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I get to my bedroom window and stop.
It’s shut, the latch pressed tight. Someone made sure it was locked.
A shiver ripples through me.
I take a step back.
Tapping on Calista’s window wouldn’t be smart. She’d have a fit and interrogate me about where I’ve been all night.
Behind the house, I reach the sliding kitchen door. A light tug makes it open when it shouldn’t. I feel like I’m breaking into a stranger’s home as I pull it wider and push past the curtain.
The light is on.
I freeze.
Evelyn sits perfectly still at the table, as though she’s been waiting in that exact position all night. Her hair is pinned in curlers while a thick cream mask smooths her face into a blank canvas. A Bloody Mary glows red beside her hand.
She stirs it with the celery stick. “Join me, Zaiya.”
Her voice is calm, but I’ve learned how quickly calm can crack without warning.
My legs barely feel like my own as they carry me forward. The chair scrapes softly across the floor as I sit.
Her eyes move over me, taking in the dirt on my skin, my hair that refuses to stay in place. I’m a mess, and I hate that she’s seeing me like this again.
“Frank is out on church business. Emergency meeting,” she says. “Long night for you.”
“Yes.” I don’t know what to say. I’ve failed her. Surely her view of me is tarnished. “I hope you didn’t wait up for me.”
“I couldn’t sleep.” She takes a slow sip. “You weren’t alone, I assume.”
The inevitable sits heavy on my tongue.
“I was with Edwin.”
Her eyes stay on me with an intensity that makes me look down.
“You know my feelings about him, so I won’t rehash them. Just be careful,” she says quietly. “Men like that will hold your attention until they get what they want.”
My hands curl in my lap as I try to force the thought of his cock down my throat out of my head.
“I’ll be careful.”
She brushes her fingers across my cheek, feather-light. They drift down my neck and pause.
The ribbon.
Her fingers go still on it, and my stomach tightens.
“What’s this?” she asks.
“It’s nothing,” I say quickly. “Just a cheap necklace.”
Her thumb presses lightly against it, as if she can feel the price I paid.
“Did he give it to you?”
I don’t want to lie. Lying to Evelyn feels worse than lying to anyone else. Even Mother. I cherish her tenderness too much to lose it.
