Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86841 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86841 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
He had been.
But his ass did not need to know it.
I was going to finish the rest of the cleaning and organizing, and then I had a meeting with three different stores in Jackson about getting donations for underwear and any other clothes they might have.
Dad had seen me making a list in the great room yesterday afternoon while I was trying not to think about Father Jude and his dismissal of me. He had asked what I was doing and then sent me two different names of people to contact. I had called, and when I introduced myself, they had immediately agreed.
If this was to benefit me, I would struggle with using my dad’s connections and power. But seeing as these were wealthy business owners and they could afford to donate to help those in need, I had no issue.
Dad hadn’t mentioned his concern for my safety, like Mom had, which meant he knew what Gathe had done or I was being detailed and didn’t realize it. I doubted the latter. I was pretty good about spotting someone tailing me.
Walking into Threads of Love and Hope, I smiled at Sister Mena and placed the caramel latte and slice of iced lemon loaf from Starbucks on the counter in front of her. “Good morning, Sister Mena. This is for you. Before you scowl at it, just give it a try,” I told her, then took my own caramel latte and lemon loaf to go check the two Amazon packages that had arrived over the weekend.
I had ordered plastic zipper-sealed bags, travel-sized shampoos and conditioners, toothbrush and toothpaste sets, deodorant, body wipes, lotions, and lip balms—enough to make up two hundred bags. That was going to take a couple of hours, but if the lemon loaf and caramel latte would sweeten Mena up, I might be able to get her to help.
My first meeting in Jackson was at Underneath It All at noon, the next one was at Dollar Dayz at one thirty, and then the last one was at Discount Rack at three. My goal was to get enough underwear for all sizes for both genders to get that stocked and ready for when we opened back up on Friday.
The first box was full of the plastic bags and shampoos. The next three were all the other items. I glanced back at Mena, who was sipping the latte and watching me. Half her lemon loaf gone. Score one for Saylor.
“What is all that?” she asked.
I stood up and spread my arms out at the open boxes before me. “All we need to make little toiletry bags to give out.”
Her brows drew together. “Who donated that?”
“Me,” I replied, not in the mood for her negativity.
“You mean your father. Are you getting him a donation receipt from the church office?”
“No. Not my father. Me. And I don’t need a donation receipt.”
“How much did all that cost?” she shot back at me.
Why can’t you eat your lemon loaf and drink your damn latte and stop being a nosy bitch?
“Does it matter?”
She made a humph sound.
Why, Mena? Why?!
Spinning around, I met her disapproving gaze. “Yes, I was born into a wealthy family. I have money. I am truly sorry for that, Mena. I didn’t choose my life. And I like doing things that make me feel good. That make me feel as if I’m making a difference. I have a bank account that my father funds. BUT I also have money that was given to me for birthdays, holidays, for my high school graduation. I saved it. Didn’t need it. Until now. I have something I want to spend it on. Is that so bad?”
She took a drink from her cup and lifted a haughty eyebrow at me. Sisters weren’t supposed to be haughty. I was sure that was in the rulebook. I was about to go snatch her hairy eyebrow off her head.
“It’s Sister Mena,” she finally said.
What? Oh. Shit. I’d called her Mena aloud.
“Sorry. My bad,” I replied.
She took the last bite of her loaf, then stacked her papers together. “Okay. How are we making these bags?” she asked.
I bit down on my inner lip to keep from breaking into a grin. I’d thawed her some. Friday, I was going to come with a box of hot, fresh doughnuts. She’d better watch out; I’d have her calling me bestie by the end of the month. Okay, that was a little hopeful and highly doubtful, but she was gonna like me.
When Wednesday rolled around and Father Jude had yet to stop by, I knew he was avoiding me. Which was fine. I was a harlot. I had led him down the path of sin. Blah, blah, blah. He hadn’t even seen my vagina.
Since we were closed today and I was here alone, I’d decided to bring my Bluetooth speaker and listen to music while I worked on unboxing and putting out the first donation of panties and bras I had received from Underneath It All. The other two had said I’d get theirs by tomorrow.