Harder (Caroline & West #2)(22)

Mom trills Caroline’s name as though only snobs are named Caroline, and I’m instantly pissed.

I breathe deep, try to shake it off. She’s right that I shouldn’t have left. I lost track of my place in the world, went to Putnam, let myself believe there might be more for me, and look what happened. If I’d stayed here, Mom would probably still be with Bo. My dad never would’ve come around, couldn’t have moved into the trailer because that’s where I’d have been living.

None of this mess would’ve happened if I’d stayed.

“I’m here now,” I say.

But Caroline’s whispering in my head.

She’s saying, They’re never going to stop taking things from you, not ever.

I should’ve told her I don’t expect them to.

That’s the part Caroline doesn’t get, because she was born with a silver spoon in her mouth, and she grew up thinking she could be anybody she wants to, do anything she sets her mind to. The world belongs to Caroline, but it doesn’t belong to me.

I’m from Silt. I was born to take care of my sister and watch out for my mom. I belong to this place and this family, and that means they take from me, and what I’m here to do is give them what they need.

I can’t leave.

I can’t dream big dreams.

I can’t have college, or Caroline, or anything outside the borders of this place, because if I leave here I leave Frankie vulnerable to Mom’s careless mistakes and whatever narrow vision of the future she can form when she can’t see past the mountains to guess at what might be possible for her.

If I work hard, keep my head down, and take care of business, I can give Frankie the world. That’s the best I can hope for.

“I want to get a place in Coos,” I tell my mom. “Someplace big enough for the three of us.”

“Coos?”

“Franks can go to middle school there if we have an address in the district. They’ve got better teachers.”

“Frankie’s not smart enough for it to matter.”

“Yeah, she is.”

My mom sighs. We’ve had this argument before. “You have enough money for rent and a security deposit?”

“Yeah, but if we want someplace nice you’re going to have to be working, too.”

“I quit the prison,” she says. “I can’t work at the same place Bo’s at.”

This isn’t true. She was fired.

Bo told me he argued with the human resources people for an hour, trying to get them to keep her on. He’s been there fifteen years and thought he might have enough pull. In the end, though, Mom wasn’t worth their waiting on her to come back.

One more lie. One more disappointment.

Shrug it off.

“You still have Dad’s car?” I ask.

“Yeah, but I told Jack he could have it.”

“Why the f*ck would you do that?”

“He always liked that car, and he wanted to have something of Wyatt’s.”

“I can’t keep driving Bo’s truck if I’m not paying him rent money and you’re treating him like you are. Where’s that leave us? One job and no f*cking car—how are we supposed to get by?”

“I don’t know, West! I can’t cope with all this with your dad gone!”

“When could you cope with it?” I snap. “When? When could you ever cope?”

“Don’t take that tone with me!”

“I’ll take it if you deserve it! All you’ve done since he got shot is cry and feel sorry for yourself and then cause a fight you could’ve stopped at the funeral. It’s over, Mom. We’ve got to move on, because there’s shit to figure out—where we’re going to live, how we’ll get new school clothes for Frankie, a physical. Is she still on the state health plan?”

“Your dad took her off it.”

“Jesus f*ck. So we’ve got to get her back on and sign up for the Oregon Trail card again. The funeral about cleaned me out, but I’ve got enough money left for a cheap car. If you can get a job nights, I’ll stay on days at the landscaper, and I’ll find an apartment on the bus route so Franks can get to school. I think—”

“West.”

“What?”

She’s rubbing her hands over her face. She looks pale, smells ripe. “I can’t do any of that.”

“Why not?”

“I can’t … I can’t think. I can’t sleep. I want Wyatt. It’s hard for me to even see you, you look so much like him, and—”

“Just don’t look. Don’t think. I’m not asking you to think. All I’m asking you to do is help me get Frankie sorted, get this paperwork rolling. I’ll put you on my accounts at the bank. We’ll do the lease in both our names, and that way—”

“West,” she interrupts again, her voice a whisper.

“Fucking what?”

She’s crying again. Always crying.

I remember how my dad used to complain. You’re always f*cking crying, Michelle, and when you’re not crying you’re nagging me. Useless cunt.

It should make me feel poisoned, that echo, but instead it makes me hate her.

I’ve spent half my life trying to be her helper, her partner, her boss. It’s not a job I’d wish on my worst enemy.