That’s the God honest truth. Looking back, I don’t think I wanted to get into this mess in the first place, but now I’m neck deep and guilty as sin.
“You don’t know?” she repeats.
I shake my head. There’s a hollow in my chest.
“Alright,” she says, standing aside. “Get your shit and go.”
She means it. Numb, I go upstairs and gather my things. I don’t have much, no leftover things from my childhood. When my mother passed, all my childhood toys were sent to the charity shop. I arrived on Cherry’s doorstep with a backpack of clothes. I repack it, grab my cash, and walk downstairs. Cherry sits at the kitchen table, an entire glass of whiskey in her hand.
“You should be ashamed, Jen,” she says.
“Cherry—”
“You’re grown,” she says. “Get out.”
Silently, I go out onto the porch and take my flip phone out. Miss Holly doesn’t answer, even when I call her three times in a row. I get in my truck and start driving, not sure what to do. I can park in a gas station and sleep there tonight. Then, I have enough money to get a tent and find a place they won’t chase me off tomorrow.
My phone lights up. It’s an unknown number, but I answer.
“Hey, Jen,” a man drawls.
Brothers Boyd.
“Hey,” I say. “Everything alright?”
He laughs, but I’m not sure why. “I just got the feeling you might need a helping hand.”
I drive in the dark, state route flying by, dazed from just becoming homeless, and it seems like a miracle. Everything spills out, and it feels so damn good to have a listening ear. I tell him about Holly, about Cherry, about only having a backpack of shit in the passenger seat.
I’m taking a breath to start on Kyle and how much it fucking hurt when he just off and went to Lexington without saying goodbye when Brothers stops me.
“Come on over, Jen,” he says. “I’ll text you the address. I’m not letting anybody live on the street.”
I’m unsure how I feel about it, but I agree. He sends the address, and I turn the truck around to the other side of Lexington. When I roll up, I have to give my name to get through the black metal gates. Then, all the way down the drive, I’m just staring with my jaw slack. I knew Brothers was well off on account of owning racehorses, but he’s got a mansion.
The doors open. Brothers stands between them, a shadow in a golden glow. I park and get out.
“Come on in, Jen,” he says. “You had dinner yet?”
I climb the stairs, backpack on my shoulder. “No, but I’m fine.”
“Nonsense,” Brothers says.
We’re in a stately hallway leading to a spiral staircase. There are doors lining both sides looking into large, well furnished rooms, butit’s not that I’m staring at. It’s the woman standing at the bottom of the stairs in a short, silk dress that has me stunned.
I’m frozen.
“What’s Miss Holly doing here?” I whisper.
Brothers waves a hand like he’s shooing away a fly. “Oh, she works for me. How’d you think she could afford that house?”
Holly takes a step closer, like she’s going to touch me. Brothers slides right in between us.
“You’re dismissed,” he says firmly, giving her a cold stare.
She goes, like a dog with its tail between its legs. Before I can react, Brothers has me pulled into one of the rooms to my right. It’s a lounge with a big fireplace and leather chairs. He pours a bourbon and lights a cigarette, handing both to me.
“What’s going on?” I say.
