1
EMMA
“You owe themhow much?”
I stare at my brother, Jake, across the table, waiting for the punchline. Because this has to be a joke, a really stupid one that he’s going to regret later.
He doesn’t laugh.
“That’s not a loan, Jake. That’s a truck. Or a down payment on a house.” But he has neither. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be crashing on my sofa. “What the hell did you spend it on?”
My brother won’t look at me. Just keeps tearing his napkin into smaller and smaller pieces, his thick fingers moving rhythmically as he stares at his hands, white fragments littering his plate like snow.
I stand, reaching over to snatch the remaining napkin from his fingers.
“Hey!”
I ball up the shredded remains and toss them onto the floor. “Where’s the money, Jake?”
Jake clears his throat and shifts in his seat, still refusing to meet my eye. “Gone.”
Oh my god, it’s true. He lost it all. I sink back into my seat and bury my face in my hands. This cannot be happening.
“I just need a small loan to buy me some time.” His voice is thick, heat creeping up his neck and turning his ears pink. He’s always hated asking for help. This must be killing him.
Good. He deserves to suffer for doing something so idiotic.
“A small loan?” I repeat, still struggling to fully comprehend the magnitude of what he’s telling me. “I make fifty thousand a year. Do you think I’ve been robbing banks on the side or something? That I live in this shithole for the fun of it?”
From speaking with his friends, I knew his gambling was becoming an issue, just not this bad.
“I’ve got it under control, Em.” He insists, trying a small smile to test the waters and see if he can charm his way out of this interrogation. “You know me, I always land on my feet. You don’t need to worry. I’ll pay you back soon.”
“With what?” I want to scream. Grab his face in my hands and shake some sense into him. “And what about your friends, the credit cards, the overdraft? How are you going to pay all that back?
He didn’t know that I knew about that. He stares at me, lost.
“Don’t look at me with those puppy-dog eyes. They might work on your bookie, but they won’t work on me.” I hiss, closing my eyes to calm my rising anxiety. My mind spins, trying to find a way out of this mess for him, but I come up empty. “Eighty thousand. I mean, Jake, that’s... that’s a ludicrous amount of money.”
“I told you, I’ll fix it.” Defensiveness creeps into his tone as he looks over his shoulder toward the front door, planning a rapid escape from this uncomfortable conversation.
He’s not going anywhere until we figure this out. Jake’s clearly delusional, but burying his head in the sand isn’t going to help.
“You can sell Mom’s jewelry. That’s probably worth a few thousand.” The words taste bitter but I push through. Now isn’t the time to be sentimental. “And Mike’s engagement ring. Lord knows, I’m never wearing that again.”
“Em, I can’t take that.” Jake’s reluctance to accept my help is grating. He came here for money. Pretending otherwise is pointless.
“You can, and you will.” I hold up a hand, counting off on my fingers. “I have about ten thousand in savings. Three years of double shifts and missed vacations, but sure, let’s forget all about that.”
Jake’s face crumples further with each item I list.
“My car might be worth two thousand if you can find a buyer who doesn’t mind the weird noise it makes when I turn left.”
Jake laughs, but his smile fades immediately when I stare at him deadpan. It wasn’t a joke.
“I can pick up extra shifts. Move to a cheaper apartment. And give you a few hundred a month.”
The silence that follows is deafening.
