Page 11 of Mafia Obsession

There’s a pause on the other end, then a soft exhale.

“The same,” Sandrine says finally. She’s slower these days. Walks slowly. Needs an extra beat to think about what to saynext. “They make me repeat things. Over and over. My name. The date. Where I am.”

“It’s so you don’t lose yourself again, sweetie,” I say gently, keeping my emotions in check.

If I fall apart, she falls apart.

I picture her sitting in that sterile common room all by herself. She’s dealing with this all alone. She doesn’t remember being Sandrine De la Vega. Dad ordered me to never tell anyone I had a sister and never fully explained why.

“I had a dream,” she hums. “About an old apartment. There were steam pipes that hissed.”

This breakthrough of our old place in Forest Glen hits me unexpectedly. “Did you tell the therapist?”

“Yeah,” she sighs. “They said to just write everything down.”

It’s because they don’t have staff physicians to help her recover deep details. God, I hate being so far away. One day when we’re together, I’ll use old family albums and other things Dad left behind to help draw more memories from her.

The photos sit in boxes sealed and stacked in the back of my closet. David never met Sandrine. He just thinks I have a sister Jessica, who I’m not close with and don’t talk to.

With Sandrine in the home, Dad and the money gone, I couldn’t go back to college. I worked as a bartender to survive. It was the only steady, decent-paying job I could get with an unfinished degree in accounting. It’s also where I met David.

Here in New York, he got me a job working for Nathan Craig, who runs a textile import company called Juniper Trading. I actually like my job. I arrange overstock textile shipments and handle the customs filings.

Nathan’s bookkeeper is clueless about fluctuating exchange and storage rates, making it easy for me to skim money off the transactions. My father taught me how to set up shell accounts that even seasoned auditors can’t spot.

I’m not doing this for luxury handbags or vacations. I’m doing it to get my sister out of the state home and move her to a private facility in Arizona that specializes in TBIs and memory loss. I wish I could send her to one of the top centers here inNew York, but I can’t afford what they charge here in the city.

Our cousin Elodie lives in Scottsdale, so I hope I can stay with her until I find a place of my own.

“You need to focus on getting stronger,” I tell Sandrine. “That’s your only job.”

There’s a quiet moment between us, the kind that says more than words ever could.

“I don’t like it here,” she admits, barely audible.

I close my eyes and want to cry. But I’m as stuck as she is.

“I know,” I whisper. “I’ll try to visit soon. Work’s been busy, and I don’t want to interfere with your recovery.”

“Okay,” she says, trusting me in a way I’m not sure I deserve since I haven’t seen her in three years.

“I’ll call you next week. I love you, Jess.”

“Love you, too.”

I hang up and stand there feeling lost.

I haven’t told Sandrine my plan to move her. I don’t want anyone in Chicago to know I’m coming back to get her. Dad changed her name for a reason.

If someone is looking for Sandrine De la Vega, I won’t lead them to her.

I stare down at the infinity symbol across my veins. David made me get the ugly wrist tattoo. He said it meant forever. At the time, I thought that meant something good, and things were turning around for us.

Now, forever seems like a death sentence. He’s grown distant since the miscarriage three years ago. I think he’s keeping me around because he feels guilty.

Glancing around our awful apartment, I wonder when David will be back. He works for someone shady in Westchester. Doing what exactly, I don’t know. He says he’s making good money, but I don’t see any of it. He gambles and drinks it away.

He’s never home, and he’s also not interested in sex. I’m just biding my time to get out of this city and be with my sister. Some days, taking her to Arizona seems more like a pipe dream than a goal.