Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 105815 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105815 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
I gaze into Oscar’s big brown eyes, but my words are directed to her. “They have private rooms at the shelter for women.”
Part of me wonders if she’s been harassed at shelters before or if she really believes they put tracking devices in her head. I believe she just says that stuff because she wants me to shut up about it. But, if there are mental issues going on, she needs help I can’t give. “They serve three meals a day and have counseling services, a staff of nurses and doctors. This boy I was telling you about? His frat just donated a lot of money to one and—”
“You can go now.”
A long sigh comes from me as I set the dog down. Maybe I pushed too hard this time. “You know I’m in 3B if you need anything. My roommates are a handful, but sweet. I’ve talked to them and you’re welcome to stay on the couch until I can find you a place—”
Her voice rises. “This is my place. It’s home.”
I stand my ground. “The weather’s going to get colder. It’s December.”
“The heat from the furnace works.”
But being out here…it can’t be good for her. It just can’t. “June…”
She ducks back into her tent, and Oscar follows.
I stand there considering throwing her in my car and driving to the shelter, but I know she’d fight me the whole way, and in the end, it has to be her decision. She is her own person. I kick at a pebble, my head tumbling. She refused my offer of giving her an extra the key to the basement, which could totally get me kicked out of the building if the landlord found out, but at least it’s heated. The Walker Police Department doesn’t have any missing persons. I checked. I want to help her, want her to be okay. If I just keep coming, keep talking, keep checking on her, maybe one day—
Her head pops back out, her eyes glittering in the streetlights. “Go home, girl. Oh, and happy birthday. You’re legal. Drink one for me. Get crazy, but not too crazy. Use a condom if you do the dirty dance.”
She remembered.
Warmth sinks into my bones, soft and easy.
“Thank you,” I murmur.
“Don’t think I like you.”
“You adore me.”
“See you tomorrow night.” She disappears.
Five minutes later, I’m getting the mail in the lobby of our building when I see Sam exiting his office. Our maintenance man, he’s of medium height with brown hair and a short beard. A tool belt hangs around his waist and he hitches it up, then crosses his arms when he sees me. He frowns. “I saw you pull up and go back there. You gotta stop feeding her, Ana. She’ll just keep coming back.”
Unease curls around me. It’s more than just giving her food. I’m a person to her when I don’t think she has anyone. “Sam, come on. She doesn’t make a mess and cleans up after Oscar. No one sees her. It’s dark out there.”
His round face scrunches, and his hand goes to his jeans, his thumb hooking into his waistband. “Mr. Winston is a stickler for vagrants. You know how meticulous he is about this place. This can’t keep on. She’s been here for a month and I haven’t said a word—”
“How was the lasagna? How’s the new baby?”
He huffs. “Tiff loved the casserole, and the baby sleeps like a log. She said to tell you thanks for the food and the baby outfit.” He grimaces. “You’re too damn nice. June needs to get gone.”
He said her name, which means she’s a person to him to.
“Just let her be,” I say softly. I don’t ask Sam for much, even when the sink gets clogged or the lights go out. I buy Drano or dash to the basement and flip the breaker.
“She’s harmless,” I add. “I can guarantee another casserole. I’ll even babysit—for free. Wouldn’t you love a night out just you two?”
“Hmmm, yeah.” He rubs a hand through his beard. “June’s always gone in the mornings.”
“No one even sees her. She only sleeps here.”
“I should call Mr. Winston though. Right?” He blows out a gust of air, an uncertain look on his face.
“Not tonight. It’s late. Get some sleep and kiss the baby for me.” Please, Sam.
I hear him grumbling behind me as I walk up the stairs to my apartment.
I put my key in and open the door.
“Happy birthday!” comes from my two roomies, Lila and Colette, as I walk in the front door of our three-bedroom apartment.
Before I can even set down my bags and the mail, Lila jumps at me with a tight hug and Colette follows. We make a circle, squeal, and jump up and down.
Blonde and petite, Lila’s wearing booty shorts and a sleep shirt, while dark-haired Colette sports a PJ flannel set with yellow rubber ducks on it. They’re fraternal twins.