Page 100 of Pieces of Heaven


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“Hoyt told me to stay home today and lock things down. He won’t say why, but I’m locked and loaded and watching ‘Bossy Bear’ with the kids.”

Feeling a little better, I try to read a book. Though I consider calling my new friends to talk, I’ll likely panic if they sound nervous.

Outside the dark, silent shop, a car pulls into the gravel lot. I instantly duck behind the counter. There’s a knock at the door. Working up the courage, I finally peek around the corner to see someone stepping out of view.

As my heart races, I can barely breathe. I dig around in my purse for my pepper spray and get my phone ready to call for help.

“Xenia?” says a woman from the door before she knocks again.

Though the voice is familiar, I can’t place the owner. The woman says my name again, and I finally realize who is outside.

Moving slowly, I walk in disbelief toward Quana. My sister’s facing the road. I hear her talking to someone on her phone.

“She isn’t here. Her car is, but she isn’t answering. I don’t know what to do.”

Feeling like the air is too heavy to move, I struggle to lift my hand to unlock the door. Quana spins around and tells the person on the other line—likely her husband–how she’s found me. I stop gawking at my sister long enough to scan the road behind her.

“Come inside,” I say, reaching for her arm and tugging her forward so I can lock the door again.

Staring at my sister, I can’t think of anything to say. I get the urge to make her wait while I read her texts, so I’ll know what’s happening.

Quana looks upscale casual as usual. Her brown hair is tied back with a sterling silver barrette. Her shoes likely cost more than my monthly rent at Velma’s.

My sister can’t even go rustic without effortless style. I recall how she never liked getting sweaty, making her a bad fit for the kitchen grind. Where Quana excelled was in the front of the house management. She charmed our diners with her easy smile, bright blue eyes, winning personality, and impeccable style.

Right now, she seems overdressed for my little shop.

“Oh, my, God,” Quana mumbles as she steps closer. “Who hit you?”

Her words make no sense. I need a few seconds to even remember my bruised face. Velma’s broom feels like an eternity ago.

“I spoke to your landlady,” Quana explains when I remain silent while shuffling her away from the door. “Velma said you’re dating a biker. Did he do this to you?”

“No, she did.”

Quana’s blue eyes freeze, as she struggles to comprehend my words.

“Why are you here?” I ask before moving us further from the front door.

“Your recent messages seemed worrisome.”

“I sent you hearts and smiling faces.”

“Exactly. I got suspicious you were hiding something,” she says and then looks around my shop. I recoil at the harsh judgment in her eyes as she takes in the sight of my sad, little dream come true. “I was right to worry.”

“Velma hit me with a broom. I’m fine.”

“She said you’re living with bikers.”

“I don’t want you here.” I mutter, protective of my new life, yet worried about kicking my sister out into a town that might be in chaos.

Quana takes my hand and gives me her best “I really care about you” expression. “It’s a well-known trait for abusers to separate their victims from family and friends. It’s considered a clear sign of a bad man.”

“Tony had you move to New York,” I reply, winning a frown from my sister when I mention her pushy husband. “He didn’t mind separating you from family and friends.”

Waving off my comment, Quana exhales softly and regains her patience with her poor, misguided little sister.

“Come with me to New York. You can stay with us, or I’ll get you a place of your own. I would love to have you work at one of our restaurants. More than a few could use a great manager. Please, let me help you until you get back on your feet.”

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