She will when she balances the checkbook.”
“Dad’ll catch it.”
“Dad doesn’t care.”
I looked Sam in the eye. “And I don’t care either. Too little, too late.”
“Vi –”
I shook my head. “Too little, too late, Sam.”
I looked toward the kitchen watching the girls tidying up, their thick, healthy, long, dark hair gleaming under the overhead kitchen lights; their flawless, youthful skin glowing; their thin, coltish but blooming teenage girl bodies moving with unconscious grace. I took in my girls as they moved around, girls who had very little to do with their grandparents after my parents disowned me when I got pregnant at seventeen, announced I was keeping the baby and marrying the father, something they disapproved of immensely, or at least Mom did, then I asked Sam quietly, “Dad want them to know it’s from him?”
“That’s your call.”
I sighed, thinking I’d tell the girls, it was only fair, but I wouldn’t like it.
“Vi,” Sam called and I looked at him. “Why you workin’ overtime?”
This made me sigh again.
Then I answered, “Because Kate’s got Dane, she’s wrapped up tight in him, even though they’ve only been dating a few weeks. And Keira’s made friends with the entirety of the eighth grade class. They’re not home much and I’d rather make some extra cash putzing around a garden center than come home to an empty house.”
I watched my brother’s eyes go soft and looked away.
Sam read me and changed the subject but he chose one that was no less uncomfortable even if it was not nearly as sad. “You hear from him?”
“Nope,” I answered instantly.
“Nothin’?” Sam sounded surprised.
“Nothin’.”
I felt Sam lean into me so I looked at him as I took a sip of my wine.
“I been snoopin’ –”
I felt my body grow tight, fear clutching my insides and I leaned into my brother. “Sam –”
He shook his head. “Someone’s gotta do somethin’. He’s not done with you.”
“That someone doesn’t have to be you.”
“Vi, someone’s gotta do somethin’.”
“Let the police deal with it.”
I watched Sam clench his teeth, seeing his jaws flex out at the sides and it was his turn to look away.
“Sam, promise me you’ll let it go,” I said softly.
“Can’t.”
“Sam –”
His eyes locked on mine and he repeated, “Can’t.”
“You don’t know what you’re doing.”
“I’m bein’ careful.”
I leaned in further and hissed, “You don’t mess with this guy.” Sam didn’t answer and I put my hand to the armrest and got even closer to my brother. “You know, you know, what happened to Tim, and he was doing his job… you know you do not mess with this guy.”
“So I let him mess with my sister?”
“He’ll forget about me.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Bullshit.”
“Sam –”
“Bullshit, Vi.”
“Think about Melissa.”
“She agrees with me somethin’s gotta be done.”
My brother had been with his girlfriend Melissa for ten years. They lived together for nine of those ten years but never married. They talked about it all the time but they were always enjoying their lives too much to get around to doing anything about it. Mel and Sam had both been close to Tim, adored him. Sam felt like Tim was his brother, Tim had felt the same. We were all tight. When Tim died, they took it hard, nearly as hard as me and the girls. And Mel had attitude, just like Sam. I knew that Sam spoke the truth when he said Mel agreed something had to be done, not only because they’d loved Tim but because they loved me and the girls.
“Talk to Barry,” I suggested.
“I’m talkin’ to him.”
“What’s he say?”
“He understands a brother’s gotta do what he’s gotta do.”
Yes, Barry would understand that. Barry was as crazy as Tim and Sam.
“Sam, Barry’s a cop and he said he won’t rest –”
“And he isn’t.”
“Then let Barry do his work.”
“That doesn’t mean he doesn’t need help.”
“Not from you.”