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“That’s how they made me feel. I’m sure it wasn’t intentional,” I say quietly. “They wanted Libby so bad. Were so excited about her.” I let out a sad snort. “At least I was old enough to be the perfect built-in babysitter.”
“So you were taking care of Libby long before your parents died?” he asks.
“I didn’t mind,” I say quickly, hating to sound like I’m complaining. “I loved her the second I saw her.”
“I bet she was a cute kid.”
“Oh yeah.” My lips curve at the memory of the first time I held her. “The cutest. I didn’t resent her until I was a teenager.”
“Why’s that? I’d think you’d be even more protective of her.”
“I was,” I say slowly. “But my mom made me take Libby everywhere. If I wanted to hang with my friends, I had to take Libby. I guess she thought having to look after my sister would keep me out of trouble.”
From the corner of my eye, I catch him frowning. “Depending on what kind of teenager you were, that could’ve been dangerous for your sister.”
I sense of note of disapproval and have the urge to defend my mom. “Well, for a while it worked.” I snort at the memory. “Especially once Libby was old enough to tattle to my mom whenever I spoke to boys.”
Now, it’s a cute, funny memory. Back then I wanted to strangle my little sister.
A thoughtful frown still creases his forehead.
“They kept me busy taking her to all the after-school activities they couldn’t afford for me when I was little—ballet, piano, singing lessons.” Damn, why do I sound so bitter about it?
I open my mouth, dying to ask him about his wife but unable to think of anything that won’t be rude or invasive. And in the back of my mind a thought tries to form that I have to push away.
I don’t want to exist in the shadow of his first, dead love.
There it is. And now that it’s a complete thought, it won’t go away. It takes on a life and shape of its own.
Why is it, the more I trynotto think about something, the more it taunts me?
Dex
Telling Emily about Debbie doesn’t feel as awful as I expected. Iwanther to know something about my past that I rarely share with anyone.
Emily’s silence on the subject is also a relief. I may not mind sharing that bit of information with her, but the details are too much.
My chest aches listening to her try to make light of being her sister’s caretaker since she was a kid.
“So, all those activities, and she settled on theater?” I ask to keep the conversation centered on Emily.
For the first time in a long time, I’m focused on the road ahead instead of the wreckage behind me. I’m enjoying time with someone outside of work or my club and I want it to remain that simple.
“Oh yeah. All those classes were good preparation.”
She falls quiet again. Maybe that’s a topic I should quit poking at.
“Did you get the full story of what happened at that party?”
“I think so. Some older boys brought beer. One kept trying to get her to drink it. Her friends were annoyed with her, etc.”
“She doesn’t give in to peer pressure easily, huh?”
“No, thank God.” She blows out a relieved breath. “I’ve been drilling it into her head to think for herself and listen to her intuition since she was little.”
Her story of caring for Libby from such a young age only increases my affection for her. Emily’s loyal. Fiercely protective. Qualities I admire.
“How’s the car been running?” I ask.
