realized he came out standing alone.
Always.
“Johnny, how many women have you loved?”
His head shot up. “Gina, keep your nose out of my sex life.”
“Not sex, you idiot. You could’ve screwed the entire Miss America lineup and I wouldn’t care.
64
Sweet as Sin
I’m talking about love. How many women have you loved?”
“You lawyers ask too many questions.” He
grimaced and turned his attention back to his paper. He focused all his energy on the notebook, the pencil scratching louder, faster. Her question obviously made him uncomfortable but Gina was no longer just his kid sister. She was a grown woman, a wife and mother, and she didn’t need a protector anymore. Her life was content and she wanted his to be the same.
“Johnny, you’re thirty-eight years old. Don’t you think maybe it’s time to start looking at settling down?”
“I bought a house, didn’t I?”
She smacked the counter with the dishcloth and glared. “Yeah, and your sister came to help you settle in. Do you not see anything wrong with that picture, brother-mine?”
“So leave. I didn’t ask you to come down. I could’ve managed just fine alone. I always do, always will.”
He wouldn’t raise his head to look at her. Cold dread poured over her. “Oh my God, you believed him.”
The pencil stopped but he didn’t look up. “I don’t know what you’re babbling about.”
“Yes, you do!” Shock made her skin cool as she looked at him with pity. Maybe her childhood Inez Kelley
65
hero hadn’t escaped as unscathed as she thought.
“Just because our father was a—”
“He was not my father. He was yours, not mine.” The quiet words were colored with fury and she swallowed the rest of her protest. His image shimmered behind the tears filling her eyes—tears for John, the man, and tears for Johnny, the little boy.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, turning back to the sauce. Tense silence breathed in the room, a monster from the past. It raged as the bloody red liquid bubbled and brewed. The slam of his deck door made her jump.
The loose deck step provided just the outlet he needed. Screws would be stronger but they didn’t have the same therapeutic strength so he slammed nail after nail into the wood. Around the thirteenth nail, he paused and wiped the sweat from his upper lip. Damn Gina to hell and back.
He didn’t mean that. Hanging his head, he thrust the hammer back into his toolbox and climbed the repaired stairs. Throwing his body into a deck chair, he brooded. Old fears threatened to resurface and he pushed them back with a muttered oath. Some monsters were better left in the closet.
The soft creak of the door let him know his sister approached and he stubbornly turned his 66
Sweet as Sin
head away. A glass of iced tea appeared and he closed his eyes. She was always trying to take care of him. He took it in one hand and grabbed her wrist with the other. Sliding his hand down to her cool palm, he squeezed. She squeezed back.
Just like that, they were all right again and she left him to his thoughts.
He could never stay angry with her. It was for her that Jondi and Thorn and all the rest had been born. Lying in the dark, she would tremble and shake as they listened for the footsteps on the stairs. To distract her, he told long winding stories of magic and triumph until she fell asleep, still holding his hand. Long after she stopped believing in monsters and magic, the tales lived on.
The iced tea was cold in a throat made sore with swallowed memory and he drank deeply to wash the ache away. He set the glass beside the discarded tablet he’d carried outside. He had them all over the house, bought them in bulk. It was a small pleasure to have them handy when the urge hit. He no longer had to hide his work, fear who might take it, twist it to see what they wanted.
A passing cloud shadowed the book as he
flipped it open and thumbed to a blank page. He wasn’t the type to draw kittens and rainbows.
Always.
“Johnny, how many women have you loved?”
His head shot up. “Gina, keep your nose out of my sex life.”
“Not sex, you idiot. You could’ve screwed the entire Miss America lineup and I wouldn’t care.
64
Sweet as Sin
I’m talking about love. How many women have you loved?”
“You lawyers ask too many questions.” He
grimaced and turned his attention back to his paper. He focused all his energy on the notebook, the pencil scratching louder, faster. Her question obviously made him uncomfortable but Gina was no longer just his kid sister. She was a grown woman, a wife and mother, and she didn’t need a protector anymore. Her life was content and she wanted his to be the same.
“Johnny, you’re thirty-eight years old. Don’t you think maybe it’s time to start looking at settling down?”
“I bought a house, didn’t I?”
She smacked the counter with the dishcloth and glared. “Yeah, and your sister came to help you settle in. Do you not see anything wrong with that picture, brother-mine?”
“So leave. I didn’t ask you to come down. I could’ve managed just fine alone. I always do, always will.”
He wouldn’t raise his head to look at her. Cold dread poured over her. “Oh my God, you believed him.”
The pencil stopped but he didn’t look up. “I don’t know what you’re babbling about.”
“Yes, you do!” Shock made her skin cool as she looked at him with pity. Maybe her childhood Inez Kelley
65
hero hadn’t escaped as unscathed as she thought.
“Just because our father was a—”
“He was not my father. He was yours, not mine.” The quiet words were colored with fury and she swallowed the rest of her protest. His image shimmered behind the tears filling her eyes—tears for John, the man, and tears for Johnny, the little boy.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, turning back to the sauce. Tense silence breathed in the room, a monster from the past. It raged as the bloody red liquid bubbled and brewed. The slam of his deck door made her jump.
The loose deck step provided just the outlet he needed. Screws would be stronger but they didn’t have the same therapeutic strength so he slammed nail after nail into the wood. Around the thirteenth nail, he paused and wiped the sweat from his upper lip. Damn Gina to hell and back.
He didn’t mean that. Hanging his head, he thrust the hammer back into his toolbox and climbed the repaired stairs. Throwing his body into a deck chair, he brooded. Old fears threatened to resurface and he pushed them back with a muttered oath. Some monsters were better left in the closet.
The soft creak of the door let him know his sister approached and he stubbornly turned his 66
Sweet as Sin
head away. A glass of iced tea appeared and he closed his eyes. She was always trying to take care of him. He took it in one hand and grabbed her wrist with the other. Sliding his hand down to her cool palm, he squeezed. She squeezed back.
Just like that, they were all right again and she left him to his thoughts.
He could never stay angry with her. It was for her that Jondi and Thorn and all the rest had been born. Lying in the dark, she would tremble and shake as they listened for the footsteps on the stairs. To distract her, he told long winding stories of magic and triumph until she fell asleep, still holding his hand. Long after she stopped believing in monsters and magic, the tales lived on.
The iced tea was cold in a throat made sore with swallowed memory and he drank deeply to wash the ache away. He set the glass beside the discarded tablet he’d carried outside. He had them all over the house, bought them in bulk. It was a small pleasure to have them handy when the urge hit. He no longer had to hide his work, fear who might take it, twist it to see what they wanted.
A passing cloud shadowed the book as he
flipped it open and thumbed to a blank page. He wasn’t the type to draw kittens and rainbows.
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