I was kidnapped and knocked up within a couple of months of being forced to turn tricks for Anthony and Pierce.
Noah lived with evil men all these years. Men who didn’t care if the woman begged them to stop. Thankfully, Noah knows it was wrong. He hated those men, every single one. In our long road trip to Texas, he talked to me the whole way about living in the prep house. I listened to every horrid detail and made sure he understood our lives would never be like that again. We talked about our expectations and dreams for our new life.
“Remember, I’ll pick you up after school in the library parking lot,” I remind Noah. It’s easier to pick him up there because it’s right next to Mystic River Elementary, and it’s easierto get out of that parking lot than it is to get out of the school parking lot. Almost every parent picks up their kid from school.
“Yeah, yeah, Mom. I know.”
Maybe I really am doing this whole parenting thing wrong.
We pull into the school parking lot five minutes before the bell is supposed to ring. Our car is sandwiched between slick luxury brand cars.
Mystic River may be small by New York City standards, but the people here are almost richer than God himself. It’s one of those towns where everyone knows everyone, and all the businesses have the town name in the title. “Mystic River Grill, Mystic Beans, Mystic River Market, Mystic River Hardware, Mystic Scoops.” It’s all very original.
There’s even the Mystic River Psychiatric Hospital, where I will definitely not be applying. No way in hell. I have other plans for that place.
Pulling up to the drop-off point, Noah has his seatbelt off and the door open before I can even put the car in park.
“Noah!” I shout in surprise. It makes my heart stop every time.
“Sorry,” he says remorsefully. Instead of bolting away, he pops his head into the front seat and kisses my cheek. “Good luck today, Mom. Love you!” Then he’s out of the car and running into the school before I can return the sentiment.
Okay. Maybe I am doing something right with this parenting thing.
My heart jumps into my throat as short inky black hair flashes in my rearview mirror. I squint my eyes, focusing on the mirror, and a figure sits up in the back seat. His face is covered in shadow, and he lifts his hand, waving me to come to him.
My hands suddenly feel slick, and when I look down, they’re covered in red. My heart lodges itself in my throat.
It isn’t real. It isn’t real.
With a deep breath, I face forward and lean back into the headrest. Squeezing the steering wheel, I close my eyes and give myself a sad excuse for a pep talk. “Keep it together, Raven. You can’t go down that road. He’s not here anymore, and you’re no longer in that house. Don’t let your mind play tricks on you.”
When I open my eyes again, the blood is gone from my hands, and no one is in the back seat.
Fuck. That hasn’t happened since I was a teenager.
It’s this town. It’s bringing all my monsters back to life.
Resumein hand and my game face on, I walk into Mystic Beans with the confidence of a middle-aged privileged man. The rich aroma of coffee and baked goods soothes my nerves as I approach the counter.
Mystic Beans is a cute little shop. It’s simple, with five tables, wood and matte black metal accents, indoor plants, and large windows to let in ample amounts of light. The menu is a big black chalkboard that hangs on the wall behind the counter and bakery display to the right.
There is one woman about my height with long black curly hair and a light olive complexion. She’s wearing a green apron and simple clothing that somehow looks more than simple on her. Her back is to me as she wipes down the countertop in between the espresso machines.
A young man with freckles and copper blonde hair enters through the door that I assume leads to the kitchen. He’s wearing a similar uniform and is carrying a tray of fresh chocolate croissants. My mouth waters just looking at them.
“Put those out then head on over to school. I don’t want you to be late, and then your parents show up here to yell at me,” the woman says to the young man. He nods and gets to work.
Keeping my faux confidence wrapped around me like armor, I approach the counter.
“Hi! Welcome to Mystic Beans. What can I get for you?” The woman senses my presence and sets her rag in a sanitation bucket.
“Hi,” I reply with a friendly smile. “I’m looking for the owner.”
“That’s me. Kat Deveraux.” She smiles brightly back. “What can I do for you?”
“My son and I just moved here. He just started at the elementary school. I’m hoping you have a job opening.” I hand her my resume, some of which may be made up, but not completely untrue. I did manage employees. I just left out that they were strippers and that I comforted them after a particularly bad encounter with a John.
“This looks great. But I’m sorry. I’m not looking for anyone right now.” Kat seems truly apologetic.
