“I burn it,” he said.

“That’s not fair,” she grumbled, intent on adding more ketchup to his little pool so he could finish her lunch. She didn’t immediately notice that the old lady sitting next to them had gotten up to leave—and was now standing beside their table, gaping at the picture on Jasmine’s cell phone.

When Jasmine glanced up, she expected a stern scolding, or at least a disgusted huff. But the old lady didn’t seem very scandalized. She merely looked from the phone to Romain and back again. “Somehow I thought you’d be more impressive,” she said, and shuffled out.

Romain’s jaw dropped. “Hey, that’s not me. I am more impressive,” he called after her. “A lot more impressive. That’s true, right?” The look on his face—half-teasing, half-wounded male pride—made Jasmine laugh until her sides ached.

Chapter 17

Gruber’s sister was late. He sat on his couch, waiting for her, his eyes gritty.

He hadn’t been to bed yet. By the time he’d gotten home last night and washed off the blood, he’d had to start on the house. Once he viewed it as his sister would, he realized it required cleaning. Valerie was all about being “functional.” She wouldn’t like what she saw, and he couldn’t help cringing at the disgust he’d hear in her voice if it wasn’t at least passable.

Now he was finished but tired and angry. After all these years he was still bowing and scraping and giving her most of the power in their relationship. But she’d been more of a mother to him than his real mother, so it wasn’t surprising that he’d feel some desire to please her, was it?

“Wasted effort,” he grumbled, mad at himself for reacting to those old feelings of inadequacy. He couldn’t please Valerie. She’d never approved of him. The derogatory comments she’d made about him while he was growing up came to mind at the most inappropriate moments: If he wasn’t so lazy, maybe he’d be more of a help to me. As it is, he’s as much of a burden as my mother…. He’s a little pervert. I just caught him playing with himself again…. He can’t ask anyone to the dance.

There isn’t a girl in that school who’d go out with him….

The humiliation and embarrassment she’d caused him with her constant ridicule created a blinding rage. Even now. He hated her, wished her dead. And yet…she’d put food on the table and made sure he had a roof over his head. She’d come home after work at night. That was something, wasn’t it? That was more than his real mother had done.

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A noise at the door alerted him that she’d finally arrived and, all of a sudden, he was loath to answer her knock. The woman he’d attacked last night had been so terrified. The memory of her fear made him feel invincible, like God. If he let Valerie into his home, he’d feel like a worthless piece of shit again.

“Gruber? Are you in there?”

At the irritation in her voice, he got up, moving as though she could control his body—like a puppeteer jerking the strings of a marionette. He stood, cast a lingering glance at the fridge where he’d put his trophy from last night, then walked slowly, inexorably, toward the door. Maybe she’d look in the freezer. Maybe he’d show her—

“Gruber? I’m tired. I’ve been working all night, and I have to get home. Give me a break here.”

He should’ve changed his shirt. Why hadn’t he thought of that? This one was wrinkled and dirty from the scrubbing. He hesitated, wondering if it was too late, but she banged on the door, and that tone was entering her voice. The tone that made him want to curl up and cover his ears.

“Gruber!” You idiot. “I need to talk to you.” I knew you’d screw this up. You are such a loser!

And yet he continued to walk calmly to the door, opening it just as her temper flared. “There you are!”

Why did he wait? Why hadn’t he staved off her displeasure by answering when she first arrived?

He didn’t know. He’d cleaned all night for her. And now he’d ruined it. He’d ruined it with the dirty shirt she was already sneering at and his tardy answer.

“It’s after noon,” she snapped, standing there in her perfectly white nurse’s uniform. “Don’t tell me you were still in bed!”

She hated laziness more than anything. And he, of course, was lazy. He heard it in her voice.

“I’ve been working.”

“At what? Every time I ask, you give me some evasive answer, which probably means you’re sitting here on your ass, collecting unemployment. I know you’re not working for the lighting company anymore. They wouldn’t take you back if you begged them.”

There it was again. The blaring message: You’re not good enough. You’ll never be good enough.

“I haven’t asked you for money in ages,” he pointed out.

“A year is ‘ages’?” she scoffed.

It’d never be long enough for her. “How’s Steve?”

“The same.”

He didn’t need to ask about any kids. His sister had decided, since he’d been so hard to raise, she wouldn’t have children. I’ve been there, done that. Noooo, thank you, she’d say if she was ever asked.

“So, are you going to invite me in?”

He stepped aside and her antiseptic smell came in with her. No doubt she’d gotten involved in some task at work. She wouldn’t have been late for any other reason. Being late was inconsiderate to others. How many times had he heard that growing up?

“Couldn’t you clean this place up?” she said, prowling around.

Gruber halfway hoped she’d open the freezer. The thought of her resulting shock and dismay—the thought of having the upper hand with his sister—made him smile slyly.

“What’s that sneaky little smirk for?” she asked.

“I was thinking of having you over for dinner.”

“You? Cook?”

“I’m sure I can find something in the freezer,” he said and chortled at his own joke.

Her eyes narrowed. “Yeah, right. What? TV dinners?”

“Not exactly.”

She looked at him as if she knew he didn’t mean it in a nice way but didn’t want to bother ferreting out what was really behind his invitation. “Yeah, well, that’s great. But Mom’s dying. You know that, don’t you?”

The pleasant image of his sister’s horrified expression as she opened his freezer dissipated. “I know she’s sick.”




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