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They always play coy and this feels like the same sad game.
When she doesn’t answer, I lean forward, staring her down.
“Well? Now that you’ve apologized till you’re blue in the face, what else is eating you? Are you trying to work up to asking for some brotherly lovin’?”
Her mouth drops open, flustered as ever.
“Brotherlylove, I mean. Secrets you can only share between siblings. Get your mind out of the damn gutter,” I whisper.
“Oh my God, this is too weird,” she rushes out. “I’m an only child, just like you. Mom walked out on us and my parents were divorced years ago. The stress was intense. I guess maybe this family friction just brings those bad memories back... I’m just afraid.”
I look her up and down.
“Afraid?” I echo, waiting for more.
“Afraid for Dad, for Evie, foryou,Chris. If we’d messed up more than we did on the beach, do you have any clue how much worse this would be?”
I bite my tongue before I dare to suggest otherwise.
Her eyes are honest, but I’m not joining in the pity party just yet.
As far as I’m concerned, nobody needs to know about my own drama.
Not my old man and his fucked up days with my mom, or the endless mistakes of Evangeline Triton that came after.
I’m definitely not seeking comfort in this dark-haired siren who acts like she’s out for a therapy hug one minute and then the roughest night of her life the next.
“I’m no stranger to family bullshit, Delia. Sorry it upsets you so much. My mother’s always been a mess—I’m sure you’ve done your homework. You’ve read about how her career went down in flames.”
“Yeah. I’m so sorry.” She gives me those puppy dog eyes and nods.
“I’m not,” I snap, sucking an angry sip from my glass. “Most of her bad luck was self-inflicted. The drugs, the men, the mania... I’m as sympathetic to mental illness as anybody you’ll meet, but fuck. At some point, you can only carry a person so far when they don’t want to help themselves. And Ma, she leaned on me for so many years it got stifling. I had to fucking carry her when I was too young to carry myself. Now that I won’t wait on her hand and foot anymore, that’s probably why she had to hook your old man. She’s alone and she wants a golden parachute to break her fall—and falling is all she’s ever done.”
I stop right there, knowing how bitter I sound.
How could I be anything else?
When you’ve lost at least five hundred nights of sleep in hospital rooms or terror at home, wondering if your own mother will stop breathing from her latest binge, bitterness is justified.
Bitterness shields your own sanity.
Delia’s eyes are wider now, deep and sad and staring.
I shrug, staring out at the ocean on the horizon. The thick clouds moving in before nightfall make the waves one large moving landscape of grey.
“I’m so sorry,” Delia whispers again, her hand brushing mine before she jerks away. “With Dad, I think it’s desperation. He’s kinda been a hot mess ever since Mom walked out. He’s been taking more of a back seat with company business the last few years, leaving him too much time to think. Too much time for trouble, too, I guess.”
I finish my second glass and top us off again.
“Yeah, I get it. Gotta warn you, though, I’m not exactly fit to be your shoulder to cry on. I’m not fit to be anyone’s. Not that I don’t mind trying. I’m just not around often enough, and my work is fucking complicated,” I add, staring deep into her eyes. “Is that why you really wanted me here or what?”
Maybe it’s the booze in my system, but I’m done playing around.
Uncle Sam taught me to be sharp and direct. You don’t get far in a SEAL team being anything different.
I want to get to the heart of what else she wants, and if she won’t play, I’m out for the night.
Venting only goes so far.
