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“What changed?” I sigh. I see the fire in his eyes, and he isnot going to likethis part.
“The trust dried up.” He blinks. Once, twice, three times. I keep talking, unsure if he heard me or if he understands. “I’d been using my trust to spot him money. It ran out. I told him I had nothing more. I had my own savings, but I didn’t say anything. Though . . . the guilt of that ate . . . But I—”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Ben says, cutting me off. His face is going red.
“Ben—”
“No, Lola. No. Are youkidding me?You emptied your trust for his shit?”
“It wasn’t just—”
“It was, Lola.”
“I needed to keep Lilah safe, Ben.” He blinks. “I couldn’t have them coming to our house, seeing my sister, putting things together. It never touched me. My dad would call and ask for money, but it was never me. Until . . .”
“Until what?” His voice is firmer, losing the soft edge, but part of me knows, even right now, that it’s not anger directed at me.
“A year ago, I got a direct call from Johnny. That was my breaking point.” He looks confused. “He called me because Dad told him I was good to cover his debt.” Ben’s eyes go wide. “I paid it, but that night I told him I was done. That’s when I started working to make Libby’s happen. I needed to set myself free and live my life. I realized then—with the trust empty—that I had been living for everyone else and putting myself in danger. Driving down to Raceway Park to pay off your father’s gambling debt in the middle of the night will do that to you.”
“Why did you do it, Lola?” My back stiffens with his tone, a mix of sadness and frustration and indignance.
“It was my job. My mom asked me to keep them safe, to keep Dad above water. I did it.” My face sets, firm, immovable. As annoying and frustrating and overall draining as this has all been, I don’t regret it. I did what I had to do for my family. “It was quiet for a year. Ever since that day. But I don’t think . . . I don’t think my dad realized I was building Libby’s. And now he owes money and sees I have . . . well . . . something coming in. He told Johnny I was good for it again.” Ben looks like he wants to crush something. I sigh.
“It’s bad, Ben. I have . . . I have no idea . . . I need to keep Lilah safe.”
“Why?” he asks, and I’m confused.
“Why what?”
“Why do you have to keep her safe? Why is that your job?”
“Because . . . she’s my sister, Ben.”
“Does that equate to you having to put your own dreams on hold for her?” Something in me ticks, the need to justify my actions and make him see the truth of everything.
I was born, and for five years, I was alone. My dad had his career, and my mom had mydad. But when Lilah was born, I had her. My best friend. My mom put her in my arms when I visited the hospital, and she told me right then. “This is your baby sister Delilah. It’s your job, Lola. Your job to keep her safe.”When I got older, she’d ask me what my number one job was, and I’d puff my chest out and put my hands on my hips and say,to keep my sister safe!
And back then, it meant brushing peanut butter from her hair or making sure she didn’t shove something up her nose. But over time, it changed.
“It’s myjob,Ben. She’s my baby sister. My job is to keep her safe, to make it so she could do whatshewanted with her life. So what if that meant I had to sacrifice back then? Right now, I’m following my dreams, and Lilah got to be akid. She was a normal high schooler and went to college and works in the city, happy as can be. I did that. I made it so she could chase her dreams.” His mouth opens, and I know what he’s going to say. “I got to chase mine, too. It just took me a bit longer. It was a trade-off. I had Mom for 15 years. She only had her for 10. Eight good ones, if you add in cancer. I won’t . . . I won’t have you telling me what I did was wrong, Ben.”
When I look back at Ben, my chest heaving with emotion and frustration and hurt and the need to make himunderstand, his elbows are on his knees, his head in his hands.
I’m not sure if this is because of the situation I’m in, but my gut says it’s something else.
Something more.
“Ben—”
“God, I’m a fuckup.”
“What?”
“I’m a fuck up, and it took a sweet baker to show me.”
“Ben, I don’t—” His hands go out to mine, grabbing them.
“I told you I’d tell you my shit. What you just told me? It’s heavy. Some crazy fucking shit that we need to sort out—together. We need to figure out a plan to get you free of your shit.” I open my mouth. “Yes,together,Lola.Because I already told you I’m taking care of you.” I don’t argue. I can’t. I see he needs this right now. So I nod. There’s a surprised smile on his lips with my acquiescence.
