Page 13 of Giving Grace

“You gonna be okay by yourself?”

I glance away from the window to find Patrick standing by the front door, looking at me like he’s having second thoughts about leaving me here alone.

“Jesus Christ,” I roll my eyes even though I’m suddenly not so sure. I haven’t been alone—really alone—in months. “I’ll be fine, Mom.”

“Alright.” Bullshit or not, Patrick laughs and reaches for the door. “If you need something—”

“If I need something, I’ll figure it out for myself.” I swipe a hand over my face, smothering a curse. “Hey,” I say, stopping him halfway out the door.

“Yeah?” Patrick stops in his tracks and looks at me like he’s suddenly worried again.

“About Rich—what I did to him.” I drop my hand away from my face and let out a heavy breath. “Don’t take the heat for what I did. Let him come at me. I can—”

“Fuck Rich. He fucked with a Gilroy and got what was comin’.” He gives me that grin, the one that makes him look like Con, flashing me his dimples. “Whatever happens, we’ll face it like we always do—as a family.”

And then he’s gone and I’m alone.

Unsure of what to do next, I just stand here, somewhere between living room and the kitchen, staring at the door and wondering how it all got to this point. How I ended up here. Right back where I started.

Because I know from personal experience, I’ll just end up working myself into fucking lather if I poke at it too much, I put it all away and make a concerted effort to focus on the here and now.

Hobbling my ass into the kitchen, I open the fridge, more out of curiosity than actual expectation. Staring into it, I have to laugh because of course my sister stocked it. Milk. Butter. Eggs. The crisper is full of vegetables. Cheese and lunch meat. A six-pack of beer. The freezer is stuffed with frozen pizzas and family-sized trays of lasagna and frozen enchiladas.

Seeing it all makes me realize that I’m twenty-eight and I’ve never been grocery shopping. Never pushed a cart around a store or examined produce. Never debated over the price of eggs or which brand of bread is on sale. Never lived like a civilian. The closest I’ve come to grocery shopping is picking up a six-pack at the base commissary and the closest I’ve come to cooking is nuking a frozen burrito.

Until this morning when I made French toast and bacon with a four-year-old.

Which makes me a pretty sorry excuse for an adult, if you ask me.

Slamming the freezer shut, I yank the fridge open again and pull a beer off the shelf. Twisting the cap off, I toss it on the counter and dig my prescription bottle of Oxy out of my duffle. After a few seconds of debate, I pop the cap and shake a small round pill into my palm and wash it down with the beer. Because fuck it, right?

Leaving my cane in the kitchen, I shoulder my duffle and take it and my beer into the bedroom to unpack, only to find the dresser and closet already full of clothes. Socks and underwear. Button-downs and jeans. Flannel pajama pants and T-shirts. Price tags clipped off and freshly laundered. Folded neatly. Arranged by color.

Henley.

Again.

Depositing my duffle full of rags in the closet with a vicious kick, I sink onto the edge of the bed and try not to feel like shit. Try to accept that she’s my sister. That making me feel useless wasn’t her intention. That, like Patrick, she has money to burn so why shouldn’t I let her spend it on me if it’s going to help alleviate the guilt she feels over what happened when we were kids.

When it doesn’t work, when all I do is end up feeling angrier, I set my beer on the nightstand and yank its drawer open to toss my prescription bottle into it.

Condoms.

What must be hundreds of them.

And an envelope with my name written across the front of it in Conner’s haphazard scrawl. Gritting my teeth, I rip it open and read the note inside.

Hey, Assface –

The condoms are a housewarming gift from me to you. The rest of it is from Hen. Don’t be a dick about it. She’s your sister. She loves you. And if that isn’t enough, remember you owe me.

Con

p.s. If you forgot how condoms work, give Grace a call. I’m sure she’d be happy to show you.

Seeing them, reading the note that accompanied them, makes me think of her. This morning. The shock and uncertainty on her face when she realized what was happening. That I was as hard as a rock and standing over her with my cock shoved in her face. Ever the optimist, I drop my hand to my crotch and give myself a squeeze.

Nothing.

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