At that, it was my turn to lurch in retreat. I didn’t like where this conversation was headed.
“Just what I said. I’m happy when I’m with Luke. I’m happy when I’m with my brothers when they’re not pissing me off and I’m not plotting how to kill them and get away with it. I’m happy at work when we’re not called in on our day off. Though I’m not happy my dad’s reached out to Phoenix to spread his douchebag cheer and the news he’s dying. I’m not happy we just pulled a twelve-hour shift on our day off. I’m not happy two of my brothers were total assholes to Luke and the third was a mild asshole. I’m not happy I’m standing here having this conversation instead of headed home to Luke. So with all of that, yeah, I guess I’m happy.”
Gordy being Gordy was unperturbed.
He also ignored both comments about me wanting to get home.
“Lester’s dying?”
Shit. Why’d I tell him that?
“That’s what he told Phoenix in the letter he sent requesting all of us visit him. However, I wouldn’t put it past him to lie about being on his deathbed to get a rise out of Phoenix and face time with Echo. It’s not like he hasn’t tried to get us all to visit him before. Though I will admit, he’s never gone as far as telling us he was dying.”
“That motherfucker has tried to get you kids to come see him?”
Kids.
That was kind of amusing and I would’ve reminded Gordy that he was only ten years older than me, which meant it was asinine him calling Echo, River, Phoenix, and me kids.
“Yep. The last time he did it was a few years ago. Wrote to Phoenix and said he was sorry and wanted to finally explain why our mom bailed. Echo visited and Dad told him the bitch left because she was a bitch.”
Sadness suffused Gordy’s face. The only look I hated more than sadness when discussing Lester Kent was pity. I didn’t want or need anyone feeling sorry for me. Life was what it was and there were plenty of people in the world who had it far worse than I did. I was not some victim of childhood trauma. I wasn’t a survivor. I was me. Just me.
“Don’t feel sorry for me,” I seethed. “I don’t need that shit. Lester’s a cop-killing asshole. He’s been dead to me for years. Whether or not his body will soon be under dirt doesn’t matter to me. Good riddance.”
Gordy didn’t respond verbally for a long time. Though I didn’t need words for him to communicate his anger—his hardened eyes and scowl were loud and clear.
“Stow your claws, kitten.”
“Gordy—”
“You got your say, now you’re gonna listen to me,” Gordy cut me off. “I can’t feel sorry for a woman who against the odds has succeeded. I can’t feel sorry for a woman who, despite being taught wrong has done nothing but good in her life. I can’t feel sorry for a woman who works her ass off, is great at her job, and has earned the respect of every person she works with. But I can and do feel compassion. I can also feel loyalty and friendship. So that brings us to what I do feel sorry about—you not opening yourself up to receive that loyalty and friendship. You’re the first person to give Valentine a pep talk when one of his dates screws him over. You’re the first one to boost morale after a shitty, twelve-hour shift. And you’re the first one to turn your back on all of us when we reach out. You’re so goddamn selfish, Shiloh, it’s unbelievable.”
Shiloh?
I didn’t think Gordy had ever called me Shiloh.
“I’m selfish?”
Yes, that was what I chose to comment on. Examining and questioning any other part of his soliloquy would lead to me having to reflect. And at six-thirty in the morning after spending ten hours outside a house with an active shooter and five hostages I was in no mood for self-reflection of any kind.
“What else would you call someone who gives everything but refuses those she gives to the opportunity to show gratitude? It’s goddamn selfish, Sunny. You give, but then throw our friendship in our faces and slice and dice anyone who attempts to get close.”
Oh, shit.
“What do you want me to say, huh? That I don’t want friends because I know they’ll leave and it will hurt? I don’t want