Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 106953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
“No.”
She lets loose a gusty sigh. “Of course you’d think that. But that’s a child’s way of thinking, Bitsy. A man needs a woman.”
“He has me.”
She pats me on the head. “No, sweetheart, he needs a love love, not a fraternal love.”
A fraternal love? I don’t even know what that means. “I love Leka.” There’s no one that loves him more.
Mrs. M gives me another of her pitying glances, the kind that she tosses in my direction whenever she thinks I’m too young to understand. I don’t think I’m too young. I think she doesn’t make sense.
“Do you want me to make you a shake for while you draw and color?” she asks.
I nod, but the whole thing bothers me. I press her. “What kind of girl do you think he needs?”
“Someone sweet. Real pretty because your brother isn’t going to want to be seen with a girl who isn’t pretty.” She bends over to grab the ice cream. Alarm bells go off in my head. Is she thinking of shipping Leka and her daughter together, because that’s not going to work. Her daughter is too soft for Leka.
“Looks aren’t everything,” I say, echoing Leka’s earlier words.
“Like attracts to like.” She sets the ice cream on the counter. “Men like your brother have something special, and that means the best-looking girls are going to flock to him.”
I hate that she calls him my brother because he’s not. We’re not related at all, but I can’t tell her that. I can’t tell anyone that.
I lay out the proof and pick up my Micron pen. “He’s not like that.”
She makes Leka sound so…fake, but he’s real. He took me off the street and has cared for me for the last five years without wanting anything in return. Not that I have anything to give him.
I draw a few quick lines.
“Oh, of course, I don’t mean to say he’s shallow. He’s not. He loves you dearly and that’s another mark in his favor.” She scoops the ice cream into the blender and pours in the shake mix that she brings with her. “He’s the whole package. I’m surprised some enterprising young woman hasn’t already snatched him up. Maybe he’s going to meet her tonight, though.”
My pen skitters across the paper. Crap. I crumple it up and grab a new one from my stack. “He doesn’t need a girl,” I maintain.
Mrs. M hears me and turns. With hands on her hips, she scolds, “Now, Elizabeth, you can’t stand in the way of your brother finding true love. That’d be selfish, and I know you’re not that kind of girl.”
I stare mulishly back at her.
“You’re not,” she insists. “You’re full of love in your heart for your brother, and because of that you’ll welcome any girl that he loves. Besides, he’s not going to choose anyone that doesn’t love you, too. You two shouldn’t be this little island. It’s not healthy. You could both do with a little feminine influence here.” She waves a hand. “It’s starker than a museum in here. No pillows. No decorations on the wall. And you—” She wags a finger at me. “You need a mother. Someone to show you how to do your hair, how to dress, make the best of those features.” She draws a circle in the air.
My cheeks grow hot. Mrs. M must think I’m ugly, too. Make the best of my features? Like, what? Somehow my nose and eyes and mouth are all wrong. I duck my head and pretend to be immersed in the drawing.
Over at the counter, Mrs. M sighs. I think she says something like, “I try. I try.” And then flicks the blender on.
What the hell do I care what Mrs. M thinks of me. It’s not like I’m marrying her. Under the cover of the noisy appliance, I mutter the one thing that really matters. “He’s not my brother.”
16
Leka
When I arrive at Marjory’s, Beefer is leaning against a tricked-out Escalade. Two other men are already in the SUV. One I recognize. Tam O’Reilly is the distributor for our section of the city. He doesn’t deal drugs, he sells the product to the dealers. The other guy, with a slim arm resting on the rolled-down passenger side window, is new to me.
My hand slides close to the butt of my Glock resting in the inside pocket of my windbreaker. I don’t do well around strangers. The only time I’m around them is when I’m shaking them down for nonpayment to the business or killing them.
Maybe we’re killing the new guy tonight.
“Beefer. Tam” I give him and Tam a chin nod of acknowledgment to keep my hands free.
Beefer doesn’t miss this. He shoots me a warning glance and then taps the arm of the new guy. “Cesaro, this is Leka. Leka, Cesaro. He is Arturo’s nephew.”