“Al Mahoney here, are you two from the Herald?”
“Nope. I’m Mario Ricci and this is Gina. We’re Carla’s brother and sister,” he said, shaking Trunk’s hand.
“Relatives? Great! Welcome. Sit down. Can I get you something to drink?”
Carla shot him a hostile glance and shook her head. “They’re not staying.”
“How inhospitable of you, dear sister,” Mario sneered. “I’ll have a beer. What have you got on tap?” He took the seat next to Gina.
“I’ll have a Margarita,” Gina said. “And don’t be stingy with the tequila.”
Carla put her hand on Trunk’s forearm. “I said they’re not staying.” She shot a warning glance at her husband and then turned hostile eyes on her brother. “What do you want?”
“Why do you think we want something?”
“Because that’s the only time you come around.”
“Don’t be bitter.”
“Really? You’ve got some nerve, Mario.”
“Oh, you mean that little incident with the car?”
“Leaving me stranded in the middle of nowhere, by myself at midnight with a broken down car? Yeah, that, for starters.”
“So you have a list of grievances?”
“Enough to fill a roll of toilet paper.”
Trunk’s eyebrows shot up.
“What the fuck?” Gina said, swiveling to face her sister. “What’s your problem? You got out. Got your own business. Looks like you’re doing great.”
“I am. But it wasn’t easy. And when I needed help? Where were you? Nowhere to be found. You didn’t give a shit about me, why should I care about you?”
“Because we’re family.”
Carla opened a bottle of water. “Family? Who changed your diapers? I did. Who walked you to school? I did. Who picked you up? I did. Who helped with your homework, chased the bullies away, braided your hair and taught you how to dance? Huh? Huh? I did. And when I needed five hundred bucks to make it through the winter? Where were you? Off on some fucking vacation in Puerto Rico.” She hugged herself.
“I didn’t have any money, Carla,” Gina said, her tone whiny.
“Really? Enough to buy new clothes and take a big trip.”
Gina picked at a cuticle.
“Yeah. That’s what I thought. It got pretty cold in here when I couldn’t afford oil for heat.”
“You have a fireplace,” Mario put in.
“Oh, yeah? Thanks a lot. Firewood costs money, too. And it doesn’t heat this place. One measly, stinkin’ little fireplace for this whole joint and the apartment upstairs? Fuck that.”
“Mama wouldn’t like those words.”
“Get out.” Carla turned her back on them.
Thank you for coming.