“Not Max! Please, please leave me Max!” Livvie begs. Her desperate, agonized voice ripping my heart to shreds. “Please, just one!”
The men are unmoved.
I’m dying to go to my baby sister, try to comfort her in some way, but the beasts won’t let go of us. There’s nothing we can do but watch, helpless, as the trailer’s metal doors are slammed shut and latched with a clank. One of the men heads back to the idling truck and climbs into the cab, motioning to the others.
“Time to move out!” he shouts. “Let’s go!”
With that, Livvie and I are finally released. My sister sinks to the ground in a heap and buries her face in her hands, sobbing as if someone has just ripped out her soul. I run over to her and fall to my knees, wrapping my arms around her and holding her as tight as I can.
I feel strangely numb, a faint buzzing overriding all of my senses as Livvie’s tears soak through my shirt.
As the truck pulls the horse trailer down the drive, leaving a cloud of dust in its wake, Livvie pulls away and wipes her eyes with her forearm. I help her stand but keep my arm around her as we watch the trailer disappear from view.
Yet another piece of our lives lost to our father’s obsessions.
“I hate him,” Livvie says, her voice resolute. “I hate him so much, Frankie. I swear to God, I never want to see him again.”
I have no words to comfort her with. There is literally nothing I can say or do that will fix this. I can’t believe Dad did this to her—she was the only one of us who hadn’t turned away from him. And for what? Another gambling debt? A bad card game? Payment for sleeping with some bookie’s wife?
We collect a few of Livvie’s things from inside the house—photos, some clothes, the few pieces of modest jewelry that Charlie and I have gifted her over the years—and pack them into Charlie’s car. Conveniently, Dad doesn’t show up the entire time. He’s so sadistic that I’m honestly a little surprised he wasn’t here to watch his youngest daughter’s agony as he took away the only thing that mattered to her.
Both of us are silent as I drive us back to Nob Hill, but I hold her hand the whole way. I texted Charlie before we left to let her know what happened, and she’s waiting for us at the front door when we arrive. I notice that her eyes are rimmed in red as she pulls Livvie into a hug, nodding when I tell her I’m bringing Livvie’s things up to the guest room.
Charlie and I spend a few hours helping Livvie unpack. We’ve agreed that it’s best for her to live permanently at Charlie’s place, even though the commute to school will be killer.
“I’m sorry. I just really can’t go back there,” Livvie says, her chin trembling.
“Don’t be sorry,” I tell her soothingly. “Charlie and I can take turns with the driving.”
Charlie nods. “It’s no big deal.”
Livvie swipes at her eyes. “He’s a monster. I don’t want to spend one more night under the same roof as him. Not that he was home most nights anyway.”
I look over at Charlie, who shoots me a worried look. Dad’s obviously still drinking and gambling, which means he’s also racking up new debts left and right. We need to find a way to stop him. He’s already lost everything, but Livvie herself is still a commodity, and there’s no way in hell we’re letting him sell her off, too.
We make mac and cheese—Livvie’s favorite, though she barely touches hers—and binge episodes ofGossip Girlin the living room until Livvie tells us she wants to go to bed. I watch her climb the stairs, sadness wafting off her like perfume, and can’t help noticing how much older my baby sister seems all of a sudden.
Charlie taps me on the shoulder and tilts her head toward the kitchen.
“Come on. Dessert.”
Shaking my head, I say, “I’m not—”
“We’re drinking it,” she clarifies. “I have an excellent red.”
“Oh. Well, in that case.”
We end up sitting on the kitchen floor with our legs crossed, leaning against the lower cabinets and passing a bottle of wine back and forth. She’s right. It is an excellent red.
“So,” Charlie says. “What happens next?”
I take a long swig of the wine and pass it back. “Maybe I do sell the winery. Cash out our entire family history and, you know, write off six generations for a payout. A chance at a future…but then Rico will get half of it. Fucking Rico.”
“Fucking Rico,” Charlie agrees. “I wish we knew what to do with that guy.”
I smile bitterly. “Oh, I have a few ideas. Not that any of them are legal.”
“Clayton’s line of work isn’t exactly legal,” Charlie reminds me. “Just say the word. I guarantee you he knows a guy.”
