Tags:
Fiction,
General,
Suspense,
Thrillers,
Mystery & Detective,
Women Sleuths,
Mystery,
Mystery Fiction,
Eve (Fictitious character),
Missing Children,
Duncan,
Women sculptors,
Facial reconstruction (Anthropology)
hurt her. But then she’d realized that her mother used it to get what she wanted, and that big sacrifice was probably because Sandra had been too far along to safely get an abortion. She reached into her wallet and brought out a ten-dollar bill. “Okay. But I want you to show me how pretty you look tomorrow after you get your hair done.”
“Do you think I’m pretty?” Sandra looked in the mirror. “You never say so.” She patted her hair again. “You’re not exactly pretty, Eve, but you have my hair. Everyone says that my hair is very unusual.” She picked up her handbag. “That’s why I have to keep it looking nice.” She headed for the door. “Do you know, I bet that manager at Mac’s Diner would give you a full-time job if you asked him nicely.”
It wasn’t the first time Sandra had made that suggestion. Her mother always conveniently forgot what she didn’t want to remember. “I’m not going to ask him. I haven’t graduated from high school yet, Sandra. And Mr. Kimble has already said he’ll keep me on and work around my hours when I go to college.”
“College?” Sandra smiled with genuine amusement. “People like us don’t go to college, honey. You’ll be much happier if you get that thought right out of your head.”
“Would I?” She tried to smother the anger, but it burst free. “And are you happy jumping from job to job, Sandra? Are you happy sniffing coke to make you think everything is what it should be?” She looked around the shabby apartment. She tried to keep it clean, but everything about it was worn, drab, and depressing. “Are you happy living here? Well, I’m not, and I’m not going to stop thinking of ways to get away from here.”
Sandra was looking at her in bewilderment. “Don’t be ugly. There’s nothing wrong with smoking a joint or sniffing a little coke now and then. It’s not as if I’m one of those drug addicts on Peachtree Street.”
“No? Have you tried to kick it lately?”
“Why should I?” She opened the door. “You’re just too intense about most everything. You seem to be mad at me every time you see me. You work or read all the time. You don’t even have a boyfriend. Sometimes I don’t understand you, Eve.” She slammed the door behind her.
Sandra had never understood her, Eve thought. Even when she’d been a child, her mother had often looked at her as if she were some strange creature from another planet.
But then Sandra had been revolving in her own solar system ever since Eve could remember. Marijuana, crack, coke, acid.
Don’t think about it. Sandra wouldn’t listen to her, and she had her own battles to fight. She couldn’t help her mother, but she could help herself. She had grown up in the streets and learned every trick in the book to fight those battles.
She glanced at the clock. It was almost six. She had to get to work, or she’d be late. She’d hoped to finish her geometry before she had to leave, but Sandra had been home, and that usually meant a delay. She closed her geometry book and stuck it in her canvas book bag. Maybe she’d get a chance to finish on her break.
She locked the door and ran down the four flights of cement stairs that led to the front entrance of the housing development. The stink was overwhelming. Someone had thrown a sack of garbage on the third landing. All they’d had to do was take it down two flights more to the garbage cans, but that was too much trouble.
Don’t look at the garbage, the iron banister rails, the scrawled graffiti on the dirty gray walls. She had control of their apartment, but all she could do was ignore everything outside their apartment door.
She threw open the worn oak door of the front entrance. Two silver-haired black ladies were slowly approaching, and she waited to hold the door for them.
Then she was quickly outside, drawing a deep breath.
Fresh air. Sunlight. The smell of garbage was less down here.
“Hello, Eve, aren’t you late?” Rosa Desprando