The sound pisses me off. “What? Is there some sort of age requirement to hand someone a piece of paper now?”
Narrowed eyes inspect me.
“I swear, I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important.”
When he heaves a sigh, I know I’ve won. “Even if I take your letter, I can’t make any guarantees it’ll get to him.”
I nudge the paper closer. “Just try. That’s all I ask.”
Finally, he takes the letter, and I step back before he can change his mind.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t let me catch you around here again. Got it, kid?”
I nod.
He disappears inside the club, and I turn around, staying alert during the walk back to the bus stop. Paranoia isn’t the only thing bothering me now. What has my cousin gotten himself involved with? Each year, it gets harder and harder to reach him. Each year, he seems to go deeper into the rabbit hole.
Nerves tighten my lungs. I hope to God my letter will find him.
Eva
Easton’s absence permeates the house. Football practice always runs late on Mondays, but a part of me hoped he might skip today.
Once my homework is done, I stop in the kitchen for some comfort food, but when I open the fridge and stare at its contents, nausea rolls through me. I squeeze the handle before I let the door shut. I already missed lunch, and thanks to a broken imaginary box, it looks like I’ll be skipping dinner too.
“Jovencita,” Maria says, hurrying into the kitchen with a laundry basket on her hip. “Upstairs.Rápido.”
I frown, but as she waves me away with actualshoosounds, I comply and move to the staircase. She gives me a surprising push, and I catch myself on the baluster.
I send a small glare her way. “What the heck?”
“Por favor, hazme caso.” She nudges me. “Go now.”
“Okay, okay.” I roll my eyes.
My response seems to appease her. She scurries away. I’m only halfway up the stairs when I pause at the echo of heels in the foyer.
Bridget appears at the bottom of the staircase. She stops when she spots me. Her eyes are heavy-lidded and glazed below the chandelier lights, and a glass of wine hangs loosely in her grip.
“Hello,Eva,” she slurs, taking an unsteady step in my direction. Crimson liquid sways in her glass. “I hope you had a lovely time at the party last night.”
The bitter tone of her voice suggests she hopes I had anything but alovely time.My stomach tightens.
“Um, it was fine. Thank you.” I turn to take another step up the stairs, but her next word stops me.
“Fine?” Bridget moves toward me, stumbling over the first step. “Is itfinethat I took you in? That I give you food? Shelter? An education? All for nothing? Not a goddamn thing?”
A knot twists in my throat. “I really appreciate it, Mrs. Rutherford. Everything you do for me.”
She chuckles dryly. “Appreciation. Now, there is a word severely lacking in this house.”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I continue my trek up the stairs, the unsteady clicks of Bridget’s heels following behind. She reaches the top of the stairs seconds after I do.
When we’re side by side, she looks at me. For a minute, we just stare at each other, and it’s the second most terrifying moment of my day.
“I’m not the worst mother in the world, you know,” she eventually mutters.
