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“Lay it on me, big bruv. I'm all ears,” Jules said with not the least bit of irony.
“Pot, meet kettle.”
“You're my brother, Jack. My overbearing, know-it-all brother. I can't always talk to you, but you can talk to me. Let your lady feelings out.”
That dragged a smile from him, the first in a couple of weeks. His mouth hurt with the effort all the same. “You're a cheeky little tart, you know. You've got a gob on you just like Mum.”
He knew she'd appreciate that, though that wasn't why he said it. In the last month, he'd spent more time with Jules than he had in the last year, and he had forgotten how much he liked her. Lili had said to give her time, let her come to him, and he was trying. Really trying.
He took a good look at her for the first time since he’d sat down. Her face had filled out, evicting the wan, hunted appearance she’d sported on arrival in Chicago. A steady diet of pasta and DeLuca TLC had done wonders. Moments ticked by in stultifying silence, which only worked to make every cell bubble in irritation. To hell with pussy-footing around the rusty can of worms. They were both going to need tetanus shots after this.
“Jules, all I've ever wanted was to be a good brother.” He could prod the guilt centers as well as anyone.
She looked surprised. “Jack, it's okay. I know you feel like you owe me. When you left, I sulked and made you feel like crap.”
“Well, that's what eight year olds do.”
“And I was a brat for several years after. I just missed you. You said you were going to apply for my guardianship when you turned eighteen and when you didn’t—” Her voice stumbled on her emotion. “I thought you had given up on me.”
Those words corkscrewed into his heart. “I truly believed you were better off with your aunt and uncle. After your dad died, you needed stability and I couldn’t offer that, but there was never any question of how much I loved you.”
Her condemning silence punched him hard in the gut, and he struggled to recover his calm. To think he thought he could beat her at the guilt game. Amateur. He couldn’t change the past, but he could fix the future.
“The jobs, Jules. The rut you seem to be stuck in.”
“We can't all be big shots,” she said impatiently. “You'll just have to face it that you have a dud for a sister.”
“Why do you say that? You're sharp as a tack. I don't get why you don't want something better. By this point you must have some idea what you want to do with your life.”
She made a hand-shrug. “What's better than free drinks, no responsibilities, and getting to sleep in till three in the afternoon?”
Was she trying to send him over the precipice? He stared at her until she dropped her gaze.
“I'm not cut out for those jobs in fancy restaurants,” she said quietly.
“Why? You take reservations on the phone. You show people to tables. Maybe you jot down some drink orders. What's so hard about that?”
She ignored him and studied her tightly-clasped hands.
“What's so hard about it?” The exasperation in his voice was intensifying and he tried to dial it down. Be patient with her. Don’t bully her. Especially don’t argue with her about getting a suitable job when they both knew he was going to do his damnedest to pay for his sins and keep her job-free for the foreseeable future. It was the principle of the thing.
Still freezing him out, she knuckled the corner of one of her eyes. There was something important here and he tried to grasp onto it without losing his cool.
“Anyone can do that job, Jules. I know I push, but surely you don't hate me that much.”
Finally, that elicited a response that wasn’t blasé. “Jack, I don't hate you.”
“It certainly feels like it sometimes. I’ve no idea why you came to me. Why you left London in such a hurry. You won't tell me anything. I set you up with interview after interview. I try to help and you throw it back in my face.”
She gripped the arm of the sofa. “Like I said, I just can't do those jobs. I'm not good enough.”
If she had told him she was thinking of joining a nunnery, it wouldn't have shocked him more. “Good enough? You could do those hostess jobs with your eyes closed.”
“They may as well be closed for all the good they do me.”
“What does that mean?”
Her swallow was so hard it sounded like she had gulped down a golf ball. “I need to pee. I need to pee all the time.” She stood, tears streaming down her face. All hopped up on baby hormones was his best guess.
