Page 8 of Trust Me

The dull pain that had started to recede reminds me it’s still active. I massage my forehead because the topic of my older brother always gets under my skin.

“No, I haven’t.”

“I called him last week, but he never called back.”

Her sulking tone pulls at my heart, and not for the first time, I want to punch my deadbeat brother in his face.

“Maybe he’s just busy, Ladybug. I’ll call him to remind him to get in touch with you, okay?”

“Okay,” she responds, but the gloominess in her voice remains.

“You’re going to pass that test with flying colors tomorrow. And once you’re done, there’ll be a present waiting for you at the front desk of your dorm.”

“My monthly care package?” she asks.

“Mhmm,” I answer. “This one has your favorite hot chocolate mix in it, too.”

“Thanks, Aunt Ry. I hope I pass my exam tomorrow and make you proud.”

The muscle right at the center of my chest tightens almost to the point of pain.

“You know why you’re my ladybug, right?”

She grumbles on the other end of the phone. I know she’s rolling her eyes.

“Say it,” I prod.

“Because I’m your good luck charm.”

“That’s right. That means even if you get a zero on that exam, I will still love you with my whole being. You know that, don’t you?”

“Yes.” She draws out the word in a way that reminds me she’s on that border of becoming a pre-teen and then, God forbid, a teenager.

“Go get some sleep so you can wake up refreshed and ready to pass that test tomorrow, and then have a cup of your favorite hot cocoa. Call me after your test.”

“Thanks, Aunt Ry. I love you.”

“Love you more.”

As soon as the call disconnects, I dial the number for my brother. Surprisingly, he answers.

“Hello?” Wallace answers. “Ry-Ry?”

I cringe at the nickname.

“Yeah, it’s me. Eve said she called you, and you never returned her call.”

He sucks his teeth. “Don’t start with me. I’ve got a lot going on.”

“Enough going on that you can ignore your daughter?”

“What does she want with me? You’re her legal guardian.”

I tighten my hold on the phone. Wallace reminds me so much of our father, which is not good.

“Yes, I’m her guardian. But you’re still her father. She wants to know that you care about her. Can’t you at least call her now and again to check in with her?”

“Look, I gave all that up when I signed those papers, making you her guardian. If her mama hadn’t died—”

---