*
That afternoon, my brother called to ask what I was doing to ensure that Baby Steps would turn a profit.
"What are you talking about, Lincoln?" I asked, irritated that he was checking up on me again.
"I'm talking about the fact that the company now needs to turn a profit to cover not only the yearly shareholders' profit, but also the loan you took out to renovate the warehouse," he said sounding annoyed.
"Don't talk down to me, brother," I shot back. "I know what I'm doing."
"Do you now? I had no idea that you knew so much about the baby supply business," he said doing his best to convey surprise. It always irritated me the way that Lincoln could turn anything I did into a way to cut me down and show my weaknesses.
"I'm positioning us to take on new clients and increase our shipments over the next nine months," I said, maintaining a calm I didn't feel. "You of all people should know that it takes time to build new business and then turn it into regular dividends."
"I'm not sure about that," he said smugly. "I've always had the good fortune to be productive from the start of any project."
"Yes, well, that's how it goes when daddy holds your hand and walks you right into the vault full of cash, now isn't it?" I replied coolly. I could hear my brother inhale sharply on the other end, and I knew I'd hit a nerve.
"I've done this on my own," he growled. "You know that."
"Yes, well, I'm doing this on my own, too," I said. "Is there anything else you need, Lincoln?"
My brother was silent on the other end as I held my breath, hoping that he wasn't waiting to drop a bomb. After what felt like an eternity, but couldn't have been more than thirty seconds, I took
a deep breath and said, "No? Well, then I've got a lot of work to do, so I'm going to let you go."
Lincoln said nothing before hanging up the phone. The smashing sound on the other end let me know that while this battle might have been won, the war was far from over.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Leah
"Wait, what?" I said into the phone. "This can't be happening!"
"I'm sorry, Leah," Patrick said. "You didn't pay the insurance policy, so the only way we're going to be able to deal with the house is to sell it."
"No, Patrick! We can't sell the house!" I protested. The investigators had been out to assess the damage, and they determined that a lit cigarette had fallen out of the ashtray and burned through the rug beneath the sofa, causing the fire. We'd been lucky that Mama had gone up to her room and lay down on the bed instead of falling asleep on the couch like she usually did during the day. But the damages were more than what we could afford to fix, and the house had been rendered uninhabitable by the fire.
"Leah, there's no other way," Patrick sighed. "I'm sorry. There's no money to repair the place, and Mama needs care. If we sell the house, we can afford to put her in a long term care facility and get you and Riley an apartment."
"Why are you doing this?" I asked.
"Let's get something straight, Leah," he said sternly. "I'm not doing anything. You didn't pay the insurance policy. That's all on you. I'm doing the best I can with what I have, and it's not much. So stop talking to me like I'm the enemy."
"Don't lecture me, Patrick!" I shot back. "I'm the one who stayed. Dammit!"
"So, we're back to this again, are we?" he said. "Look, I'm not going to have this conversation with you, Leah. I did what I had to do. I'm sorry you resent me for it, but after Molly disappeared, I had to get out."
"I know. I know. You took care of yourself and left me to hold it all together," I said bitterly. "Well, good for you, Patrick. I'm glad you've been saved, or whatever it is that you've done. The rest of us still live in this world, and we need a place to stay! I want to fix the house and move back in."
"Tell me exactly how you think you're going to do that, Leah," Patrick prompted. "How are you going to pay for the repairs and take care of Mama? She needs help, Leah. She's an alcoholic, and she's become a danger to herself and those around her. What if Riley had been home? Have you thought about that, Leah?"
"Of course, I have!" I shouted into the phone. "If Riley had been home, she would have stopped the fire."
"Do you hear yourself, Leah?" Patrick asked gently. "You're expecting a twelve-year-old to take care of her alcoholic grandmother. It's not reasonable. Or healthy."
"What else do you want me to do?" I asked as the tears began to flow down my cheeks. "I'm doing the best I can, Patrick. I'm trying to hold it all together. I can't do this anymore. For God's sake, I'm twenty-eight-years-old, and I'm parenting a twelve-year-old, motherless child while I care for our mother and work a full-time job! I never asked for any of this! When do I get to have a life, Patrick? When does my life not involve cleaning up everyone else's mess?"
"Sell the house, Leah," Patrick said without further comment.