Page 120 of Blood & Snow
This time it was outside a retirement building in a courtyard.
I hardly slept all night, so I napped at his house all day.
And even when I try to play the good, benevolent auntand I have more than enough money to do it, I fail.
I don't have time to take care of myself or my family at all anymore.
"We need to talk."
The words crack like a judge's gavel.
I close the refrigerator door and turn to face my sister, who looks worn down by all my lies.
Her hair is frazzled, stray wisps dancing around her face in the draft from the window behind her.
And her sunken eyes betray the fact that she's not sleeping well now, probably due to worrying about me.
WithMamochkagone, she thinks it’s her responsibility as the oldest to watch over me.
I wish she didn’t.
"I know."
"Do you?"
She stands, her chair scraping against the linoleum floor.
"Because I don't think you understand what's happening here. I don't think you see how far you've fallen."
The truth of her accusation stings.
When our mother was alive, I was studying forensic science and helping with homework and bedtime stories.
Now I'm never here, always sneaking away to do one job or another, and while having a job isn't the problem—I'd be gone whether it was legitimate or not—it does weigh on me a lot.
The guilt consumes me even when I'm not actively doing a job for him.
"I'm trying to help our family."
"By doing what exactly? You still haven't told me the truth about where you work, what you do, or where all this money comes from."
She gestures toward the living room where Xander's tree dominates the corner.
"You disappear every night, come home exhausted, and expect me to believe you're cleaning hotel rooms."
My stomach churns, whether from stress or the nausea that has been plaguing me for days.
I press my palm against my abdomen, trying to settle the rebellion brewing there.
It's been happening more often for the past few days.
I'll getemotional and then my stomach feels upset too.
I can only assume it's nerves, that my central nervous system is shutting down because of the traumatic things I've been witnessing on repeat.
I wonder how Xander does this, how he's been doing it for years.
"I clean up after wealthy people who value their privacy," I say, sticking to the partial truth that has become my shield.
