Page 64 of Someone Like Me
Still, that doesn’t mean we grew up without happiness at all. Even as a toddler, Annie danced and sang all day. It may have been annoying as hell at times, but it was always cheerful. And Anthony could make our mother smile even after her longest day at the hospital. As the oldest, he’d fix dinner on the nights we didn’t eat with Grandma and Grandpa. Nothing fancy. Tuna and macaroni and cheese. Hot dogs. Sloppy Joe’s.
But when Ma would come home to see dinner on the table and the three of us bathed, our homework finished, she would beam at Anthony like he was her guardian angel. I guess he did whatever he could to make Ma feel like Dad taking off wasn’t any great loss.
She will never forgive me. Not ever. That’s just something I have to live with.
I won’t forgive myself either, but as I stand at the foot of Evie Lalonde’s front steps, I realize that Iwantto be forgiven.
Maybe it’s the sight of this house, brimming with welcome and the promise of family. Maybe it’s living with Grandma Q and feeling every day the grace she gives me. The grace that is possible. Maybe it’s the way Evie made me see my last exchange with Grandpa Pete with new eyes. Maybe it’s the moment I had with my cousin this morning.
I want to be forgiven. I want to belong to my family — my whole family — again. I want to grieve Anthonywith them.
And I want Evie.
With that thought cresting above all the others, I climb her front steps and knock on her door. At first I hear nothing. Gemini’s excited bark is a now-familiar sound. I hear it when he’s in her back yard, chasing squirrels. But it’s absent now.
But then, the clop of heels across a wood floor issues from the house. The bolts clack, and the door opens to reveal an attractive blonde. A blonde who’s scowling at me.
Definitely not Evie.
I know at once this is her sister. Tori. I narrow my eyes in suspicion because if my guess is right, she’s kicked Evie out of the house. But I’m not sure, and I need to be sure.
“Is Evie home?” I ask.
Her scowl sharpens. “Who wants to know?”
I feel my jaw set, imagining this person talking to Evie like that.
“I’m—”
But she holds up her hand, recognition blazing in her eyes. “I know who you are.” Her nostrils flare and her top lip curls with disgust. “You’re that lowlife felon who’s freeloading off Mrs. Vivian.”
Her words are like a pop to the jaw, shocking, but effective. Familiar shame rises like smoke. How can I respond? What she says is true.
I am that lowlife felon.
I am freeloading off my grandmother.
She jabs her finger at me, and I back onto the steps. “You. Stay. Away. From. My. Sister,” she spits. “She doesn’t know what’s good for her. Evie would pick up a stray rat if she thought it needed help. She’s got to be justcrazyabout you.”
Shocked as I am, my first impulse is to defend Evie. “We’re just friends—”
“Right.Right.”Her head nods with violent sarcasm. “‘Cause ex cons make suchgoodfriends.” But as she says this, she leans to her left to peer past me across the street, a sudden wariness in her eyes.
I swivel on my feet and look in the same direction, the brick house across the street a silent witness to our scene.
I turn back to Tori Lalonde. “That’s where she is.” It’s not a question. What Mrs. Troxclair told Grandma must be true. The need to check on Evie conquers all else, even the assault of her sister’s words.
I descend one step before her sister grabs my arm.
“Leave her alone.” She sounds vicious. But when I meet her eyes, I’m surprised to see an etching of both fear and doubt.
I recognize the look. I’ve seen it in the mirror.
“I won’t let you go near her,” she snarls. “She’s too trusting. Too soft. You’ll only take advantage. You’ll only hurt her.”
I pin her with my coldest stare. “You mean like you?”
At Angola, I stared into the faces of hundreds of murderers. No lie. Hundreds. None of them looked as dangerous as Tori Lalonde does in this moment. Her eyes narrow on me as if all she sees is my death.
