Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 78867 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78867 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
The spine of an old family photo album glares at me from the soggy box just as the front door slowly opens.
My cousin was never a beauty queen, although the potential was always there if she ever gave a damn about her appearance. The woman looking at me now with tired eyes and shaggy hair looks similar to that woman but at the same time, completely different.
“What the hell do you want?” she snaps, the twang in her voice roughened by years of yelling at cheating boyfriends and her pack-a-day habit.
She looks fucking horrible.
“I’m here about the house,” I say through clenched teeth, suddenly very glad Spade is here with me.
I’m embarrassed to my bones about how the house and yard look, but grateful I don’t have to face this woman and whatever man she has inside with her alone.
“Tony isn’t here,” Naomi says, not offering to open the door wider so we can get in from out of the cold.
“I don’t even know Tony,” I mutter. “You were supposed to transfer the deed to the house into your name. You promised Big Daddy you would.”
Naomi sniffles, using the sleeve of the old flannel she’s wearing to wipe under her nose.
“Aiden was supposed to do that.”
“Don’t know Aiden either.”
She frowns at me. “Did you just show up to give me a hard time about the men I date?”
I lean my head to the side, my eyebrows drawing together. “What? No, Naomi. I don’t give a shit who you date. Big Daddy needs Medicare and they won’t help him so long as this property is in his name.”
“I was going to,” she says, her eyes darting behind me as if she’s just now noticing Spade even though I can feel the warmth of him at my back. “Ran into some financial problems and couldn’t take care of it.”
“He gave it to you for free,” I snap. “It doesn’t get any cheaper than that.”
“It costs money to transfer shit, Sylvie. Not everyone in the family fucks rich dudes to get shit paid for.”
My teeth grind at the insinuation that I pimped myself out to men to get things paid for.
“Naomi,” Spade growls, the first word he’s spoken since we stepped onto the porch.
“Tony’s in fucking jail. I have to find a way to get him out before worrying about that transfer.”
I scrub at my forehead, a sudden headache forming between my eyes in irritation.
“Why is Tony in jail?” I ask, even though I couldn’t give a shit about her boyfriend.
“There was a misunderstanding down at the bar,” she explains, shifting her weight on her feet.
She seems nervous, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s either high or jonesing for a hit. My cousin was never a stranger to experimenting with whatever was handed to her as a teen, and I don’t doubt that hasn’t transformed into full-blown addiction as an adult.
“It’s either the transfer or evic—”
A baby’s cry echoes from behind her and my threat falls away.
Naomi rolls her eyes as if the child inside is more of an annoyance than anything else in her life, but she turns around, leaving the front door open, and disappears back inside.
Spade goes to step around me, but I glare at him before stepping inside the house. My first instinct is to cover my nose because of the stench, but I’m locked in place at the condition of my childhood home.
Trash litters the floor. A small path cuts through piles of newspaper, the only way to even step into the small living room.
I want to turn around and face the man who is following me inside. I want to make him understand that this may be the house I grew up in, but we didn’t live like this. Yeah, we had to use a butter knife to wedge hand towels into the cracks around the door on really cold nights, but there was always food in the fridge. The only time the power went out was due to storms or a tree limb falling on the power line. I never went without running water.
I can’t imagine Naomi has either running water or electricity, but then she surprises me when she flips on a table lamp. It casts the room in a soft light, making me wish I never followed her inside.
“She never stops crying,” Naomi mutters as she disappears down the short hall and into the room I occupied growing up. I can’t resist following her, despite knowing I’m only going to upset myself even more.
The room is not what I expected. The carpet is dingy, but it wasn’t in perfect condition when I lived here either. The living area and what I could see of the kitchen were trashed, but this room is pristine compared to those other areas.
Something grips my heart when I watch Naomi pull a tight pink bundle from the obvious thrift-store crib, holding it to her chest as she rocks back and forth.