“I’m the patriarch of this family,” he shouted back, the distorted sound of the phone’s speaker crackling in my ears. “And I decide how we support each other. You have a good job. You sit in the office all day clicking away. Lucas is struggling. He’s trying to find himself. He needs a break. Giving him this car will give him a boost. You should be proud to help your brother, not scream like a madwoman.”
I closed my eyes, pressing my forehead against the cold closet door. I could picture him perfectly: sitting in his recliner, his feet up, feeling like a benevolent king, distributing riches that didn’t belong to him. He genuinely believed he was right. In his world, I was merely an extension of him, and my possessions were at his complete disposal.
“Dad,” I said, forcing my voice to be frighteningly low and calm. “Does Lucas have a license? He had it suspended three years ago for drunk driving.”
“Oh, don’t bring up the past.” He dismissed the matter with words. “He’s working on his recovery. He’s driving carefully. Everything’s fine. The car’s safe. It’s in his driveway now. He was so happy, Elina. You should have seen him. He finally felt like a man.”
“He felt like a man because you gave him my car,” I said bluntly.
