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“Uh, no. I actually . . . I, uh, I got a new job. At a start-up.”
“A new job?” she asks. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I told you, I’ve been busy.”
“What kind of start-up?”
“E . . . Entertainment,” I say, looking at the buzzing neon sign above my head that reads “Jersey’s Finest Girls” in bright red letters.
“Entertainment?”
“Yup. It’s a blast but crazy hours.” An ambulance passes, lights and siren blaring and cutting out whatever Lola wants to say. “Sorry, I’m downtown, leaving work now.”
“Hmm.” Speculation is clear in her voice. My mom died when I was ten, which means for the most formative years of my life, Lola was my mother figure. Sometimes I think she forgets to hop out of that role and into “big sister.” “Listen, have you . . . Have you heard from Dad?” she asks, and I can tell the words don’t come easy. That in reality, she doesn’t want to say them but has to.
We haven’t talked about what happened in that hospital room, the secrets that were revealed or how life changed in the blink of an eye. We haven’t talked about how she protected me for so long or how I let her make that sacrifice for me, whether I knew how deep it was or not.
I sigh.
“No, I haven’t,” I say.
“He hasn’t reached out since the hospital.” Her voice is low, and I wish I were there so I could read her face, see if it’s irritation or concern or . . . sadness there.
“Same,” I say. Though, that’s not the full truth.
But it’s the truth I’ll give her, because my new purpose is to make my sister’s life carefree and easy. It’s my turn to pick up the mess.
“It’s . . . weird, you know?”
“Yeah. I know,” I say, though I think for me it’s different. For Lola, it’s probably strange to feel free, not to feel like she’s in constant battle mode, ready to pick up the pieces. Instead, she’s settling into an easy, predictable life, the one she always was supposed to live.
For me, I’ve begun preparing for battle, getting the tools and gear and insight needed to attack.
“Yeah?” she yells through the phone, but I know it’s not directed at me. “Oh, shut it. I’m talking to my sister, you ass.” There’s a deep laugh and then a giggle on her end. “Yeah, yeah. Alright, Lilah. Gotta go. Ben says hi, but he’s being an ass because I forgot to bring him back a cupcake when I closed.” More rumbling, and then she sighs. “No, you are being a big baby.” She’s talking to her hot, tattooed boyfriend, and god, hearing her so happy and free fills my soul.
It also drags me down, knowing I didn’t even realize she was missing that brightness for years.
“Okay, Lol, no worries. Tell the big guy I said hi and that I’m making an appointment soon.”
“A tattoo?!” she asks in a panic.
“I’m not ten anymore, babe. Yes, a tattoo. Gotta go. Love you!” I say.
“Love you too, sissy. You tell me if he calls, yeah?”
“Will do,” I say before hanging up, knowing damn well I will be doing no such thing.
Eight
-Lilah-
As I’m driving home, my mind moves over the fact that my father has reached out to me since the hospital incident. I just never told Lola about it, and I never plan to.
That whole conversation is a festering reminder of why I’m doing what I’m doing, and why Shane Turner is on my list of people who will fall when the time comes. It was four days after Lola’s attempted kidnapping and two days before I would change my life forever.
“I need you to come down on Friday,” he’d said casually. My heart had stuttered, and I thought the worst.
“Lola?” I asked, worried. “Are they taking that asshole to court? Does she have to testify? Does she need support?”
