Page 4 of Shooting his Shot

"Miss Burton?" the person called my name.

"Hmm." I cleared my throat. "Uh, yes. I'm here. What?"

I felt a headache brewing, trying to get control of the emotions that were trying to come forth. To know that the woman who gave birth to me had died, I didn't know how to feel. I had never dealt with her since I was ten years old. I hated her ever since she didn't fight for me to stay with her.

The woman started talking, but I tuned her out, not knowing how to deal with the information she gave me.

"Okay, I'll be in touch. Goodbye." I hung up the phone, not wanting to talk about the lady any longer.

I wiped at a tear that slid down my face. Why should I even cry over a woman who wasn't there for me at all in my life? At ten years old, my mother let police officers drag me away from her while she smoked a cigarette without a care in the world. My mother had always been sick since I was growing up, but she kept smoking, getting worse and worse. She was unable to work because nobody wanted a sick person working for them. To me, she did the best she could. Although we were on welfare, she was getting a check every month to keep a roof over our heads. I loved my mother for that, even when she was hard on me. She was unable to get me nice clothes because we couldn't afford them. Some days, she was unable to do my hair because she was too tired or sick to care for me.

I went to school dressed like a bum every day, but it didn't faze me because I knew my mother did the best she could for me as a single parent. I had no clue as to who my father was.

Along the way, I found out my mother couldn't care for me because she was too sick and had given up. She called the law herself. At the age of eighteen, I went to see her. The lady looked me straight in my eyes and told me that I wasn't her daughter and that her daughter had died at the age of ten years old. That was the age she gave me up. That was when I lost all respect for her and told her to go to hell.

I was willing to give our relationship a chance, but she blew that when she said that to me. I was done. Since then, I have blocked her out of my life, not wanting anything to do with her. She hadn't reached out to me, and I didn't reach out to her. That was the end of it.

"Now she's dead,and they expect me to do something I don't want to. Why should I? Didn't she say that her daughter was dead?" I ranted to my foster sister, Laisley. She was also my therapist. She was the person I ran to when I had problems going on in my life. Laisley helped keep my head on straight.

I showed up at Laisley's house a mess, unable to think straight. It was a good thing she wasn't busy or had a man over 'cause my sister kept a man in her life.

We sat in the kitchen at the table, drinking a mug of coffee.

When her parents adopted me, I didn't think it would work out. I kept to myself and didn't want to be bothered. I heard awful stories about how foster fathers raped their adopted children. That didn't happen to me. I loved my foster father and still did. Jenna and Dan Green were the best people who haveever happened to me. While in the group home, they would say nobody would adopt me since I was too old. Nobody wanted a child who was already headed to middle school. Still, I prayed every night and was blessed with a family who loved me.

I gave them hell with my nightmares, but they were able to get me help. That was what I needed. I had to take medication to keep the nightmares away. Sometimes it worked, and other times it didn't.

Laisley and I didn't hit it off right away. I was a mean bitch to her for no reason when all she wanted me to do was open up to her. When I moved into her parents' home, Laisley was seventeen years old, in her last year of high school. She was their only child, too, but if you put Laisley and me together in the same room, we could be real sisters.

Laisley was a therapist who dealt with family trauma. She was the best in her field, and I always recommended her to the families I worked with. I was a social worker who worked with kids whose parents abused them. They were sent to the group home, where I worked part-time. It was part of my job. I enjoyed what I did, and I always tried to help families as best I could, especially kids whose parents had abandoned them, as mine had abandoned me.

"What do you want to do, Vani? That's something you have to ask yourself. I can't give that answer to you." Lailey reached across the kitchen table to grip my hand in hers.

I dropped my head as tears welled in my eyes. "I don't want to help with anything. What they do with the body is their business. I shouldn't help with anything."

She nodded. "And you shouldn't. If you had to ask Mom or Dad, they would have made you do it." She gave me a small smile.

"That's why I didn't go to them. I came straight here because I knew you would be on my side."

She squeezed my hand. "I am always on your side, Vani. Now that you know what you're going to do, what will you do about the house? That's yours, by the way."

I groaned. "I haven't figured that out yet. A part of me just wants to sell it, but another part wants to fix it. I could rent it out."

"That's an excellent idea. You should go that route. You'll always keep money in your pocket that way."

I snickered. "Whatever. I'm going to keep money in my pocket, regardless."

Lailey cackled, removing her hand from mine to reach for her coffee mug. "A few of my girlfriends and I are going out tonight. Do you want to go?"

I screwed my face up. "No. Y'all are going to find the next man to sleep with, and I don't need that in my life."

She quickly nodded. "Yes, you do. When was the last time you had sex, anyway? It's been some years. You need to get back out there."

I denied it. "No, I don't. Men only think about themselves, and I don't want anyone walking out on me. I am good."

She sighed. "I am not going to grace that with a response. You already know what I'm going to say."

I chuckled. "Yeah, just keep that to yourself." I reached for my coffee and took a sip. It was starting to get cold.

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