Page 13 of A Cursed Heart
“They still blaming her for his death?”
As usual, I felt that familiar prickle of guilt. Jasmine taking the heat for that prick’s death made me feel like shit.
“Of course. No chance it was him bringing the drugs in that killed her. He was an innocent baby,” I muttered sarcastically.
We didn’t get to talk about it after that. Freya ran to the table with a stuffed toy in hand. “Look, Daddy!” She brandished the raptor at me. “Her name is Cuddles!”
“Aw, Cuddles is very cute. Why don’t you give her a seat so she doesn’t get messy at dinner?”
We settled down to eat soon after. My sister didn’t ask anything else about the funeral, concentrating on filling in the gaps from Freya’s chatter about her day. I was grateful my sister was still in school, only working weekends, and could take the afternoon to look after my daughter whenever I needed her. She was due to graduate soon, so they wouldn’t be able to have their trips as often.
Lydia helped me get Freya off to bed. She even took over reading the bedtime story for me, giving me time to think my way out of the situation I was in. Freya made her kiss Cuddles several times before she escaped the bedroom, looking exhausted. Freya slept with a nightlight and a white noise machine recommended by her therapist, and I could hear the machine from the hall.
“Beach!” Freya demanded playfully.
“Not rain?”
“No. I want the ocean.”
“Okay, bug. You and Cuddles sleep tight, okay?”
“Are you going home now?” Freya sounded on the brink of sleep. She was fighting it, though.
“Maybe in a little while. Be good for your dad, alright? I love you.”
“Love you, Aunt Lydia.”
I went to the kitchen to make Lydia some tea. She deserved it after the bedtime routine. Freya was a good kid, just challenging sometimes.
“Okay, spill it,” Lydia said, her voice firm. She stood leaning in the doorway, her arms folded.
“There’s noth—”
“Stop, okay. This is me. I’m twenty-two, not twelve. Tell me what’s bothering you.”
Handing her the mug of tea, I brushed by her to take a seat on the sofa. Lydia took the armchair, setting her tea on the coffee table and sitting back to glare at me.
It took me a few minutes to decide if I was going to confess everything. Would I lose my sister if I told her the truth? Would she hate me? Jasmine’s death was hard on her. Actually, that wasn’t quite true. Jasmine’s slip into addiction was what changed their relationship. Lydia and Jasmine stayed friends when we broke up, often helping with the co-parenting communication when things were still quite raw for us both. Seeing her friend choose drugs really damaged their friendship. My sister had looked up to my ex-wife almost like a big sister, they’d been that close. Jasmine’s death had opened her eyes to the guilt she carried over not being there for Jasmine.
Eventually, I sighed. I scrubbed my hands over my face and tugged on my hair, stress eating at me. Alright, I was doing this. I needed someone in my corner, I just hoped it would be my sister.
“I fucked up, Liddy.”
She tensed. “What happened?”
“You’re going to hate me.” I was trembling the fear was getting to me so badly.
“I could never hate you. Never. You’re my big brother. The best guy in the world.”
“Liddy, don’t—”
“You are, Ryan. Ever since we were little, you’ve looked after me. Now you’re raising that little girl alone.” She sat forward, almost reaching for me. I didn’t reach back.
“Yeah, and that’s my fault.” My voice sounded flat.
“How can you say that?” Lydia frowned.
“Because I’m the reason she’s dead,” I admitted, my voice hard. It hurt to admit the words out loud.
