Page 51 of The Right Woman

But I’m nothere.

Do I call the police?

Just thinking about that makes me want to vomit. Sure, my parents have been horrid, but they are still the ones who raised me. So I shouldn’t turn them in, right?

“Piper!”

My attention snaps back to reality as Shanna barks at me.

“What?”

“You remember you’re staying late today, right? I’m heading out.”

“Um, yes. Closing,” I hear myself say absently.

Visitors bring books to the front. The machine beeps. Hushed whispers float through the air. Book covers crinkle. My phone buzzes repeatedly. Somehow, it ends up being quitting time. I put on my jacket and step outside.

Am I falling into another hole? Go back to my place and hide?

Another vibration in my pocket makes me shake off the doldrums for a moment, but my heart sinks when I read how many missed calls from Adon I have. Oh…no.

Hurriedly, I press his number.

“Rosy…seriously. I stayed there for an hour. You never answered my calls or my texts.”

“Please don’t be mad. I forgot.”

He stays silent and guilt slams into my guts like a pallet of bricks.

“I-I’ll meet you at the address now! I swear!”

“Fine.”

It’s only two blocks over to the address Adon gave me, but by the time I arrive, I worry I’m at the wrong place. The glass front store has brown paper covering the windows and looks abandoned. Parts of the old sign are visible, but not readable, broken. Possibly, it was shattered at one time.

Just like me.

I don’t even hear him approach, but his irritation is palpable. “Why were you late?”

Tears line my lower lids as I glance up at him. “Oh, you know me.”

“Rosy…I wanted to give you a gift. And it doesn’t seem like you’re very into it.” One of his hands rubs against the side of his head as he sighs deeply. “Very into me.”

That just makes me burst out in pain. Sobs wrack my chest as I shake violently. He’s so wrong about that. But maybe it’s for the best.

Huge arms collapse around my chest as he carries me toward the annex that holds the front door, away from the people mulling along the street. He sets me on my feet to face him and lifts my chin up with a crooked finger underneath.

“You have to tell me. What’s going on? And I don’t want to hear about your day; I mean,who did this to you?”

My wails don’t stop, even as I huff out some explanation. “My parents. My sister. No one. Me. I did it to myself.”

From his back pocket, he produces his soft handkerchief and presses it to the flowing tears over my cheeks. His gesture gives me time to take a deep breath, but I can’t look into his eyes.

“What is this place?” I ask, hiccupping air.

“Let me show you,” he says, reaching around me to open the glass door. “Realtor left it open for us.”

Instantly, I sneeze at the dust that blows out to the street and the scent of mildew lurking inside. The dank and dark interior hasn’t seen a soul for years, I’d imagine. But it’s a little store. One with two glass counters, a space for a table or two, and a swinging door to a back area.

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