Page 112 of John + Siena: The Complete Duet

John shrugged. “Not particularly.”

He didn’t offer more. Not even when Amelia stared at him like she was waiting for him to continue explaining.

“Do you find the meds helped with the anxiety and depression that took you up and down from day to day?”

Yes.

Mixed with two mood stabilizers and an anticonvulsant, they also made him feel like he couldn’t think a coherent thought on a bad day.

“They did their job,” he said instead.

“Are you getting a lot done?” the therapist asked after a moment. “Work wise, and whatever else.”

“Always,” John returned.

She continued on that line of questioning for whatever reason. She focused in on the things he did daily, and how he was spending his time. She asked him different questions about his family, and how they seemed lately. Not that he had much to tell her for that side of things.

John knew she was pressing for something—maybe trying to gage something with him—but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

Whatever.

He let her dig.

Soon enough, his time was up.

“Do not reschedule your appointment for next week, Johnathan,” his therapist said from behind him as he left her office. “Or I will report you for a third time to your parole officer.”

Well … shit.

“Ma!” John called out.

The front door of his parents’ Amityville home slammed closed under his hand. The female murmurings coming from down the hall quieted damn near instantly.

“In the kitchen, Johnathan,” he heard his mother say back.

He kicked off his shoes, and shrugged off his jacket. Setting the items aside, he headed for the kitchen where the smells were already wafting from. Something sweet, with a hint of cinnamon. His mother could cook—goddamn, could she cook. His childhood had been filled with memories of things his mother made for him to eat.

Especially in more difficult times of his life, he could bring forth strong memories of Jordyn’s sweets and other things she made just for him. It was a way she had gotten him to talk, or whatever else.

John found his mother sitting with his second youngest sister at the kitchen table. In her arms, Cella rocked a bundled-up baby. Swaddled in pink, this was the first time John had actually gotten a glimpse at his two-month-old niece.

She had not even been christened, yet.

“Ma,” John greeted, crossing the space to drop a kiss on Jordyn’s cheek.

“How was your day?”

“It was good.”

“Say hello to baby Tiffany,” Jordyn said, waving at the baby.

John passed Cella a look, but his sister only shrugged. The two didn’t even speak as he leaned over to tug the blanket aside with one finger. The sleeping newborn barely stirred at her uncle. Her cream skin, and long eyelashes were a sweet sight. One tiny fist had grabbed tightly to her swaddling blanket.

“She looks like you, Cella,” John said. “She’s beautiful. Congrats.”

His sister smiled faintly. “Thanks, John.”

Jordyn’s gaze drifted between the two—her smile saying one thing, and her eyes saying another. He knew it hurt his mother that her oldest daughters were not welcoming to their brother. John knew that was never going to change. He had said too much and done too much in the midst of episodes where Cella and Liliana were concerned. Their issues ran too deep, and wounds like those never healed properly.