Wrong Place, Right Time - Elle Casey Page 0,79
But after what we went through together tonight, I decide it’s fine. “Can I ask you a question about your fish?” I’ve never met an adult with a goldfish, let alone an adult who’s attached enough to a goldfish to take it to a doctor. It’s just too cheesy not to ask about.
“Sure.”
“What is a grown man like you doing with a goldfish who he worries about so much that he takes it to the vet?”
Lucky pulls up to the warehouse door and puts the car in park. Turning off the ignition, he lets out a deep breath. Then he just stares at the steering wheel.
I’ve probably overstepped my bounds again, but in fairness, I did verify with him first that I could ask the question. He had to know this was coming. He must’ve been asked this question before. I mean, I can’t be the only person in the world who thinks being a dedicated goldfish owner is weird.
“Sunny originally belonged to my little sister.”
He doesn’t say anything after that, so of course I’m compelled to gather more information. At this point, it would be rude not to ask. “Did she not take care of it?” I can see him as the avenging older brother, there to teach her a lesson. If you can’t take care of your fish properly, I’ll do it!
Lucky shakes his head. I take that as a simple no, but then he elaborates. “It’s not that she didn’t want to; it’s that she couldn’t.”
There’s obviously a story here, and I’m pretty sure it’s not one I should ask about. But then I feel like it would be really insensitive to drop it. I struggle with how to continue.
“How old is your sister?” That’s the safest question I can come up with.
“My sister, when she had Sunny, was fifteen.”
The next obvious question dangles in the air between us. He used the past tense, but he used it in reference to the fish. What am I supposed to do with that? Keep going? Stall out? Why did I ask him the question in the first place? I should have just kept my damn mouth shut. When will I learn to stop prying?
Because honesty is always the best policy, I decide to stop the charade and come right out with it. “Lucky, is everything okay with your sister? I get the impression you’re really sad right now, and I’m sorry if I brought up a subject that makes you unhappy.”
He shakes his head. When he speaks, his voice is rough. “It’s okay. People don’t ask me about her because they’re afraid they’re going to upset me, or they’re afraid to bring up bad history; but it’s almost worse when they do that, you know?” He turns to look at me, and the lights outside the warehouse show me that his eyes are bright with unshed tears.
I nod. “I get it. When somebody isn’t around anymore, sometimes the only thing you can do to feel better is to talk about them.” I had a friend in college who lost her sister. The only thing that made her smile was telling me stories about the things they did as kids.
He nods, chewing the inside of his cheek.
I reach out and put my hand on top of his. “Did your sister pass away?”
He nods.
“Was it recently?”
He shakes his head no. “She passed away eighteen months ago.”
“How old was she?”
“She was sixteen.”
My heart clenches up and starts to ache. I want to cry with him, but I think he needs somebody to be calm right now. And I can be that person when I have to be. “What happened? Was she sick?”
“No. She wasn’t sick. Not really. She was sad. Depressed.”
I squeeze his hand and swallow several times, trying to keep myself from losing my shit. I’ve asked as much as I can. To go any further, to delve into the details of what happened, will serve no good purpose now. “You must’ve been close, even though there’s a big age difference.”
His voice is devoid of any emotion that I can hear. “I thought we were close. But it turns out we weren’t close enough.”
I squeeze his hand harder and lean in, forcing him to look at me. “Lucky, if you’re even suggesting that you are to blame for what happened, you need to not go there.”
“I don’t think she blamed me for anything. But I blame myself. If I had just paid more attention . . .”
I shake my head. “No.