His words disgust me, as usual.
“You know, Dad, if you looked beyond the fact that, yes, I am a bartender, you might realize that I am also a business partner. I own not one, not two, but five successful, well-regarded bars in Atlanta. They’re packed every night, and at least it’s real work that I do with my own two hands. Can’t say that for everyone in this room.”
My father rubs his chest. Maybe this heart attack finally reminded him where he could find his heart—no matter how small and shriveled it might be.
“Don’t you talk to me like that. You have no idea what it’s like to take care of a family.”
“And what about the people who had to take care of their families with nothing?”
“Boys.” Mom cuts in, moving toward us. Dad silences her with a look.
“Enough of this, talking about it—it’s aggravating my heart condition,” he rattles.
I can’t help it. I roll my eyes.
“Don’t you roll your eyes at me. Do you know how many nights your mother’s lost sleep worrying about you? How many times I’ve had to tell her that if something bad happened to you, we’d know? You can hate me, but think about your mother. Do you even care about her?”
It’s like a bad soap opera, only I can’t change the channel. “Of course I care. But I think we’re remembering the wrong mom. Do you remember how many drinks she’d down at the club when I was a kid? Or the way she’d pass me or Tasha off to someone else—nannies, tutors, coaches? You only care about us when it’s convenient for you.”
“And I guess those monthly checks from the trust are a nice benefit.” He says sharply. “They get cashed like clockwork, if I’m not mistaken.”
“Yeah, by people who deserve the money. Not by me.”
“I didn’t think your high and mighty morals would allow for it.”
“They don’t. I send that money to people who lost it. People you screwed in that deal, Dad. They get my trust checks because I know they got nothing from you.”
There. I’ve said my piece. And he’s got nothing to say back to me. Fine. Good.
“Good luck with your heart,” I grind out. It’s the nicest thing I can manage.
A person I barely recognize is in the waiting area when I exit. Tasha’s flung in a chair, feet up on the one next to her, phone out. She’s older than I remember. She’s got to be what, nineteen, twenty? College age, I decide. Sure doesn’t look like the kid sister in braces and school uniforms that I remember. This girl has on too much make up and a look that she definitely learned from our mother. A look caught somewhere between boredom and sleep deprivation.
“You make them angry again?” she asks without looking up.
“A little. Keeps ‘em on their toes. How’s college?”
Tasha glances up. “Like you care,” she sneers, going back to her phone.
“I asked, didn’t I?”
She gives me the finger.
“Classy, Tasha.”
“With a K.” She still won’t look at me. “Just go on home then, you’ve stirred the pot. Now hopefully they’ll go spend a week in Bermuda channeling their chakras or find an ashram again—that was great. Go back to your awesome life and leave me to clean the rest up.”
“I’m here if you ever—”
“Whatever.”
“I mean it, Tash.” I scribble my number on a crumpled gas station receipt in my pocket and set it on the table beside her. “Call me if you need anything.”
She ignores it and pulls out noise-canceling headphones. Even if I say something, she’s never going to listen. Wherever my kid sister went, I don’t think she’s coming back. Just another casualty of my father’s corruption. Except with Tasha, there doesn’t seem to be a way to save her. This isn’t about money, and I don’t know how to fix it.
Tasha finally picks up the paper and just when I think she’ll rip it up, she inputs the digits into her phone. My parents may have screwed up the both of us, but we’re still siblings. I should have been there for her more. I was so busy running from my own personal hell my Dad created, I really didn’t think about her. I hold out my fist, and with a roll of her eyes she fist bumps me, just like when we were little. It warms me up a bit, but I know I probably won’t be hearing from her anytime soon.
Leaving the hospital, I’m still in a funk. I’d go home, but that means facing the guys, and that’s not happening if I can help it. I pull out my phone. There’s a single text message from Savannah: Dinner?
I can’t type back “yes” fast enough. A night with Savannah is just what I need. After what happened between us last time, it’s safe to say we have some unfinished business - and I need to make this day disappear. Last night, I saved her from her past, now it’s her turn to make me forget mine.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Cash