Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 28617 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 143(@200wpm)___ 114(@250wpm)___ 95(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 28617 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 143(@200wpm)___ 114(@250wpm)___ 95(@300wpm)
That’s what I am. I’m a goomah. Or worse, I’m just a one-night stand.
No. Not a one-night stand. Because he’s clearly expecting more. Last night, I virtually served myself to him on a platter, but we didn’t actually have sex. That’s why he’s left me here, why he’s being so sweet. I told him I’m a virgin and he’s planning to take that from me. Obviously he lied about being a virgin himself. Naomi just told me as much. He’s not hiring fifteen-dollar hookers to listen to him talk about cars.
My head feels light as I think about what I’ve done, what I’ve allowed. I have to hold the wall to keep from collapsing.
Rushing through to the bedroom, I grab my phone off the table and dial the number for the hospital. I barely even hear the receptionist’s words past the thumping of my own pulse.
“I’m Malta Green. Can I find out how my dad is doing today? I… I think he was moved to the Volos family ward last night. His name is Winston. Winston Green.” I stutter the words, grabbing my chest as if the crucifix is still there to hold on to for support, not discarded along with my dignity last night before I snuck in to lie next to Oz. “Yes, I’ll hold.”
The music that plays sounds like saxophones, haunting and slow, and I find myself involuntarily wiping away tears from my eyes when the receptionist comes back on.
“Ms. Green?”
“Yes,” I mutter, trying to keep from crying properly.
“Your father is doing well, but he isn’t in the Volos ward, that’s for Volos family members only I’m afraid. He’s still in I.C.U., though we’ll probably move him tomorrow when we’re sure he’s not going to slide again. Winston’s insurance covers him for…”
She continues, but I’m no longer listening.
He lied.
Oz lied to me. He told me he’d had my father moved when he did nothing of the sort. How could he? Did he think I wouldn’t find out?
“…he was awake earlier this morning, you’ll be pleased to hear. Not out of the woods yet, but things are looking positive. He’s asleep now but if you come in to visit this afternoon, perhaps around three?”
“I’ll be there,” I tell her, gritting my teeth.
It’s just another reminder that I need to start looking after myself. What with my dad turning out to be a gambling addict and Odysseus Volos turning out to be every bit as cruel now as he was when we were teenagers, I need to start thinking about what I want.
My firm offered me a position in Tucson, somewhere I could get myself a partnership and a life of my own. Perhaps it’s time for me to take them up on that.
Chapter Six
Malta
I’ve been staying at my father’s place since I got back to Detroit. It’s a two-story house on its own plot, with a well-tended lawn just a couple of blocks from his church. When I step out of the cab and walk up to the front steps, there are a few bunches of flowers and cards from parishioners wishing him a speedy recovery and to let them know if there’s anything they can do. Clearly, they’re unaware of their preacher’s vices.
I pick up the gifts and messages, unlock the door and head inside. Right now I can’t afford to start apportioning blame. Winston brought me up, fed and clothed me after his brother—my biological father—died, and I owe him that much.
He’s family.
But once he’s well again, I need to start thinking about my future.
After I’ve changed out of yesterday’s court clothes and into a soft wrap dress, I head through to my dad’s room. Packing a few things for him almost feels therapeutic. I grab a hold-all and put in pajamas, underwear, pants and shirts. Shaving foam and razors, shampoo, slippers. All the things he might need over the next few days of recovery.
I smile as I step out into the hall, looking at the framed sketch on the wall opposite. It’s a picture of him that I drew for art class when I was fifteen. That’s the man Winston Green is, the one in that picture, sitting in his slippers, reading the Bible. The one who kept that drawing because he was as proud of me as he would have been if I was his natural daughter.
Not a niece whose mom ran off when she was six months old, and whose dad tragically passed away from a drugs overdose a year later.
Drawing a deep breath, I shake my head. It’s my job to look after him now, to pay back that kindness.
I didn’t like leaving Roxie all on her own at Oz’s place, but what choice did I really have? I could hardly bring her here with me. Instead, I left a note for when Oz gets home, telling him not to contact me ever again but that I left food down for Roxie.