Chapter Two #3
In fact, most interactions between him and Emaly Moskins-Yokav seem to be strictly online.
There are cute selfies and candid pictures posted between them with messages that are equally adorable.
She never posts anything about the alleged affairs, and only ever praises and supports him throughout his hockey seasons.
It’s a bit…strange.
It also means that if I’m going to help him like I said I would, I’m going to need to figure out their dynamic.
Something tells me getting that information will be as easy as giving medication to a cat.
I have the scars to prove how hard that actually is.
Thomas Moskins is about as open as the sealed exercise bike still sitting in its box in the corner of my bedroom, waiting to be used.
So, yeah.
I may be screwed. And not in a fun way.
Standing and stretching my stiff muscles, I walk over to the sink and fill a glass of water. A picture frame sits on the windowsill, filled with smiling faces that hit me square in the stomach.
What once used to be a family full of love and laughter got torn apart when a thirty-six-year-old decided to get behind the wheel of a car drunk. One choice turned my life upside down and took both of my parents from me.
Kourtney, my sister, was old enough to take me thanks to our nine-year age gap. If it weren’t for her, I would have had to move out of state to live with our aunt and uncle in Detroit, Michigan—a far cry from Fairbanks, Connecticut.
My sister had lived in a tiny one-bedroom apartment that wasn’t much bigger than the one I’m currently renting.
She slept on the couch in the living room and gave me the only bedroom there was.
We learned to cook together and count on each other.
She continued with college to become a teacher, and we helped each other with homework and tests as they came and went.
The picture on my windowsill is the last family photo we took during the holidays. I hated wearing matching Christmas sweaters with my mom, dad, and sister at the time, but I would do it all over again if it meant having them here.
Walking back over to the table, I pick up my phone and go through the text threads I have with Kourtney. She’s busy with her seven-year-old son, Luca, and adapting to the new fifth-grade curriculum she switched to from second grade this year.
Me: I miss you
Despite the chaos of her life, she responds within five minutes.
Kourt: Have you been abducted by aliens? Are you dying? Is this your way of saying you’ve been kidnapped and need me to call 911?
I roll my eyes at her theatrics, but grin as I thumb out a reply.
Me: If I were kidnapped, I’d make it way more obvious. Like ‘tell Mom and Dad I won’t be home for dinner tonight’
Kourt: Morbid
Kourt: But smart
I settle into my seat, ignoring the mess of papers scattered in front of me. It’s been a few days since I’ve heard from my older sister. We both acknowledge that we’re busy and try checking in when we can. But today…Today, I miss her.
Me: Can’t I miss my favorite sister?
Kourt: I’m your ONLY sister
Me: Tomato, potato
Kourt: It’s tomayto, tomahto
Me: Turn teacher mode off, sis. I’m not five
I scowl at the memory of Thomas Moskins calling me kid. The nerve of that guy is astounding, but after reading over his history, I’m not surprised. He’s entitled. Arrogant. Annoying. I suppose he could have called me worse.
Kourt: Is everything okay?
She’s always known when something bothers me, even if she can’t see my face. It’s her sixth sense. Or maybe it was her maternal instincts getting honed to prepare her for Luca.
Me: Just busy with work and thinking about Mom and Dad
Most days, I don’t allow myself to think about their passing.
It’s been twelve years since the accident, but it doesn’t feel like that much time has passed at all.
Sometimes, I swear I can hear Mom’s laughter.
When I do something dumb, like forget to change out my winter tires or check my oil, I can sense Dad’s disapproving stare somewhere in the distance.
Kourtney did everything a twenty-one-year-old college student could.
We had shelter and food, and she made sure I got to school on time and passed all of my classes.
She helped me with college applications and essays, and never once discouraged me from taking random classes until I figured out what I wanted to do.
She gave up her social life for me and never once complained.
Me: We should go out soon and get drinks. Make Brad watch Luca for once
I don’t necessarily blame myself for Kourtney’s less than stellar relationship, but I do wonder if she settled for the sake of stability.
We’d spent years wondering if we could make ends meet, and her meeting Brad Fisherman seemed to help ease those worries.
I’m sure there’s love there, and they have the cutest kid ever. But I don’t know if she’s truly happy.
Kourt: He’s out of town for work. Dinner instead? Luca can be good
I’ll never pass on the opportunity to love up on my nephew, even if it makes me irritated that her husband is gone again. I still don’t fully understand what he does, but apparently, it requires him to be gone. A lot.
But it’s none of my business.
Me: You can choose the place
Kourt: You already know where we’d go. Luca won’t eat anywhere else
Me: It’s a good thing they’re cheap
After we make plans for a date and time to get dinner together, I stare at the three bubbles dancing along the bottom of the screen. My heart warms when I see the last message she sends.
Kourt: I love you, Winnie
I swallow.
I don’t remember telling Mom and Dad that I loved them the night of the accident.
I’d begged them to stay home instead of going with them to run errands.
They reluctantly agreed and told me to behave myself—that if there was any emergency, I was to call them or Kourtney.
But did I tell them I loved them? It’s a blank space in my mind that I don’t recall and that has tortured me for over a decade.
I’ve made sure to let people know how much I love them ever since, because I learned the hard way that you never know what can happen.
Me: I love you too. Give Luca a tight squeeze for me
Long after we stop talking, I’m staring at the piles of paper pertaining to our newest client.
Who does he love? If online fodder is right, his wife never goes to any of his games.
Neither do his parents. Does he have siblings?
People who support him? Or does he make it a habit to push them all away?
I tell myself I shouldn’t care.
But I do.
For work purposes, of course.