Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 64320 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 214(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64320 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 214(@300wpm)
“Good evening,” a feminine voice says, and I have to raise my gaze to watch an older woman with a stylish white bob and a small Pomeranian in her arms close the door to 1401. There are only two other apartments on this floor, the one I’m sure Samantha told me about.
But that was years ago …
“How are you?” I greet the woman as if I’m supposed to be here, as if I’m visiting a friend and not a woman I have every intention of warning to stay the hell away from me and my family. In an effort to be convincing, I open my clutch, keeping my eyes on her with a simper plastered on my face. I’m sure it looks like I’m getting out a key or maybe my phone to call a friend.
The woman simply smiles tightly and nods then carries on her way, not answering the question. I hesitate, glancing between the remaining two doors and wondering which one I should knock on first.
This is crazy.
My heart races and a mix of adrenaline and anxiousness make me question why I’m even here.
The real answer, the absolute truth, hisses in the back of my head.
She was with him. In his family house.
Two confident strides and I knock, one, two, three times on 1402. I don’t breathe until I take a small step back and wait.
Silence. No response. The confidence threatens to leave with every second that passes, but the moment I take a step to the right, to knock on the only other option, the door opens.
In red silk pajamas and her hair in curlers, Samantha looks so different from any other time I’ve seen her. She wasn’t expecting company, that’s for sure.
Her expression is nothing but irritation at first, and then she recognizes me.
“Oh, hello,” she says, greeting me somewhat easily but with her lips pressed in a thin straight line as she stands up straighter. “Kat.”
I have to clear my throat before I can answer her. “Samantha,” I respond in the same stiff way. “I apologize for dropping by with no notice. I was hoping I could talk to you.” Clutching my purse with both hands in front of me, I add, “It’s about Evan.”
She crosses her arms, instantly on the defensive and I’m quick to add, putting on a bit of a show, “I’m worried about him. About the loss of his father and how he’s handling it.” The words are the truth and the emotion that comes with them is genuine. But I just want an in so I can get a better grip on exactly who this woman is … and maybe details on her estranged husband.
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” she responds tightly, still looking me up and down as she considers what to do with me.
“I know you’ve spent a little time with him and I was just hoping you could tell me how he is.”
She nearly flinches then has to take a moment before she can answer. As if she has no idea how he’s doing. Or maybe she’s shocked that I know she’s seen him, but it’s all over the papers, so why wouldn’t I?
Evan’s told me one side of this story, but there are always three sides … sometimes even more. In this case I’ll stay away from James, for Evan’s sanity, but I’m sure Samantha will have a thing or two to gossip about.
“Did you guys talk at all?” I ask her. My throat tightens as I add, “He doesn’t talk to me at all anymore.”
“Oh, God,” Samantha says, sounding exasperated and then tells me, “We didn’t talk about his father. I’m sorry.” She struggles to gather a response. “I’m sure it’s difficult and I understand you two are going through something, but I assure you that I’d like to stay out of it.”
With the creak of the heavy door, she attempts to close it, but I’m quicker.
My palm smacks against the door and I plead with her, “I just need someone to talk to. Please! If you could just let me in.”
My blood rushes in my ears as I wait, the door remaining right where it is, only slightly cracked. She opens it again cautiously, pursing her lips and appearing more irked than anything else. As she lets go of the door, it opens with my weight and she nods her head, letting me in.
“What is it that you want?” she questions as she walks with her back to me inside of the apartment. I close the front door myself and take the place in.
It’s a barren disaster.
I nearly ask her if she was robbed, but looking to my left at a cluttered kitchen I can easily spot a potential cause of the state of her place. Three small bags of white powder and a line wait for her. Right next to them is a colorful bag of pills. A mix of what could be Adderall and pain meds.