didn’t mean with that silly shoe.” Diana sighed, then met her sister’s gaze. “I meant with Dad. You are not dumping him at my apartment. I have a life, you know.”
They were back to this again? Sarah shouldn’t be surprised. Diana was the kind to pick at an issue until she got the answer she wanted. Preferably one that absolved her of all responsibility.
For years, Sarah had taken on the caretaker role. When their mother had first gotten sick, it had been Sarah who stepped in to be the lady of the house. Heartbreak over his wife’s cancer had immobilized their father, leaving Sarah two choices—let everything go to hell, or step into her mother’s apron.
Bridget Griffin had lingered, in that limbo between life and death, for almost ten years before death finally ended her suffering. For so many years, Sarah had expected the death, but when that day finally came—
She’d found herself standing there, stunned. A hole had opened up in her life, and she had yet to find a way to fill it. Live your life, her father had said.
What life? she’d wanted to say back. For so many years, she’d poured everything into her family. No time for dating, for daydreaming or for thinking about the paths she might have taken, if only …
All those if onlys had been lived by Diana. Sarah had made sure her little sister got to experience everything—dates, proms, parties—even if that meant Sarah was the one waiting up at home instead of doing the same thing. Or working insane hours to help pay for Diana’s dreams.
Their father had worked hard all his life, but a cop’s salary only went so far. As his wife’s illness worsened, he became less attentive to the holes in the family budget, so Sarah went to work, adding what she could to the family coffers. Never telling her father, just quietly taking care of them all.
Which meant her life had been put on hold for so long, she’d forgotten what it meant to have one outside of work. Working a job that paid well but that grated on her conscience on a daily basis. Sarah Griffin needed a change—and she’d thought that bringing home the Frederick Ks would be the first step.
Kinda hard to take any step at all only wearing one shoe.
“Diana, you promised,” Sarah said, returning her attention to the problem at hand—what to do about Dad. “You can’t just back out on that because it’s inconvenient.”
Her sister winced. The truth had hit its mark. “I can’t drop everything just because you’ve decided that Dad has overstayed his welcome. I mean, I have a job, friends—”
“And what, I don’t?” Sarah said.
Diana bit off a laugh. “Sarah, I don’t want to be mean, but seriously, you have all the social life of wallpaper. I’m out every night. I can’t be babysitting Dad.”
“I’m out, too. More nights than I’d like to be.”
“Yeah, writing about how other people are living their lives. That doesn’t make you a social butterfly.”
Sarah brushed off her sister’s words. The magazine paid her to cover those events. So what if doing so left her little time to do anything more than watch and write? She was the one who was being responsible. Doing her duty as a daughter, letting her father stay with her for the last few weeks. “I’m doing my job, sis. Something I’d be able to focus on more if you stuck to your promise. Dad won’t be staying long with you.”
Okay, so Sarah couldn’t really promise that. Martin Griffin had already been in her apartment—him and his godawful ugly recliner—for over a year. After their mother had died, Martin had wandered around the empty, quiet family home for several months before Sarah finally convinced him to put it on the market. He wasn’t good at living on his own—he had spent far too many years on the police force and was more used to male camaraderie than to running a house. He forgot to eat dinner, forgot to transfer the wet clothes to the dryer, forgot to put the basket in the coffeepot. Sarah had stopped by twice a day, worried he’d hurt himself one of these days, and finally she’d just suggested he move in with her. Her father, for all his grumpiness, seemed to enjoy living at Sarah’s, and tried to help out in his own way. Not necessarily the way Sarah wanted, but she loved her father and had enjoyed him living with her.
Still, she wanted her independence. The freedom from worrying. She’d worried for years—about the house, about her father, about her sister and mostly about her mother—and the responsibilities weighed so heavily on her shoulders, she was surprised she wasn’t stooped over. It was Diana’s turn to be the responsible one. To take some of the burden from Sarah.
Except Diana didn’t want any responsibility and never had. Maybe Sarah had made a mistake in being so indulgent with her little sister.
The lipstick went back in her sister’s purse, replaced by a travel hairbrush and a hand mirror. “I’m in the middle of planning the Horticultural Society Charity Ball. It’s my first big job out of college, and it’s super important, Sarah. I don’t have time for this … distraction.”
Sarah didn’t mention that the “job” her sister spoke of was a volunteer position, given to her by her boyfriend’s mother, who chaired the Horticultural Society. Her sister had yet to find employment she could stick with longer than a few weeks.
“That distraction is your father.” Sarah shook her head. “I swear, we are not related.”
“Let him stay here. He likes you better anyway.”
Sarah glanced over at her sister, but Diana was immersed in sweeping her bangs into a soft C shape. “Diana, he loves us both equally.”
Diana snorted. “I have two dogs, Sarah. And I definitely like one better than the other.”
“We’re his children, not his pets. Family ties run much deeper than flea collars.”
Diana arched a brow. “But, Sarah,” and now her voice dropped into a whine, “you’re good at dealing with Dad. I don’t even get along with him.”
“What better way to build a relationship than by having him move in?” Sarah gave her sister a smile. A firm smile.
“I’d rather buy him tickets to the next Mets game.”
“Sorry, sis, but it’s your turn.” Sarah crossed her arms over her chest. “You might have trashed my career today, but I’m not letting you get out of this, too. At the end of this month we’ll get him moved over.” They’d had this same argument just thirty minutes ago—and look where it had ended up. With Diana picking up the thing closest to her and pitching it out the window.
Sarah refused to budge this time. For too long, she’d acquiesced at the cost of her own plans. The day she’d walked out of the office with the Frederick Ks impulsively shoved into her tote bag had been the day she’d decided she would stop being the responsible, dependable one. If she didn’t put her foot down now and demand that those around her change, then things might never move past where they’d been, and that wasn’t an option.
Except now she was too worried about finding that damned shoe to do anything but be responsible.
Diana sputtered out one last protest. “But—”
“No. It’s settled. I’m not having this discussion anymore. If I ever find that shoe—” And Sarah was beginning
