Page 16 of The Tattered Gloves
“Allison?” she asked, searching for a last name.
“I don’t know. She gave me a last name, but I don’t remember it. She has blonde hair.”
She seemed to deflate a little at the lack of information I was giving, clearly hoping for more. Her shoulders sagged as she turned to finish up the fixings for our tacos, and I knew I should have said something.
Anything to cheer her up.
But what could I say?
That the kids had wanted to know why I wore thick winter gloves all day long?
Rumors were probably already floating around that I had some horrible disease or disfigurement.
And, rather than answering them or sticking up for myself, I’d just scurried off because, if I told anyone the real reason I wore them, I’d finally have that label everyone was dying to put on me.
Coward.
“YOUR MOTHER DOES know what size you wear, doesn’t she?” Addy asked the next morning as I walked out of the bathroom, showered and dressed for school.
Looking down at another version of the black long-sleeved shirt I’d worn the day before, I shook my head. “No,” I answered. “This is hers. Most of my clothes are. She always just gave me what she didn’t want anymore.”
Her eyes widened and then softened.
“Well, I meant what I said. I’m taking you into town this weekend. You’re too tiny to be wearing your mom’s hand-me-downs. She’s got to be at least two sizes bigger than you.”
Four sizes, but who is counting?
“Maybe, if I keep feeding you like this, you’ll actually grow some meat on those bones of yours,” she suggested, her keen eyes still fixated on my body.
It made me suddenly aware of the way my jeans felt so loose around my hips… how easily they fell from my body.
“You and me… we’re the same.”
The memory ofhisvoice cut through my mind like a razor blade, and I instantly stiffened.
“Willow? You okay?” Addy noticed my change in mood almost instantly. She moved to my aid but stopped herself before her hand reached my shoulder. “Whatever is going through your mind right now, it will fade.”
“It won’t,” I said through clenched teeth. “It will never fade.”
“It will. Maybe not today or tomorrow, not even next year… but with time, it will fade. And it will heal.”
“You don’t know. You can’t—”
“Trust me,” was all she said before turning toward the door.
I watched her walk out, leaving the door open for me, and I wondered,Who is this mysterious aunt I am living with?
“IT’S THE PERFECT solution,” Addy said over dinner that night.
I’d just sat down in front of a large plate of homemade spaghetti and salad, my mouth nearly dripping with saliva over the aroma, when she’d hit me up with this ridiculous idea.
“A job?” I said, looking up at her with a mixture of distrust and confusion.
With a glance at the table full of food, my gut was churning — but for another reason entirely.
Guilt.
“If it’s a matter of money, I can eat less, and I don’t really need any new clothes. What I have here is fine.”
