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At this point in the interview, Hollie Berry removed her microphone. So while we can’t know exactly what she said to Mr. Tucker as a parting shot, the middle finger salute she gave him as she stormed off stage was pretty clear.
CHAPTER1
Promise
Laughing, I turn the television off and holler. “It’s time to go, Justin! You’re going to be late for school.”
He darts around the corner, skidding into a wall as he tugs on his shoes and coat at almost the same time. “I’m coming, Mom!”
I sigh and hold my hands up, bracing him so he doesn’t fall to the ground. “What were you doing? Playing one of those silly games and you lost track of time?”
He flushes and his big, brown eyes drop to the floor. “I’m sorry, Mom. I know I’m not supposed to play before school.”
It takes everything in me not to reach out and hug him. But instead I step back and cross my arms over my chest. “And why don’t we play games before school, kiddo?”
He rolls his eyes. “Because then I’m always late and lose track of time,” he mutters, his lower lip pushing out.
“Exactly. Now hurry up and get your things. We are going to be so late.”
Justin grabs his backpack from the couch and slings it over his shoulder. “Let’s go. I’ve got a test today and I can’t be late for first period.”
“What!” I shriek, grabbing my keys and pushing him out the door. “Why didn’t you tell me you needed to be early?”
His auburn brow lifts and he eyes me like I’ve lost my mind. “I don’t need to be early. I just need to be on time.”
“Being early is being on time,” I growl, frustrated when we get in the car and I hear a click when the key’s turned. Just a damn click.
I know that there’s something going on with the car and that I’m running out of time to get it fixed before I’m stranded on the side of the road somewhere, but I just don’t have the money right now.
Justin’s father is a deadbeat that’s never paid a dime for his son. He pretty much just upped and disappeared after our divorce. I have no idea where he is and according to the courts, he’s contested the minimum child support he was ordered to pay and until they take him back to court when they find him again, since he keeps disappearing, I’m pretty much up shit creek for help.
That’s why this promotion is so important. I need that money to take care of my baby and all the little things that life keeps throwing at me.
Once again, I turn the key and breathe out a grateful sigh when it finally starts.
Backing out of the drive, I keep the accelerator at a careful rate of speed even though I want to zip through this morning commute at about a million miles per hour.
Fifteen minutes later, I huff out a breath, my deep red hair fluffing up. Justin waves to me as he hits the school door and I groan, turning the car around.
I’m going to be lucky if I’m not late for work and that would be a disaster since I’m up for that promotion. There are a lot of other people up for it too and being late for work doesn’t look good when you want to impress the boss.
The stop and go traffic on the highway has me gritting my teeth and swearing under my breath, my fingernails digging into the steering wheel.
“Son of a ….biscuit eater. Gosh darn it!” I’m trying to cut down on my swearing and most of it seems to come from my morning commute. And afternoon commute. Or pretty much every time I’m in my car.
I turn on the radio and find nothing but Christmas songs. “I really don’t want to Rock Around the Christmas Tree right now,” I growl under my breath, my patience wearing thin as yet another car pushes its way in front of me.
Then I feel the car jerk and sputter. My eyes widen and I grimace. “No, no, no! Not now dammit!”
But I start to move to the side of the road as I feel it jerk again and the engine groans. “Oh, this is so not good!”
I manage to move to the side of the highway right before the damn car gives up the proverbial holiday ghost.
I smack the steering wheel. “Shit, shit, double shit!” I lean my head on the damn steering wheel and pray, turning off the engine and then trying to turn the key again. Nothing. Not even a tiny sputter.
I grab my phone and tears of frustration hit my eyes when I realize I forgot to charge it last night. It’s just barely hanging on by one thin thread so I have to make my call count.
I dial the office and when the receptionist picks up, I start a verbal barrage that I hope she can follow. “Misty, hey! I’m stuck on the side of the road and my phone is about to die. My car already did. Can you call me an Uber for out on Highway 101, just past the Martin Road exit?”
