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“It doesn’t say who it’s from,” Pearl says, reading the letter over my shoulder.
He didn’t leave his name. Again.
“Remember, I told you about that college guy? It’s from him.”
“Mm-hmm.” She bumps me on the hip with hers. “Susie told me he was super cute. He must’ve liked you, hon.”
I roll my eyes and grab a knife. I’m not holding my breath. “Who wants a piece?”
CHAPTER 2
Kali
Seven days before I was taken…
Do you ever feel stuck?
Where your mind moves on to better, grander, and exciting places, but the body is left behind? Where your feet are stuck in quicksand, and reality slowly swallows those dreams? That’s my life. Every day. If only I could escape to the place where my mind wanders off to as soon as my head sinks into the pillow. A place where I have a loving mom and dad. A place where love isn’t only a shadow in the past.
The only thing I feel here is stranded. Trapped.
Some people say it’s strengthened me, and some people say I was the lucky one. But at the heart of reality, I was alone. I let out a deep sigh and push aside the self-loathing. I try not to pity myself. After all, everyone else in this town has that covered.
“Is everything okay?” Chip asks as I pour his coffee, his eyes narrowing as he studies me, and I force a smile at our breakfast regular and offer a feeble nod. It’s nice he cares enough to ask. It makes my shitty day a little less shitty. I’m invisible to most people in this town, an insignificant moment while they catch a quick bite or a coffee during their busy day, so his concern is a welcome change.
I blow my side bangs out of my face, the ones I thought would look cute because it’s the trend. However, seventy-year-old Margo doesn’t quite grasp the art of trendy cuts. Most days, I end up looking like a mushroom head with my hair pulled back in a ponytail and the side bangs puffing out.
This happens after a cute guy sends you a pie.
A new haircut, painted nails, and an attempt at whitening your teeth with the cheap stuff found at the corner drugstore. But after the hair massacre, I’m glad he hasn’t returned. All he’d find now is a mushroom head, half-chipped nails, and forget the white teeth—those strips had me cursing in shooting pain.
“It’s been one of those mornings,” I groan.
Chip’s radio chatters next to his ear, and he tilts his head to the side to listen. I can’t imagine being a cop, witnessing the worst of the world and then trying to see the good in people because you can’t live thinking everyone is bad. That’s a quick way to drown in misery. That’s why I make it my mission to make Chip laugh every morning.
But not today. Today, I wish I could crawl back in bed and have a do-over.
“What did the zero say to the eight?” he asks, turning his attention back to me. I twist my lips and hum. I’ve got nothing. “That belt looks good on you.”
“Pretty funny, Chip,” I say over my shoulder, pouring coffee for another customer down the bar and chuckling at the total dad joke.
He claps his hands. “I made you laugh,” he says from across the room. “It was my turn.”
That you did. If only everyone knew how a simple act of kindness can flip a person’s bad day with one gesture. Moments later, he drops cash on the counter and waves at me right before he leaves for work.
God, watch over him, I say to myself, looking up. Despite living in a small town where crime rarely happens, it occasionally does. You can ask anyone about our town, Blackburn, within a hundred miles in all directions, and the first thing they ask about is the Harpers.
Eighteen years ago, Elizabeth Harper walked in on her husband in bed with their neighbor. She went into a rage, grabbing a chainsaw. I was four, so I only heard the horror stories years after it happened. Gossip says you couldn’t tell whose parts were whose by the time she finished. Here’s the kicker: the jury found her not guilty for reasons I can’t even understand. I want her lawyer if something ever happens to me. She’s supposedly living across the country, living her life like she didn’t slaughter two people. But yeah, other than that and my parents’ accident, our small, sleepy town doesn’t see much excitement.
“Looks like you got a little action last night.” Pearl wags her pencil-drawn-in brows, wrapping her apron around her narrow hips. “Did a certain college kid find his way back here and have some pie?”
I groan as I pass her, stopping at the drink station to refill some sodas. It’s been three weeks, and they’re still at it. “You guys will never let me forget him, will you?” She shakes her head. “Sorry to disappoint, but no action here, just the typical curling iron excuse.”
That’s how my day started—burning the shit out of my neck.
Then, I spilled a full bowl of cereal all over my shirt and tripped on a rock while walking to work, cutting open my knee. I stare down at my worn-out canvas tennis shoes, each scuff and worn thread telling a story of the miles they’ve covered, my left one now adorned with a new embellishment of dried blood on it. Let’s hope bleach will get that out.
The day drags on, and when I think it can’t get worse, someone says, “Kali?”
