Love Him Free (On the Market #1) - E.M. Lindsey Page 0,64
realize what Levi was saying. He knew. Swallowing thickly, he scooped a single ball of dough from the pile and began to shape it with his hands the way Bubbe had taught him. “You went through the office.”
“I was pretty sure you were hiding something—and I knew it had to do with the bakery. I thought maybe it was money, but all the bills have been paid on time.” Simon didn’t look up, but he didn’t need to to know that Levi was chewing on the edge of his thumb. “I mean, it’s all there. Her will is in the safe, I had the combination the entire time. I just never thought to look. I didn’t think I needed to. Were you ever going to tell me?”
Simon wondered if it was because of James that Levi’s voice didn’t have the same fight it would have just months ago. He still didn’t look up now as he placed the crescents on the baking tray. “I was.”
“When?”
“Before I had to sell.” Simon let the words fall, as soft as he could manage, which wasn’t soft at all.
“When?” Levi asked again, his voice more strained.
Simon turned toward the ovens, opening both doors, and placing two trays inside. He set the timer, then swiped his hands on his apron before facing his brother. “I’ll show you where Bubbe put all of her financial records if you want to see them. I didn’t even know about them until I started getting debt collectors calling. She was behind on the mortgage here—and behind on all of her vendors. I was twenty-one, I had no idea what I was doing.” His voice cracked and he stopped, willing himself not to think about pushing back his crushing grief to deal with the mess his grandmother had left him.
Levi’s face was still hard, but there was something else in his eyes now. “You didn’t tell me.”
Simon let out a small scoff and moved back to the table to finish shaping the rest of the dough. “You were twelve. You had just lost the only mother you had ever known. You were furious at me for getting time with Ema that you never had. You were furious that I remembered Tel Aviv and you were barely old enough to open your eyes when we left.”
“She could have taken us back there,” Levi said, his voice barely a whisper. “Instead of wasting away here where she was miserable.”
Simon didn’t mean to laugh, but he couldn’t help it. It had taken him years to remember the way his mother really was—too thin, haggard, sleepless, angry. She was sick, and she was dying. It was only a matter of time before she was gone, even if there hadn’t been a crash. Simon rubbed at his sternum.
“She never got over Abba’s death. Ever. She would wait until Bubbe was asleep and then creep into my room and sit on the floor by my bed and tell me how she wished the three of us had died with him. Or just you and me—so she wouldn’t have to sit and look at us and remember him.”
The silence was thick and painful.
“How old were you?” Levi finally asked.
Simon shrugged. “Eight. She started the moment we got here. First in Hebrew, then in English as we started to learn it more. Then she died, and I would wake up every single night from nightmares that she was somehow going to reach beyond death and take you with her. Bubbe tried to help but she didn’t know what to do—so I just…dealt with it.”
“You never said,” Levi accused.
Simon swiped his hand over his brow, then turned way—mostly to wash, but also to have a reprieve from Levi’s relentless gaze. “Of course not! You were a kid, Levi. You were convinced she was…something else. You were convinced I had a relationship with her that was good. I barely remember the mother who was happy, Levi, but I didn’t want to take that from you.”
“So why tell me now?” Levi asked, and the question wasn’t mean this time—just honest.
Simon turned and felt so helpless. “Because I should have told you years ago. When you thought I was a mess for the sake of being a mess, I could have told you then. When I couldn’t handle setting foot outside the house…” He closed his eyes. “So, I begged Hashem, protect you and he could have all of me.”