Page 51 of Cain
“That’s because everyone knows you have a loose relationship with ethics.” Even I won’t call my sister a bitch to her face, no matter how true a characterization it is.
Her eyes narrow. “You’re gonna chooseherover your own sister?”
I don’t pretend not to know who she meant when she said her.
“I’m not choosing a person, Paula, I’m choosing not to enable you.”
Paula’s mouth twitches. “Everyone knows you’re sleeping with her. I guess integrity’s flexible when you’re horny.”
That does it. I slam my beer down on the coffee table and stand up.
“If you want to tear someone down, Paula, go find a mirror,” I say gruffly, exhausted with my sister’s drama. “Now, get out.”
She crosses her arms and pouts, like she’s still got the upper hand. “She’s going to use you.”
“No,” I say, voice low. “That’s what you and Melody did. Faith’s got more integrity in her little finger than you’ve shown in your entire life. She works. She earns her living. She doesn’t steal from her family. She doesn’t manipulate people who love her.”
Paula scoffs—pure reflex.
However, she realizes arrogance isn’t getting her anywhere, so she shifts gears, softens her tone, and reaches for emotional blackmail instead. “We’re pariahs now, Cain. I can’t get through a day without someone calling me names under their breath.”
“Then now you know how you made Faith feel.”
That shuts her up.
I let out a long breath, steadying myself. I’m not going to lose my temper—neither my sister nor Melody is worth that kind of energy. “I didn’t press charges, Paula. That was me being generous. I’ve got no more left to give.”
She opens her mouth. Closes it again. Something in her face crumbles for a second, but I don’t let it in.
“You should go.”
“Cain, I need money. Rent is due and…do you want me to be homeless?”
“I know for sure that Macy offered you a job.”
Macy owns two grocery stores, one in Silverton and one in Bethany.
“You want me to work at a checkout counter?” She looks appalled.
“It’s honest work.”
She looks at me like I kicked her puppy. “How can you treat me like this?”
“You’re twenty-five years old, sis, you need to stand on your own two feet. I can’t support you.”
“But you have so much money,” she points out.
“I haveenough. And it’smymoney. I earned it.”
“I’m your sister.” She stands, her chest puffed up. “I have a right to it.”
Christ. Who the hell is this girl? How did she grow up under the same roof and turn into this?
My dad spent his whole life grinding as a real estate manager. My mom taught second grade for thirty years, the kind ofwoman who brought her own paper supplies when the school budget ran dry. We were raised to work hard, to earn what we wanted. No shortcuts. No free rides.
I should’ve listened to my parents when they warned me, over and over, not to be Paula’s crutch. But I kept telling myself she’d grow out of it. She was just young. Just finding herself.
But one year bled into the next, and now…I’m looking at my sister, and can’t recognize her.
