Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 30685 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 153(@200wpm)___ 123(@250wpm)___ 102(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 30685 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 153(@200wpm)___ 123(@250wpm)___ 102(@300wpm)
“Yes, you did,” she counters. “Why didn’t you call me back? I left so many messages.”
I stare at her for a moment.
“I never got any messages. Besides, why didn’t you call me back? I left you so many messages.”
This is getting weirder and weirder. It’s like we live on the same planet, but were totally unable to communicate.
“Why didn’t you email me then?” she demands.
I roll my eyes and let out an exasperated sigh.
“Because I’m not a stalker. I’m not a total dipshit. If a girl isn’t returning my calls, I’m not exactly going to beg her over email too.”
Kaylee shakes her head.
“But you didn’t call.” Suddenly, her eyes go wide. “Holy crap. I think I know what happened.”
I snatch a quick glance at her, still going eight-five miles on the freeway.
“What? What happened?”
Kaylee looks down at her hands. I take the opportunity to glance at her figure. Her breasts are larger now, probably from feeding my son, and her hips are wide but sassy. The maid’s uniform is utterly alluring on the curvy girl, and my fingers itch to stroke her lush assets.
“I didn’t know you tried to call me,” she finally says. “I never got your messages.”
I snort.
“How is that even possible? I must have left you a hundred voicemails, and it’s the right number. I was hearing your voice in the message.”
She looks down again, suddenly appearing very sad and defeated.
“Yeah, I get it. It’s just … my mom, she started … well, she started dealing pot on her own that weekend. She and her boyfriend were always into that kind of stuff, but her boyfriend usually handles the business side. I think they might have broken up, temporarily at least, and she started taking customer orders on her own. Using my phone.”
I stare at her, hardly believing my ears.
“Your mom is a drug dealer?”
She smiles at me wanly.
“Yeah, it seems a lot of people use drugs in Millbrook, don’t they? Well, at least my mom and Brina do.”
I shake my head, unable to process this information.
“You were letting your mom use your phone to deal drugs? Are you fucking kidding me?”
Kaylee’s not even offended. She merely shrugs her shoulders and looks out the window again.
“You don’t know where I’m from, Elliot,” she says. “The trailer park is in my blood, and a lot of things happen there that would shock a rich man like you. So yes, my mom deals drugs. Coralie has been into it for a long time now, and yes, she used my phone to talk with her customers. She probably deleted all of my messages, and never told me about them because that’s the way she is. I’m sorry, okay?”
I’m so shocked that I can’t even speak. I’ve heard of bad parenting before, but not this bad. Suddenly, a thought hits me.
“Do you use drugs as well?”
Kaylee’s denial is swift.
“No, never. In fact, I can’t even stand the smell of pot, and now that I have Ezra, I’m doubly careful. I make them work out of Humphrey’s trailer, so your son has never been exposed to anything, I swear.”
That makes my heart accelerate so fast that it’s almost painful. My foot presses down on the gas, and we’re now moving at a hundred miles down the road on our way to Monroe Trailer Park.
“Please drive slower,” Kaylee says in a quiet voice next to me. “I don’t want to get in a car crash, and for Ezra to lose both his mother and his father.”
That makes me ease up off the gas, but my mind is in turmoil. The woman I love is in danger. My son is in danger. I have to get them out now.
With that, we speed down the road until the sign for Monroe comes up. Then I pull into the trailer park.
“Where?” I bark.
“Down this aisle on the right, and we’re the second from the last on the left,” she directs me. Kaylee is right. Monroe is not a nice place. The trailers themselves are dingy and dilapidated with screen windows hanging off their hinges, and lots of peeling paint. A few dogs run here and there, and the denizens that I see look like they’ve known better days. A few burp as we drive past, their fingers wrapped around paper-bag covered cans.
“Here,” says Kaylee as I pull the car to a stop. We’re in front of a particularly sad-looking trailer. It’s a dirty yellow color, although it looks like it once could have been white. It’s elevated on cinder blocks, and the window frames are rusted and ancient. The only cheery part is a small bouquet of daisies pinned to the front door. Even that looks a bit dried out, I have to say.
I make to get out of the car, but before I can step foot outside, Kaylee puts a hand on my arm. Electricity passes through me at her touch, and I turn to swiftly look at her.