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I cut in, “I don't. I’m going to find Rhiannon,” I taunt him.
Let him try to stop me. But he does. He not only stops me, he destroys me with his words. He tells me things with a meaning that cuts like a double-edged sword and I can barely hear him over the rain chilling my bones. The thud of dirt hits the casket, and I glance to Rhiannon who shares an umbrella with her mother as they race to the car.
“I don’t believe you,” I say.
“I understand what you must be feeling.”
“You don’t understand shit.” And he doesn’t.
My head spins, and I fight back the urge to smash his head in with the shovel covering my mother with the vile ground he stands on. I stalk away, confused and angry.
Death changes people. Who I was before died along with my mother that night.
A few weeks after the funeral, I pack my mother’s belongings, taking one last look around. I will never forget this place, or the lesson learned here, but now it’s time to move on.
With a life insurance check from the lawyers, access to a hidden account of my mother’s, and a new mission in my heart, I step outside and throw the box in my old pickup.
Time to leave the garden of evil and look for my own forest to claim.
Chapter 7
Rhiannon
2 Years Later
19 years old
“These are genius,” Delilah, the manager ofWorldly Gifts, the gift shop in my father’s luxury hotel, coos.
“I'm just going to slip a few in the inventory.” Her honey-colored eyes fill with skepticism at my bold attempt to sneak something past my father, so I continue with Operation Get Delilah Onboard. “You do the ordering,” I remind her. “He’ll never know.”
I need her to agree. This is the perfect place to test out my brand of greeting cards. The fact he won't know I’m using his store to make my own money is even better. And I'm not too worried he’ll find out, because in the year I've worked here, not once has he deigned us with his presence. Even though I've spotted him frequently having lunch meetings or cocktails in the hotel restaurant with all the important people he owns. He should set up another gift shop with all the Mafia must-haves. Need a police chief to hide illegal activity? Five thousand dollars. Politician? Bargain priced at ten thousand dollars.
It's excruciating waiting for her go ahead, and just when I’m ready to beg, she looks up at me and a conspiratorial grin lifts her glossy red lips. “Let's do it.”
If I was a squeer, I would squee. Long and loud. Instead, I pull her in for the hug of all hugs and thank her for her loyalty with a kiss on the cheek. Someone like Delilah isn't easy to find, since most people are terrified of my father. I grab a smooth silver rack from under the counter and slide it next to the register. In a few minutes, I have my very own display ofInscription Prescription Rxgreeting cards.
“I'll take this one,” she says, plucking one with colorful lollipops that reads ‘thanks for not sucking’ inside.
“It's free,” I tell her. I'll never be able to repay the debt I owe to this tiny woman with pink-tipped hair.
“No way,” she argues, pulling her handbag out from under the counter. “Honey, it's time you do something for yourself.” She slides a five dollar bill on the register. “And now, it's time for me to go to lunch. Keep track of your money,” she calls out over her shoulder. “I'll be back in an hour.”
After she's gone, I walk to different spots in the swanky rectangular store checking out my cards. They look great from every angle, if I do say so myself.
It's a little bittersweet seeing the whimsical drawings designed to make someone smile since the driving motivation behind them was utter sadness. Sadness over Hannah. Sadness over Xavier leaving with no warning two weeks later. I lost the two most important people in my life, back-to-back. I have no idea why he left or where he went but, part of me, after all this time, still clings to the hope he's going to contact me.
“Hey, Princess.” I look over to see Ian, looking very yacht club in his khaki pants and thin black sweater, striding into the store as only someone who thinks the world revolves around them can. “How does it feel to be out of the tower?”
“Hey, Casper,” I say back, finally dubbing him with the name I've always wanted to. He's too pale—too much of an asshole. His helmet of blonde hair gleams under the lighting as he approaches.
“Being out of captivity agrees with you,” he says, openly leering at me like I’m a plate of beef carpaccio he scarfs down every time my father has him over for dinner.
“Wish I could say the same,” I mutter under my breath.
The future politician that he is, he lets my barbs fly past with a practiced smile that I imagine will be used many times on his campaign trail. A campaign trail that will be privately funded in part by my father. God Bless America.
“Let's get together and talk about the future,” he suggests, like he's being recorded for a sound bite.
