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“Because it’s foremergencies,” I snap. “Hand it over. Now.”
He stumbles to his feet. His belly seems to have doubled in size in the last few months. The rest of us are withering away, but Ben just keeps oozing in every direction.
“Goddammit, Ben, you reek!” I exclaim, stepping to the side as he bumbles past me to the floating shelves opposite his single bed. “Is that what you spent the grocery money on? More booze?”
“What’re you, the fuckin’ alcohol police? It was a rough night, okay?” He slides his hand over the topmost shelf and produces the card.
“Thank God.” I snatch it off him. “Please tell me you didn’t use it to buy more alcohol.”
“‘Course not.” I’m in the middle of a relieved exhale when he hits me with, “I needed it for Knicks tickets.”
I freeze. “I’m sorry—did you just sayKnickstickets?”
He grins as wide as I’ve seen him do in months. “Season tickets, baby. Courtside.”
My stomach plummets. Every organ in my body feels like it’s been jolted out of place.
There goes my life raft.
“Ben… How. Much. Did. You. Spend?”
His forehead pinches together. “I mean, they’re primo tickets, Emma. They weren’t cheap.”
I take a step towards him. “How much? I want a number.”
“Twenty grand.”
My jaw falls open. My eyes bug out. My first and only thought is,Kill him.
Some murders are justified, right?
“Twenty thousand dollars on basketball,” I gasp. “Ben, you idiot. That wasit. That wasallmy money.Allmy savings. Alloursavings.”
He shrugs, his bloodshot eyes wavering. “Don’t be a drama queen. You’ve got a fancy-ass job. Bane Corp., right? That company pays their employees a boatload.”
“Except that even a boatload isn’t enough when your expenses are a… a…shipload!” I turn towards the door. “I’m calling and getting those tickets refunded!”
“Uh…”
I circle around to face him, eyes narrowing with fear. “Don’t say it. Don’t you dare say what I think you’re about to say.”
“They’re nonrefundable.”
I can only stare at my brother-in-law, wondering what kind of man, what kind offather,he might have been if Sienna was still alive. I want to believe that he’d have stepped up. I want to believe it’s the grief that robbed him of his sense of duty, his patience, his love for his children.
But there were signs even before Sienna died.
Ben was useless when he got back home after work. He’d sit on the couch with his shirt unbuttoned and a beer in his hand while Sienna ran around, getting dinner ready, taking care of the kids, tidying up the house.I’m tired, babe. I worked a long damn day.It never seemed to occur to him that she worked, too.
It’s funny, though—those things seemed so petty and minor in the moment. It’s only in retrospect that the warning signs are blaring red.
The one good thing I can say about Ben: he loved my sister. And for that, I’ve spent the last three-and-a-half years picking up the slack for his shortcomings.
“Don’t be so fuckin’ selfish, Em.”
“Me?!” I gape at him. I know I shouldn’t let myself get sucked in, but my nerves are strung out and so is my patience.
“You had that fucking money just sitting there!”
