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Garth is holding her, rocking her slowly from side to side. Sometimes I want to shake the two of them, tell them to wise up and start making better decisions, but I have to admit they have something between them that Tyler and I never had and probably never will.
My brother-in-law works at a hardware store. He unloads the deliveries, stocks the shelves, works the register and gives out dubious advice to people who come in asking questions about their home improvement projects. He makes minimum wage yet has no concernsas to how he’s going to support the family they’ve decided they’re ready to start. My sister had aspirations of being a teacher, same as me,but I think she’s wanted to be a wife and mother since we started playing house in preschool and she’s never stopped. She got through one year of community college before she left to work full time as a receptionist at a dentist’s office.She will make a damn fine mother, I have no doubts on that front, but I wish the two of them hadn’t signed up for such a life-altering responsibility so early on.
I worry, they don’t. They don’t ask for much from this life, don’t expect much, and while that makes me sad, I can’t help but acknowledge that they are happy. Garth may never move them out of that trailer, he may never pay off the ridiculous truck he bought last year entirely on credit, but he does love my sister with his whole heart. I have to be grateful for that.
I turn away from the two of them, start clearing the paper plates and cups, nodding as I pass people who speakmorewordsof sympathy and condolence. When I enter the kitchen I see Tyler in a corner whispering into his phone as he checks some paper that looks like the cheat sheets he used to rely on in high school.
I ask, “What’s that?” even though I already know what it is. It’s the point spread, the over-under, the puck line, the odds,the whatthe fuck ever. He’s talking to his bookie, so sure about whatever sure thing he’s got going that he’ll risk my wrath.
He holds up one finger, smiling his sweet smile as he gestures for me to wait. I cross the kitchen, rip the phone from his hand and throw it against the wall with all my might. His mouth hangs open as he watches the phone connect and then fall to the floor in pieces.
I’m not afraid he’ll fight back, yell at meor even get angry. Tyler is a good person. He’s always been gentle with me, shown me in so many ways that he loves me.He would never set out to intentionally hurt me.
I used to love the determined look he got on his face when he played basketball. I’dwhineabout the hours hespent perfecting his free throw, but Isecretlyadmired his work ethic andthedevotionhe showedtoimproving his skills.And he was something to see back then. The boy is and has always been drop-dead gorgeous, but on Friday nights in the gym he was otherworldly. Crowding the sidelines with the other cheerleaders, I swear I used to feel faint when he’d wink at me running back down court after hitting a three-pointer asjust about every person in the entiregym rose to their feet and chanted his name.
Butthatwas then and this is now. Thatdrive and tenacity are long gone. He’s hopped from one job to another, spewingnonsenseabout his big plans to open a sports bar while making no concrete moves to make it a reality. The boy has never even tended bar or worked in a restaurant.He takes his paychecks, cashes them,and then bets on a winner in the hopes that he’ll be able to pocket awindfallto fund his dream.
He issick.I get that now.
I also knowthatI don’t have the power to make himchange.
He won’t change,and I’m not about to ride shotgun with him down this miserable road he’s chosen. I’ve seen how this movie ends, and I’m getting out long before the final credits roll.
Chapter Two
Skylar
The letter I’ve been waiting on, the one I looked upon as a key with the power to open a door to some unknown but fantastic future, now sits crumpled amid the others. Those other papers, with their threats and warnings, have the power to close every door and lock me in.
It’s worse than I thought. He didn’t just gamble away the house and their savings. He didn’t just leave tax liens, outstanding credit card and utility bills behind. Nope, he went all in.
Pardon the pun.
Searching in vain for some life insurance, for some long-forgotten rainy day fund—for anything to pull us out of the hole we’re in—that’s when I came across it.
My sister is the one who cries when she’s sad, I don’t. But last night I broke down and wept. Cried most of the night and got it out of my system. My eyes are puffy and red, I greet the rising sun tired, but the pity party is over.
I’m not mad anymore. I don’t feel cheated or used. There’s no time for that. I am cut off from feeling, I’m disconnected and numb.
My body feels cold, my thoughts are linear and focused, my movements take on a stiff and mechanical quality as I shift into problem-solving mode and begin sorting the papers into piles. One for the collection agencies, one for the IRS…
I can’t sit and dwell on the fact that my father took our social security numbers, mine and Sienna’s, and opened multiple accounts in our names. No, I have to block it all out so that I can fix it. So instead of going online to start the process of registering for the fall semester, I’m now typing phrases into my outdated laptop’s search bar, looking for ways to untangle this mess.
It’s shocking, and it’s no comfort to know that my sister and I are not alone. There are lots of us out there. Identity theft. Credit card fraud. I knew it happened, just never imagined that parents were so often the culprits. If I wasn’t staring at the papers right now, the proof in my hands, never in a million years would I believe that my father would set me and my sister up like this.
I reach down to the floor and grab the letter, smooth it out against my thigh. I guess I’m not all out of tears because one lands with a splat, turning the admissions director’s signature into nothing more than a sad inkblot.
Dear SkylarPerillo,
We are pleased to offer you a seat as a transfer student into the University of Pittsburgh this coming fall.
Your academic achievements have earned you a merit scholarship in the amount of…
The letter drops from my hands again and I fall back onto the couch.
“What’s the matter?” my sister asks, rushing over to me looking scared out of her wits.
I gesture to the floor, incapable of speechbecause I can’t make sense of what I’m feeling right now.
