The Sister-in-Law, Pamela Crane [have you read this book txt] 📗

Her mouth dropped open. ‘Are you serious? Only sociopaths don’t have Facebook.’

‘Judge me all you want, Harper, but social media has proven to be addictive. And it’s a time suck. You’re not even aware of how rude it is to have your face in your phone instead of actively conversing with the people you’re around.’

Harper lifted her brows and glared at me. ‘Is that a dig?’

‘Only if you’re too involved with your fake news to make eye contact with the person you’re sitting next to. In fact, I think people who are on Facebook are sociopaths. You can be offensive, but not held accountable. The things people post on there with no consequences for their words is the problem with today’s society. A person’s likability is based on how many likes a post gets. It’s fake life. Detachment from real emotions or connections – that pretty much sums up social media.’

Harper rolled her eyes at me, then slammed her phone on the table – facedown, as if that made any difference – with an exaggerated smirk.

‘My phone’s down and my eyes are on you. Better?’

I turned to her, propping my chin on my knuckles. ‘What is your problem with me? I let you into my home and you treat me like garbage. I don’t appreciate it, Harper, and I don’t have to let you stay. I only agreed to it for Lane, because he cares about you. But me? I couldn’t care less if you were homeless. In fact, maybe you’d grow some character if you suffered a bit.’ I tossed my fork down, my appetite gone along with my patience.

‘You want to know my problem with you?’ She jutted her finger at my face, inching toward my nose. ‘You and Lane have known each other for, like, a minute, and are suddenly married. Why? This isn’t the 1800s – no one does that without an agenda. What exactly do you want from my brother?’

I swatted her pointer away. ‘Isn’t it possible that I fell in love with him quickly because he’s a great guy, we’re not getting any younger, and there’s no reason for us not to get married? We both wanted to start a life together; it wasn’t just me. So you can put the accusatory tone away because I’m not going to run off with Lane’s retirement fund, or whatever it is you think I want from him.’

‘Whatever. People don’t just have whirlwind marriages unless it’s to hide something.’

‘Well, Lane and I have nothing to hide, especially our love for each other.’

Harper made a gagging sound that made me want to gag her for real. ‘You’re too naïve to understand this yet, but you can’t just walk into a marriage and live happily ever after.’

‘Oh really? Enlighten me then.’ I couldn’t wait to hear her explanation.

Her eyes shifted to the window with a distant gaze, like she was watching an old memory replay against the sky. ‘Real love smothers you and burns you. It takes everything from you and gives back very little. It changes who you are.’ Then she returned her focus on me. ‘Are you sure you’re ready for that? To give up everything for my brother?’

‘I already have, haven’t I? I’ve given up my home. I’ve given up my voice. Because God forbid I say no and turn you and your spoiled kids away. So don’t preach to me about marital sacrifice. What I want to know is why you’re really here. Because you have a huge house with your name on the deed. You’re perfectly capable of getting a job. There’s no reason for you to be here, and we both know it.’

‘Why is it such a big deal that I’m here? I’m grieving, Candace. I don’t want to be in the same house where my husband just died. Show a little empathy.’

I admit, empathy didn’t come easy to me. It was hard to practice something so foreign to me. I was trained in ruthless survival growing up. My father’s favorite life lesson was: show no mercy. I was taught to eat or be eaten. My boo-boos weren’t kissed better; instead Dear Old Dad told me to toughen up or rub some dirt on it. When you’re at the hands of a violent father and a helpless mother, you learn quickly that the weak don’t survive.

Empathy was for the weak because compassion required trust, and trust got you killed. Ask my mother, God rest her soul, exactly where sympathy got her. It got her dead. As my father would say, if you wanted sympathy, look in the dictionary between shit and syphilis.

‘Your husband died over a month ago, Harper. I’m not saying grief is a quick process, but why do you need to dig your claws into Lane in order to work through it? Go to a therapist. Join a support group. Talk to your friends. Lane isn’t your crutch anymore, so lose the obsession with him.’

Harper jumped up from her seat, slamming her palms on the table. The silverware clattered and the kids scrambled out of the room. ‘I’m not obsessed with my brother! He happens to be my best friend, and right now the only friend I have. Maybe if you actually had a heart you’d see that and want to reach out to me. Clearly you’ve never lost someone you loved or you might be more understanding.’

Now I felt a little bad. Because I had lost someone, a someone I had tried to replace over and over again but never could. When you love someone, a piece of your heart takes their shape. When they’re gone, so goes that piece of your heart. And nothing, no one, can ever fill it quite right. I knew exactly how she felt.

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be callous about your loss.’

‘Have you?’ Harper looked at me intensely, and I suddenly felt uneasy.

‘Have I what?’

‘Ever lost someone you loved?’

I didn’t want to answer her. It was none of her