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Authors: Barbara Taylor Sissel
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every dime.”
“We can’t let her,” Lauren said, and she knew how pointless it sounded, but still she persisted. “She’s got to invest it. Talk to her; she’ll listen to you. Just not around Greg.”
“Why not?”
“Because, he’s not family. It’s not his business.” It was more than that, but Lauren wasn’t up for a discussion that was liable to get heated. It was hard enough on a good day to keep a coherent track of her thoughts, of all that was said, and on a bad day, when something happened to undermine her confidence—like finding that bank e-mail—it was impossible. The words would come, only to scatter like a flock of small birds. “Will you just talk to her?” Lauren left the window.
“Okay. But honestly? How she spends her money is none of our business, either.”
“Maybe not, but she ought to be on her knees, praying we don’t die first.”
When Jeff laughed, the sound was easy, and Lauren laughed, too. She asked if he would need help unloading on Sunday, and he said Greg had offered, sounding surprised. Jeff thought Greg was a lightweight, a party boy. He was always saying he didn’t trust Greg’s commitment to stay off heroin. What Lauren thought Jeff was really saying was that he didn’t trust her. Sometimes she had an unruly urge to call him on it, too, to say how do you know? But that was only pride goading her, and like Jeff, what she wanted more than anything was to be past it, to have her family back the way they’d been. She wanted so badly to be restored in their eyes, to be worthy again of their love and trust. No one could know what the loss of that had cost her.
No one except another addict—like Greg. Where Jeff doubted him, she rooted for him. She wanted him to succeed. She relied on him. They were friends on a level only they understood, and it was frustrating—their association with 12-step—the private things she knew about him complicated everything.
Lauren shouldered her purse. “He’s a good guy, Jeff. His heart’s in the right place.”
“But you don’t want him around Tara. I don’t get it.” Jeff was bemused, rightfully.
“Even you’ve said he’s too young for her.” Lauren parroted Jeff’s complaint about Greg back at him. At thirty-seven, Tara was six years older than Greg.
But that was the least of Lauren’s worries. Leaving the office, walking through the warehouse, she wondered if she could keep it up, her pledge to keep Greg’s history to herself. She wondered what Jeff would do if he knew. She thought he might physically manhandle Greg out of Tara’s life, even out of Lauren’s own life. He might ask her to stop attending 12-step meetings with Greg. She hadn’t thought of that before, and it made her heart sink.
Jeff started to say something, but she asked him to hold on. “I need to lock up.” She turned the key, gave the knob a jiggle.
“Your sister’s going to do what she wants,” he said when Lauren came back on the line, and she knew more from his tone than his words that he was through talking about Tara.
Lauren might have been annoyed at him. She might have ignored his obvious dismissal and pushed the subject. But more discussion meant taking the chance that she’d blurt out something she shouldn’t. Jeff wasn’t long on patience when it came to Tara’s issues anyway. He thought Lauren tended to put Tara and her needs ahead of his and their children’s—even her own needs. It was a perennial complaint, a bone of contention they fought over on occasion. But Jeff hadn’t been in the picture when her mother and father were killed in a car accident in France, where they went annually to buy inventory for the shop. Lauren had come of age by then, but Tara had still been a minor and at risk of being farmed out, a ward of the state.
It still scared Lauren all these years later to think how close she’d come to losing Tara. Even though she’d dropped out of TCU, where she was pursuing a degree in fine arts, and
“We can’t let her,” Lauren said, and she knew how pointless it sounded, but still she persisted. “She’s got to invest it. Talk to her; she’ll listen to you. Just not around Greg.”
“Why not?”
“Because, he’s not family. It’s not his business.” It was more than that, but Lauren wasn’t up for a discussion that was liable to get heated. It was hard enough on a good day to keep a coherent track of her thoughts, of all that was said, and on a bad day, when something happened to undermine her confidence—like finding that bank e-mail—it was impossible. The words would come, only to scatter like a flock of small birds. “Will you just talk to her?” Lauren left the window.
“Okay. But honestly? How she spends her money is none of our business, either.”
“Maybe not, but she ought to be on her knees, praying we don’t die first.”
When Jeff laughed, the sound was easy, and Lauren laughed, too. She asked if he would need help unloading on Sunday, and he said Greg had offered, sounding surprised. Jeff thought Greg was a lightweight, a party boy. He was always saying he didn’t trust Greg’s commitment to stay off heroin. What Lauren thought Jeff was really saying was that he didn’t trust her. Sometimes she had an unruly urge to call him on it, too, to say how do you know? But that was only pride goading her, and like Jeff, what she wanted more than anything was to be past it, to have her family back the way they’d been. She wanted so badly to be restored in their eyes, to be worthy again of their love and trust. No one could know what the loss of that had cost her.
No one except another addict—like Greg. Where Jeff doubted him, she rooted for him. She wanted him to succeed. She relied on him. They were friends on a level only they understood, and it was frustrating—their association with 12-step—the private things she knew about him complicated everything.
Lauren shouldered her purse. “He’s a good guy, Jeff. His heart’s in the right place.”
“But you don’t want him around Tara. I don’t get it.” Jeff was bemused, rightfully.
“Even you’ve said he’s too young for her.” Lauren parroted Jeff’s complaint about Greg back at him. At thirty-seven, Tara was six years older than Greg.
But that was the least of Lauren’s worries. Leaving the office, walking through the warehouse, she wondered if she could keep it up, her pledge to keep Greg’s history to herself. She wondered what Jeff would do if he knew. She thought he might physically manhandle Greg out of Tara’s life, even out of Lauren’s own life. He might ask her to stop attending 12-step meetings with Greg. She hadn’t thought of that before, and it made her heart sink.
Jeff started to say something, but she asked him to hold on. “I need to lock up.” She turned the key, gave the knob a jiggle.
“Your sister’s going to do what she wants,” he said when Lauren came back on the line, and she knew more from his tone than his words that he was through talking about Tara.
Lauren might have been annoyed at him. She might have ignored his obvious dismissal and pushed the subject. But more discussion meant taking the chance that she’d blurt out something she shouldn’t. Jeff wasn’t long on patience when it came to Tara’s issues anyway. He thought Lauren tended to put Tara and her needs ahead of his and their children’s—even her own needs. It was a perennial complaint, a bone of contention they fought over on occasion. But Jeff hadn’t been in the picture when her mother and father were killed in a car accident in France, where they went annually to buy inventory for the shop. Lauren had come of age by then, but Tara had still been a minor and at risk of being farmed out, a ward of the state.
It still scared Lauren all these years later to think how close she’d come to losing Tara. Even though she’d dropped out of TCU, where she was pursuing a degree in fine arts, and
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