Page 7 of The Tattered Gloves
I generally didn’t get along with others, especially those my age. Even growing up in the crappy part of DC, where every kid in my grade had just as much baggage as me, I had still been referred to as theweird girlbecause I didn’t talk enough. Even kids in the hood had friends.
Except for me.
But talking and friendship didn’t solve anything.
It didn’t make the darkness go away.
STARING INTO THE wide bathroom mirror that was still covered in a fresh coat of steam from my shower, I brushed back my golden-blonde hair. It was the one physical trait I must have inherited from my father, something my mother hated to be reminded of. She was constantly dying her dark brown roots, trying to maintain that perky platinum-blonde persona she swore her clients preferred.
Honestly, I doubted they even noticed.
But it wasn’t something I was going to tell her.
The bright blue eyes though? Those, I got from her — or the family at least. My aunt sported the same blue irises as my mother and me, and I wondered who else on our side of the family had carried the trait.
Not that I’d ever find out.
The three of us were all that was left of the mighty Fairchild lineage.
I quickly finished braiding my wet hair to the side, not bothering with makeup. I never did. A dab of moisturizer and a change of clothes, and I was ready to go.
Not knowing exactly what my aunt was doing with the mystery man, I kept myself occupied in the craft room, as far away from the two of them as I could get. Finding a cozy chair, I curled up under a blanket and flipped through old craft magazines until it was time to go.
About an hour later, Addy came looking for me, still dressed in her tie-dye and overalls outfit, asking if I was ready to go.
“I guess,” I replied.
“Well, let’s go. Don’t want to be late. After we get you registered, we can go get a bite to eat for lunch, and I’ll show you around town.”
“Okay.”
I followed her out of the house, taking another look around. The washed-out plants I remembered from last night were suddenly bright with every color under the rainbow as they soaked up the last rays of the dwindling summer heat. Even the ninja gnome looked happier at his post in the middle of the garden, surveying his crop.
Everything was better in the daylight. Safer.
“So, do you know anything about Sugar Tree?” my aunt asked as she opened the driver’s door, not even bothering to unlock it.
If you left a car unlocked in my old neighborhood, you’d return to find nothing but an oil spot the next day. I resisted the urge to stand there, dumbfounded, at her abundance of trust, and instead, I followed her lead, opening the passenger door and climbing in.
“Um, no,” I answered.
As we pulled out of the dusty gravel driveway, I continued to peer around my new neighborhood with mild curiosity. Most of the other houses on the street were similar to my aunt’s. Small one-story brick ranchers. Nothing fancy, but everything was neat and tidy.
“This is the newer section of town.Newis a relative term here in Sugar Tree. These houses were built a few decades ago, but when you drive closer to the center of town, you won’t find a building that isn’t at least a hundred years old — with a few exceptions,” she said, shrugging. “We’re proud of our history.”
She’d saidweas if she were a native of this place. As if she’d sprung up out of the ground one day and put down roots in this pint-sized town in the middle of Virginia.
Maybe she’d found a way to forget her past, just like my mother.
“I’ve been trying to get ahold of one of these buildings down here for a while now,” she continued, pointing to the left. “I cut hair. I don’t know if I made that clear before. I mean, with the gentleman in the house.”
Her eyes briefly met mine, and I nodded.
She hadn’t, but I was glad she was doing so now.
“I have a salon out in the garage. Most of my clients come during normal business hours, but I sometimes stretch those hours to accommodate some of the neighbors. The man who came today lives down the street. He has two little boys and another on the way. He’s been working double shifts, trying to earn up a little extra before the next one arrives. So, I fit him in when he has time.”
A part of me was relieved.
