“Oh really?” Never the m
ost understanding person, Aunt Patty must’ve been OD’ing on her judgmental wine tonight. “What about you? She said you were cuddling in your boyfriend’s lap. Some example you’re setting for her, Amelia. I thought you of all people would realize how damaging the wrong influences can be on a young person.”
“I was asleep in his lap, not having sex.” I swallowed the rest of the retorts that wanted to spring out of my mouth. She’d ignored me and Carly for years, content to get money from the state for our care, until she found Jesus and began pretending she lived a pious life. I could deal with anyone but a hypocrite. “Is there a reason you wanted to talk to me besides accusing me of things that aren’t true?”
“Yes. You’re the wrong person to be guiding Carly’s life, and I want her to come home.”
My chest and my throat iced over in tandem. But my heart still pounded frantically even through the frost. “She’s eighteen. She’s an adult.”
“She’s too young to be in a wild place like New York City. If she were here, she could enroll in that culinary school she talked about. She’d be in a small town, with people who have small town sensibilities. She’d be with family.”
Culinary school? Why hadn’t Carly mentioned that to me? I rubbed the dull ache spreading through my forehead. “I am her family. I’m her sister. She wants to be with me—”
“She thinks you’re on the verge of a mental breakdown,” Aunt Patty interrupted. “That’s why she hurried up to finish school and raced down there to be with you. She feels responsible for you. Now she’s telling me that you’ve brought her into a world of illegal fighting and dangerous people. That even your boyfriend is one of them.”
“It’s not like that. He’s not even fighting anymore. He’s in college.” Or he would be soon. Besides, why had Carly told her about MMA and Fox? Must be the alcohol talking, because my sister was smart enough not to tell Aunt Patty that kind of thing.
Unless she was unhappier than she was letting on…
I searched for my voice. “I’m only fighting to get enough money for us to move away to a better place. This is just temporary.”
“Right, you’ll bring her with you so she can experience your gypsy lifestyle. Living in cockroach-infested apartments with men coming in and out, day and night.”
I had no idea what she was talking about, but I was afraid to ask.
“That girl needs to be in school here at home. Do you want her to end up like you?”
“No. Of course not.” Anything but that.
“Then do the right thing and send her back to me. Don’t take her down with you.”
My eyes prickled so I shut them. “I’ll always do what’s necessary to keep her safe.”
No matter the cost.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Tray
“Okay, now open your eyes.”
Mia opened them and slowly glanced around my living room. Firelight flickered over her surprised features. “What is this?”
“This is called camping indoors.” I lifted the red child’s bucket I’d purchased and scooped it through the sand I’d thrown all over the floor in front of the mantel. A big log bordered one side of the fake beach and beside that, a bag of marshmallows and a pile of sticks. “It’s too cold to go on a real trip, so I brought the beach and roasted marshmallows to you.”
She covered her mouth and mumbled something.
“You hate it,” I said after a moment. “You never really wanted to camp. You’re afraid you’ll get sand up your ass. But don’t worry, that’s why I have this.” I shook out the plaid blanket folded up on the coffee table and placed it over the lumpy sand. It wasn’t exactly as idyllic as I’d imagined it would be, but I hadn’t lit the tiki torches yet.
“It’s…”
“Wait. Let me add the mood lighting and scents.” I flicked the lighter and set the pseudo torches and a candle blazing, then grabbed the beach room spray I’d also gotten at the dollar store. Three spritzes later I was on the verge of a sneezing fit, but at least she was smiling.
I’d do anything to make her smile. Even die a painful death thanks to my screaming sinuses.
“Now it’s ready. Ta da.” I waved my arm. “What do you think?”
“You put all this together?” she asked shakily.