Page 56 of What's Left of Us

Grumbling as I line up the next string of lights, I look down at her. “Exactly. Why did you guys wait until two weeks before Christmas to decorate? Before you know it, you’ll need to take everything down. It’s a waste of time.”

My little sister shrugs. “You know, if Mom had her way, we’d start decorating before Thanksgiving. But they’ve been preoccupied.”

“With what?” I ask, lifting the nail gun and fastening the next section to the house. “They’re both retired, and Mom only babysits twice a week now.”

Hannah is quiet, causing me to look over at her twisted expression.

I pause what I’m doing, setting the nail gun down on top of the ladder. “What is it? There’s something you aren’t telling me.”

She makes a face. “How do you know?”

“Because you’re a horrible liar,” I state, tapping my eyebrow. “When you’re keeping secrets, your eyebrow starts twitching, and you can’t look people in the eye.”

Hannah forces her gaze up but flinches as soon as we lock eyes. Her right eyebrow twitches despite the effort she puts in to keep it still.

When she realizes I’m right, she throws her hands up. “Ugh. Fine. They told me not to tell you because they didn’t want you to worry.”

Alert has me stiffening. “Is one of them sick or something?”

She nibbles her bottom lip. “Dad was diagnosed with diabetes a while ago, and it’s gotten hard to manage even with the pills they gave him. He needs to go on insulin.”

Jesus. “Why didn’t they want you to tell me?”

Evading my eyes again, she kicks the ground with her shoe, sending a pebble rolling down the driveway. “Because you’ve had enough to deal with on your own. They didn’t want to add to it.”

Of course they didn’t. They’re always trying to put my feelings first. I’ve told them to stop worrying about me, but they never listen. “I want to know what’s going on in all your lives.”

Hannah peeks up at me. “Doyou?”

Her question strikes a nerve. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

She holds up her hands in surrender. “I’m just saying that you tend to get so caught up in your own stuff that we’re usually not a priority. I’m not trying to be a bitch, but it’s true.”

Am I that much of an asshole they think I wouldn’t care about their problems? “I’m constantly around here helping out. We have a meal once a week together and catch up. Do you really think my head is so far up my ass that I don’t give a fuck about you?”

My sister groans. “You’re getting testy. I don’t want to fight.”

“Then be real with me.”

We lock eyes, except this time, she doesn’t look away. “You want real?” she questions, crossing her arms. “Fine. We get thatyou’re in a bad mood because of everything that’s happened lately. You’ve had shit luck, and we all feel for you. But you won’t talk to us about any of it, so we have to walk on eggshells whenever you’re around because we don’t know when you’ll blow up. Not working full-time makes you mad. Taking time to heal makes you mad. People caring about you makes you mad. Georgia makes you mad. Your friend dying makes you mad. You’re mad at yourself and the whole world. But what are you doing about it, Lincoln?”

Shoulders squaring, I grind my teeth. I have the right to be mad, don’t I? That doesn’t mean I’m incapable of feeling other things too.

“I’m in therapy,” I tell her, picking up the nail gun and grabbing the next section of string to hang.

“Which you always bitch about going to,” she points out. “So how much is that really helping if you’re fighting it every time you go?”

Sure, I don’t love talking about all the ways my life went south, but that doesn’t mean I don’t utilize the time. Reluctantly, maybe. But I show up. “I talk about shit in it, Hannah. It’s not like I sit there for an hour in silence.”Anymore.“I’m just not going to come here and tell you everything I talk about there. That’s none of your business. And, frankly, you should be thanking me for not dragging my bullshit here. I don’t know what you want from me.”

“I don’twantanything,” she replies.

Then why are we even having this conversation? “It’s good to know that the family thinks I’m too emotionally damaged to give a fuck about anybody other than myself. Guess I have a new topic to talk about during my next session.”

Hannah scoffs in exasperation, knowing that arguing won’t get her anywhere. But what did she expect? I care about myfamily, even when they’re annoying and pestering me about things I don’t want to discuss.

Gripping the nail gun tightly I pause before saying, “Dad’s okay, right?”

My little sister only pauses for a second before answering. “Yeah, he’ll be all right. It’s just an adjustment for him. For all of us.”

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