Page 9 of Heartless

“Just don’t destroy the carpets again,” Lou intones, just as Dan comes into the room with both of their suitcases and a question on his face. “I’m coming,” my sister promises, glancing around the kitchen as if she’s forgotten something.

When she hesitates, I know what’s coming and cut her off before she can say it. “I’mfine, okay? We’re fine. It’s going to be an awesome time, and literally nothing will go wrong. It rarely does.”

“And I won’t play with matches,” Scott promises, earning looks from both of his parents as I try to muffle a snort.

“I’ll hide the matches.” Scott and I usher them out, and when their son runs to hug his mom then dad, Lou steps close to me and gives me a quick embrace.

“Call me if you need anything,” she whispers, leaning close.

“Always do.”

“And Winnie?” She pulls back enough to meet my gaze, and my heart sinks just a little at the concern there. “Don’t do that, okay?” Her voice is soft, and I know she doesn’t want Dan or Scott to hear. I don’t either. “Don’t drag all of that up again. You need to try to forget. Stop thinking about it, stop dwelling. You know what happened last time you were convinced he was back.”

Gently, I pull away from her, eyes serious. “Yeah, Lou,” I agree quietly, the smile gone from my face. “I know exactly what happened last time, the time before that, and what happened when you left for college.” She winces, but I don’t mean it as an accusation. “Go,” I push her arm playfully. “Go havefunwith Dan. You deserve it. I mean it, I’m totally fine.”

Mostly fine.

As fine as I ever get.

“I love you.” Lou opens the door to their silver, fancy sedan and gets into the passenger seat. “I love you alot.“

“And I love you, too. With the fury of a thousand suns,” I agree, grabbing her door as Dan gets in and shuts his with a quick wave my way. “Goodbye, Lou. Stop being such a worrywart.” Before she can say something to the contrary, I close her door, knocking on it like I’m giving Dan the all clear.

Finally Lou grins, and as they pull out of the driveway, she waves at both Scott and I, biting her lip over her grin.

“She’s worried,” Scott murmurs, shoving his hands in the pockets of his hoodie.

“Yeah,” I sigh. “She always worries.”

“Did she give you money for pizza?”

My grin is wide and promising as I look down at him, slinging an arm over Scott’s shoulders again. “Oh, buddy…” I laugh. “She gave us money for pizza, dessert, andmilkshakes.”

Chapter

Five

“Mom doesn’t like pineapple on her pizza.” Scott’s voice makes me glance sidelong at him on the sofa, where the light from the television illuminates his face in the darkness.

“Yeah, your mom is weird like that,” I reply, dunking the crust of my pizza in ranch dressing before devouring it. Scott slurps on the nearly empty milkshake cup in his hand, and I grin slightly. We’re also the only ones in the family who drink chocolate milkshakes with our pizza.

“I don’t get why she doesn’t like it.” He grabs another slice, though at a yelp from the television, his attention is riveted back onto the kids’ Halloween movie we’re watching. It’s one we’ve both seen before, though since it was a year or so ago, Scott is still thrilled to watch it.

“I’m telling you, Lou is weird. Your grandma is the same. Growing up, I was the only one who ever ate pineapple on my pizza. It was a seriously lonely life.” I sigh, pressing the back of my hand to my forehead theatrically.

“What about your dad?” The question is innocent, as all of his are. He doesn’t ask out of malice, or to get a reaction out ofme. Hell, he’s not even looking at me. His eyes are still on the television as he chews the piece of pizza like a chipmunk, his cheeks bulging a little with the too big bite.

“I don’t remember,” I say, thinking back on if my dad ever ate pizza with me. But a lot of my time with him is hazy in my head, thanks to the wholetraumathing and my mind putting a wall between me and those memories.

Well, most of those memories.

“You should ask him,” Scott says matter-of-factly. “Do you know his number?”

It occurs to me that Lou has never told him about my dad, though he knows that she and I are half-sisters.

“My…uh.” I fiddle with the napkin in my lap to avoid picking at the bandage on the side of my hand. “My dad’s dead, Scott.”

“Oh.” My nephew’s reply is quiet, and he takes a minute before he asks, “What happened to him? Were you still a kid when he died?”

---