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Is there a father in the picture?
Or is she a single mother?
Or are these two women…?
My thoughts don’t go very far when the woman taps her foot on the ground. “Well, are you two planning to move in or something?”
I bristle at her rudeness and I’m about to say something when I see the bags under her eyes. She looks exhausted. “Must be some work thing,” I lie and look around the small apartment. It’s not in the best shape but it’s well maintained. My eyes fall on a pink and white uniform which looks familiar, but I can’t place it. “So, you and Kendall are roommates?” I prod, finding myself intrigued with the tired looking woman who looks like she wanted nothing more than to kick us all out.
“Yes,” her answer is abrupt and short.
But I am undeterred. “How long have you two known each other?”
“Long enough.”
She’s not easy, this one. I shuffle my feet. “Mind if I have some water?”
She studies me before her shoulders slump and she says, tiredly, “Sure.”
I follow her into the tiny kitchen and she opens the fridge to take out a bottle of water to pour into a glass. The fridge is practically empty, nothing but a stick of butter in it, and two eggs.
I don’t know why it reminds me of my childhood suddenly. More often than not, my mother would go to bed hungry, feeding me whatever was in the house. The memory is sharp and painful…I flinch as the memory washes over me.
I take the glass and sip the water in an attempt to hide the conflicted feelings warring inside of me. “I didn’t catch your name.” I finally say.
She lifts a brow at me. “I didn’t give it.”
Her rudeness should put me off but I see it as more of a defensive maneuver and I can’t find it in me to be offended.
It’s when I’m giving back the glass when her sleeve slips back and her thin wrist is revealed. The marks on her wrist are glaringly obvious and even as she hurries to cover them back up, I’ve already seen them.
“What is that?” Something cold slithers within me on seeing bruises that have no place on women, covering her right wrist.
“Nothing.” She sets down the glass and brushes past me.
I stare after her, torn and attracted. While at the same time, I’m unable to understand why those bruises on her wrist infuriate me so much when I don’t even know this woman.
2
Tracy Williams.
Finding out the name of Kendall’s roommate isn’t hard because contrary to my previous expectations, I really end up getting along with the woman Caleb is ensnaring. Kendall is funny and snarky.
I note that my friend ?the mostly silent Caleb who never shows his emotions? is completely smitten.
Plus, she’s into sports. When we’re in the car together while she’s doing errands for Caleb, we talk about our favorite teams. It’s not hard to coax her into divulging details about her friend who I haven’t seen since that last encounter.
“She usually works a true graveyard shift,” Kendall tells me as she studies the schedule in her lap. “They pay more if you work the late night hours.”
I frown, recalling the bruises on her arm. Judging from Kendall’s tone, she isn’t aware of them. “Isn’t that unsafe?” I ask her.
This has Kendall pausing before she continues, “She does what she can. But the minute she gets a catering gig, I’m telling you, Tracy will bring in the big bucks. Her food is to die for.”
Even as she praises her friend, I can sense the disquiet within Kendall.
I don’t have to ask her for the name of the place where Tracy works because I end up at a small diner, Al Caso, at three in the morning after a bout of insomnia drove me out of bed. There’s something about the quiet streets at night that really calms me down.
The diner is a roadside stop for truckers mostly, with a neon sign buzzing on top of the small building. When I walk in, hoping for some greasy snack, I see a familiar looking woman clad in a uniform, wiping down the counter.
