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“Jules.” He reached for her but she skirted him like his touch could burn and headed into the house. Something about what she’d said poked at him, the important thing he was missing just on the edge of his consciousness.
With purpose in his stride, he followed her. This ended here, or it would have if he could get by Lili as sentry. Her raised hand stopped a couple of inches before his chest.
“Give her a moment. She’s been pretty emotional the last couple of days.”
He looked over her shoulder into the inviting, homey kitchen, the heart of Casa DeLuca, and where his sister’s heart felt at ease. Another few steps and he would feel the warm splay of Lili’s palm on his chest. For some reason, that enraged him beyond all sense.
“I know I can’t possible compete with the DeLucas when it comes to happy families,” he said, unable to keep the vitriol out of his voice, “but that’s my bloody sister and she’s going to talk to me whether she wants to or not.”
“Of course,” she said in a reasonable tone that immediately deflated him. She stood back to let him by and he walked in, feeling like a prize idiot for getting his nose out of joint. Despite the knock-back, he loved that about her. How she held no truck with his moods, how a single look could cut him down to size.
“Slow down and listen to her. Getting frustrated is not going to help,” she said, still as reasonable as all get out.
“Oh, shut up,” he jabbed back, just to see if he could still make her smile. He could and that knowledge pierced like a breadknife in his heart.
“How are you?” she asked.
Oh no, they were not doing this. “Busy with the restaurant.” He waved a hand to fill in the rest. Full sentences needed full breaths and he was having a hard time inflating his lungs to speaking capacity. The two women he loved more than life itself didn’t need him and hell, that hurt like a mother.
Unable to look at her, he turned away from the pain to find Jules in the doorway to the living room, her eyes red-rimmed and divided between the two of them. Lili offered a glass of water and Jules accepted it with trembling hands.
“I’d sell this kid for a vodka martini if I could.” At his raised eyebrow, she rolled her eyes, then finished off the water in a couple of swift gulps.
“Tell me what you meant about your eyes being no good.” He held back, his arms taut at his sides instead of crossed, trying to project non-threatening body language.
“Just my usual back chat,” she mumbled.
“No, it wasn’t.”
She rinsed the glass in the sink and cast her nervy gaze about in search of a dishtowel. Or a way out this conversation. With care, she turned the glass over on the draining board.
“Jules, he only wants the best for you,” Lili said.
He could feel Lili’s pitying gaze prickling his cheek to heat but he refused to look at her, preferring to focus on his sister. “Talk to me, baby girl.”
The endearment softened her face but all the tension transferred to her hands, now grasping the edge of the sink. The silence sat weighted but he let it ride.
“I can't read all that well.”
“Because you need glasses?” he asked, confused. She did squint a lot.
“It's not my sight. I wish it was.” She ducked her head and her speech streamed in low tones. “I stare at the words and sometimes I can see a picture of it. But other times, it means nothing and it takes forever to figure it out, if I can at all. The worst is names because I can't imagine anything. By the time I work out what table to bring someone to, they'd be dead from the hunger.”
He swore the room tilted. This could not be…
His next words sounded like they came from a spot two feet to his right. “When did this start happening?”
She gave a defeated shrug. “It's always been like this. I muddled through in school until I was old enough to leave.”
His sister couldn't read.
She hated texting. She didn’t have an email address. How had he not known this?
“Did you know about this?” he asked Lili, who shook her head slowly. The surprise on her face confirmed her response.
“Why didn't Daisy and John tell me?” In answer, Jules dragged her teeth along her quivering lower lip. “You mean they don't know?”
“I could get by with copying other people's work in class. Badly. I'd usually fail all the tests.” He had known she never did well in school but her aunt said it didn't matter. The world can never have enough hairdressers, she'd announced in that malevolent East End accent. He had despaired but then bought into the presented narrative that she was lazy because it was easier than making the effort. The failure he had felt then rose up to choke his throat now.
