Page 37 of His Property

My eyes narrow, and I scoff. “What? We’re not leaving, Gabi. I couldn’t give a shit about Cora or whatever court order she throws at us.”

“Then why don’tweget a lawyer? There has to be something they can do. We’ve been paying the bills for over a decade, there’s no way she can just—”

“We’re not hiring a lawyer.”

“Why?” Gabi tries to pull herself higher on the hood, and I help her up until she’s on the windshield wipers, then I sit beside her. She drags her feet up and rests her hands on her knees.

“Because I hate lawyers.”

Gabi clenches her jaw and closes her eyes out of frustration. She snaps them back open and raises a hand. “If you don’t want to hire someone to help us keep our fucking house, fine, but let’s at least file for a restraining order.”

I scratch the back of my head and bite my cheek. I sense a fight coming on.

“Go right ahead.”

“I mean foryou, Victor. We need to at least ask if it’s necessary. Maybe it’s built in or something, but let’s at least—”

“I’m not getting a fucking protective order, Gabi. Jesus, I’m a grown man.”

“And Cora’s a crazy bitch!” Gabi flings her hands, her frustration building. My own annoyance grows, and as pleased as I am with myself for keeping my dark side from my sister, at the moment, I wish she knew. If she did, maybe she’d realize just how annoying it is to hear my sister want me to file a protective order on a fifty-three-year-old woman. I can’t even count the number of protective orders filed onme.

I take a steadying breath. “If Cora comes around, I’ll handle it.”

Gabi huffs and gestures toward the prison. “Victor, please, save it. You can’t bring yourself to confront the woman while she’s behind bars. What makes you think you can handle talking to her while she’s telling you to leave her house?”

“Because I’m not moving.”

She bites her lip and looks down at her nails. They’re chewed raw.

She gives us a moment to cool down, and I’m thankful for it. I stare at the prison and try not to think about what I’ll do if and when Cora shows up. We’re so convinced that she will, but what if she doesn’t? What if this is all for nothing?

She might not even give a shit about us. She could be riddled with guilt, after all these years, and—

Oh, what the fuck am I thinking? I sent her to prison. She’s out for vengeance.

I’m going to have to kill her, aren’t I?

Better question, why do I care?

“Okay,” Gabi says, closing her eyes on an exhale. “Then let’s at least come up with a plan. Please. Don’t tell me you’ll take care of it and don’t pretend it isn’t a big deal. I know you’re in your head just as much as I am about this.” Gabi touches my arm, but I don’t look at her. “Let’s talk to each other, okay? No more locking it inside. Let’s figure this out together.”

No.

The answer is instant in my head, but I let it sit on my tongue. Ihatetelling Gabi no. Fucking hate it. I’m weighed down by guilt as it is, so I don’t make a habit of adding to her disappointments unnecessarily. And if I told her how I really felt, it would break her heart. I don’t know how I could do that.

But the truth is, I wish Gabi would leave me alone. I wish she wouldn’t come here. I wish she wouldn’t talk to me about this shit. And I damn sure wish she wouldn’t refer to this asourproblem.

This is not Gabi’s problem. Gabi had a shitty mother and a neglectful father. She had a shitty childhood. If she wants to talk to me about our dad and his alcoholism, sure. We can do that. But while the same woman birthed us, she was not the same mother. We did not share that aspect of our childhoods. Talking to Gabi is the same as talking to a stranger while I lay on their couch.

Not going to happen.

“Okay,” I lie because I can’t voice what’s inside my head. “I don’t agree that we need a plan when we’re not sure what to expect, but we can talk about it if you want to.”

She takes my hand, and I finally face her. Concern is etched into her frown. “No more storming off, okay?”

I nod and prepare to lie again. “No more storming off.” I sigh. “I’m sorry. I was cleaning my tools and just got into my head.”

She nods in understanding. “Doesn’t help when you blare Dad’s god-awful music.”

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