Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 75642 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75642 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
I’m completely drained of money. Even the basic funerals were too much. The director of the funeral home suggested just cremation, but it felt wrong to not have some sort of service. I’m left wondering if I made the wrong choice. Those thousands of dollars could really help right now.
Mr. Dobbs, the attorney responsible for the estate, made it clear that I couldn’t file for government aid for the boys because I’m not the custodian. It was also hinted at that attempting to could set into motion the removal of the boys. I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place. The rock being the risk of losing those boys to a system I’ve never trusted, and the hard place being fucking Vincent Chilton because, in all their wisdom, my sister chose that man as the responsible party if something ever happened to them.
I’d thought after our little confrontation in the driveway that I’d be lucky enough never to see him again, but in some fucked-up twist of fate, he’s been thrust right back into my damn life.
“Mila?”
I cringe at my name being called, and when I turn around and see Amber Rogers walking toward me, my first instinct is to run away.
I give her a weak smile as she stops in front of me.
“Honey,” she says, her tone dripping that same level of false condescension as it did in high school. “I heard about Janet and Carlen.”
I remain silent. I know she expects me to give her all the details, but that shit isn’t happening. We weren’t friends in high school, and we aren’t friends since graduating. What I have learned in the middle of this tragedy is that people expect information they have no right to. I get that people are curious. Hell, I’m quick to go searching for answers when something piques my interest, but some are just downright disrespectful, and I already anticipate that from this woman.
“Murdered?” she asks, her head pulling back, her lips and nose scrunching as if just saying the word is distasteful.
Once again, I remain quiet, thinking maybe she’d take a hint, but she was never very good at reading a room.
“In Benton Park West?” She shakes her head. “I never would’ve guessed.”
It’s clear she has already made her mind up about what happened and who Carlen and Janet were to their core. I have no doubt it’s the same conclusion everyone else has drawn. It’s probably why the police still haven’t contacted me. I have no doubt they have chalked this up to another drug deal gone bad. I know they’re busy. There’s no shortage of crime in St. Louis, and murders in certain areas are always higher, usually related to some form of criminal element for both parties involved. I don’t doubt the police have other cases they deem more important because what’s the point of working hard to solve a case like the one Janet was involved in? I don’t doubt they just see it as trash taking the trash out, saving the city money on a criminal case Carlen or Janet no doubt would’ve been involved in had they not died.
“As always it’s a pleasure to see you, Amber,” I say, somehow managing to keep my cool as I grip the handle of the shopping cart a little harder.
Stupidly, she stands in front of the cart so I can’t move without making a scene.
I don’t have the energy for this woman right now. Hell, I don’t have the energy for anything, honestly.
I take a deep breath before speaking. A couple of years ago, my first instinct would’ve been to lose my shit on her. I wouldn’t have cared who saw or if the cops were called because I was in the middle of a disturbance, but my life isn’t my own anymore. My responsibilities dictate how I respond to people now.
“I’m not giving you any information about my sister and her husband.”
She seems displeased with the lack of information.
“It honestly doesn’t surprise me,” she says, only moments after declaring she never would’ve guessed something like this could’ve happened to them. “Your sister was always a little out in left field.”
“Have the day you deserve, Amber.”
I jerk the cart toward me, forcing her red-tipped fingernails to release the end of my cart. She’s huffing, her indignation an echo in my head as I turn around and head toward the dairy section, praying my bad luck doesn’t continue when I get to the register.
It’s clear that Amber Rogers doesn’t have a problem taking care of herself. Her hair is damn near perfect although a dyed blonde I’d never consider using. Her nails are done, and although I didn’t bother to look at her feet, I bet her toes are the same color.
After putting the half gallon of milk into the cart, I take a glance at my own nails. Despite working in a full-service salon, my own hands look trashed. I haven’t worked at the place I’m at very long so the bonds I had with the other stylists at my old job haven’t been formed yet. At my old job, we’d do each other’s hair and nails, making sure we always looked great for our clientele. No one at the new place has offered, and I haven’t seen that same level of energy there at all.