Blood On Her Hands

Chapter 27

Nancy was intent on us spending sister time this weekend. What this meant was we threw on a movie and watched it while simultaneously scrolling on our phones.

The movie was at its slowest part so we were pretty much talking over it. Nancy was laying against all my pillows to make the most cushioned backrest of all time on while I tried to copy the nail art I found on my phone on my nails. It wasn't going very well. The white polish refused to make the thin wispy lines and instead made fat, messy streaks.

“Do you think it’s appropriate to put baby toys on the registry for my baby shower or does it look weird since the baby won’t be able to play with them for a while?” she asked, her acrylic nails making loud tapping noises as she scrolled through her phone.

I held up my hand and studied the  two nails I'd gotten painted. "Baby shower? Don’t you have a while before you have to start planning that?”

Last I heard the doctor had said Nancy was about three months pregnant.

“I know,” she said, sitting up and adjusting the cushions behind her. She was only just starting to show and even then, it wasn't very obvious. “I just want to make sure I milk all I can out of our relatives on Dad’s side.”

It momentarily stunned me to hear her refer to our father as ‘Dad’. Nancy was usually very careful to address him in ways that made our relationship to him sound as distant as possible. She would go as far as to call him 'our biological father' or 'mom's husband'. I was still reeling from the mention of him when she continued.

“It's pretty easy to do since they’re all like ‘Sorry our son killed your mother. Maybe if I give you gifts and send money I won’t have to show my face around ‘cause that would be awkward’.”

Nancy scoffed, not needing any response from me. “But hey, if you can make money off of your loss and trauma, might as well, right? It won’t make it go away but at least you’ll be comfortable, don’t you think?”

I had never reached out to my relatives on my father’s side. When I was younger they’d communicate with my uncle and give us things through him. Since we never moved, they still had our address and thus, every few months we got something from them. I certainly agreed with Nancy’s characterization of them. It did seem like the gifts and money were more for their conscience than out of love for us. They never showed their face or cared to see how we were doing.

I didn’t know if I agreed with trying to profit off of that guilt. 

Nancy scrunched up her face. "If only Stephanie would feel some of that guilt."

"Stephanie?" The name didn't strike up any faces in my memory.

Nancy looked up at me, her lips pressed together. "Yeah, our aunt from our dad's side."

When I didn't recognize the name, she continued with exasperation dripping from every syllable.

"She married rich a while back but since she hates her brother, she's kept it all to herself - even after she was widowed."

I never thought too much about my father's family. It felt like the right thing to pretend they didn't exist. Logically, I knew that though my father was evil, it didn't mean his family had to be. But I couldn't help but see them as the people who spawned such wickedness. My father came from them, grew up with them, shared DNA with them. Parts of him resided in them and I couldn't help but be afraid that those parts would be ugly, or worse, they would be beautiful and complicate the view I wanted to have of my father.

"Have we ever met her?" I asked.

"No. She doesn't want anything to do with us. She never has." I watched as my sister crumbled up the bag of chips that had been open beside her and tossed it into the bin. Her choppy sentences and tone cued me into her mind being at work. If I sat it out in silence for a little while, she would spill whatever it was she was thinking about.