Page 41 of Leave It to Us
“How do you know?” Yvonne asked. “Sometimes a new set of ears can hear something different. Can pick up on a possibility that you hadn’t considered.”
“Can save the day?” Lana snapped. “I don’t need you to come riding in on your ‘take care of my baby sisters’ white horse, Yvonne.”
If Yvonne was bruised by Lana’s harsh words, she didn’t show it, and she didn’t release Lana’s hand. “I haven’t been too good at that lately, anyway, so you don’t have to worry about it.”
Now Lana felt like crap, on top of the headache.
“It was never your job to take care of us,” Lana told her. “You had too much on your shoulders at too young an age.”
And because Lana had known that, she hadn’t hated Yvonne when she was younger, like she did their mother. Yvonne was Freda’s favorite because that’s the way Freda had raised her to be. Their mother would talk to Yvonne in a totally different tone than she did Lana and Tami. She’d take Yvonne to the grocery store with her and leave Lana home with her father. Then, when Daniel had left, she’d leave Lana at home to watch Tami while she and Yvonne shopped for groceries and whatever else they needed in the house. Then, whenever Freda had late meetings at work or parent-teacher conferences, Yvonne would be incharge again, fixing dinner and making sure Lana and Tami got their baths before bed.
“And you’ve got a lot on your shoulders now,” Yvonne replied. “I’m not trying to get in your business or even swoop in and help take your problems away. I’m just sitting here telling you I’ll listen if you want to talk.”
Yvonne sounded sincere. But did Lana want to talk? Did she want to tell her judgmental sister about her marital problems?
Before she could answer her own question, she looked up to see Deacon coming out of the house. He looked down one side of the porch and then to the side where they were sitting, and began walking their way.
“Maybe we should talk about him instead,” she whispered, and then nudged Yvonne to look up.
“Here’s your water,” Deacon said when he was close enough to crouch and hand her the glass.
“Thank you,” she said, and accepted the glass.
“You sure you don’t wanna go to the doctor? I can call my mother right now. I’m sure she has that clinic’s number memorized, as much as she has my sister riding over so she can make a visit,” he said.
“No. I’ll be okay,” she replied. “Just probably need to lay down for a while.”
He didn’t look convinced, if that arch of his thick brow was any indication. Deacon was a very good-looking man, with broad shoulders and a wide chest. Construction was definitely the job for him; she doubted she’d ever seen a man who looked better in raggedy jeans, dusty work boots, and tight T-shirts. Yes, indeed, he was good looking, and so was her big sister. The one who’d suddenly gone silent beside her.
“Well, then, I’ll get back to work. But you don’t come back inside without a hat, goggles, and—”
“A mask,” she finished for him. “I know the rules, Deacon. And I’ll follow them from now on.”
He grinned. “You’d better.”
“Oh, she will,” Yvonne piped in, as if just remembering she could be part of the conversation.
When Deacon stood and turned to walk away, Lana said, “A man who looks like that should be waking up in some woman’s bed every morning.”
Yvonne didn’t miss a beat. “He probably is.”
Lana shook her head. “Tami said he’s single.”
“How would she know?” Yvonne asked.
“She asked him, of course.” Lana took a sip from her water and chuckled. “You know that girl ain’t got no filter. Especially when it comes to men.”
“Men lie,” was Yvonne’s unbothered response.
“And that’s a fact,” Lana said with a nod and another chuckle. “Even after you marry them.”
“Girl, let Mama tell it—they lie,especiallyafter you marry them.”
“Is that why you never married?” It had been something Lana had wondered every now and then, when she let herself think fondly of her sister instead of being thoroughly irritated by the woman Freda had created.
Yvonne eased her fingers from Lana’s. Then she pulled her legs up until she could wrap her arms around them and lean her chin on her knees. In that moment, Yvonne—the smarter, better-at-every-damn-thing sister—looked more vulnerable than Lana had ever seen her before. Her hair was in the high ponytail she’d been wearing daily now, laced through the opening at the back of the Celtics snapback she wore pulled down low over her brow. Today’s outfit was baggy green sweatpants, a black T-shirt, and black Vans on her feet. Her face was makeup-free, which was always the case except for when she was going to work or to some other type of professional meeting. But since they’d been on the island, the only product she’d seen Yvonne put on her face was this peach lip gloss that Lana low-key wanted to borrow.
“Marriage isn’t for everybody,” Yvonne said.
