Page 3 of The Tattered Gloves
I was pretty sure I was the only one.
She waved back, once again giving that smile that set me on edge. It was too familiar. Everything about her was too familiar.
“Call me Addy,” she said, her voice smooth like silk.
My mother’s voice was rough from years of smoke. Addington’s — or Addy’s rather — was different.
Different was good.
“Why don’t we get your things into the car?” she offered in that velvety voice once more.
I gave her a long, hard stare before looking down at the modest bag of belongings I’d brought with me.
Finally, I nodded.
I didn’t trust her.
I didn’t trust anyone anymore.
But I guessed a woman who looked like my mom but didn’t sound like her was a better alternative than sleeping on a bench in the pouring rain.
“I’M SORRY I wasn’t there to pick you up, Willow,” Addy said as the car traveled down the darkened road.
I held my hands tightly together before wrapping my arms around my waist as I tried not to reach up and flip on the interior light.
It’s too dark.
I could feel sweat beginning to bead around my temples, mixing with the leftover rainwater. Both trickled down my face as I stared into the lights of the oncoming traffic.
If I were in the city, it would be bright.
Even at night.
The sky would be alight from buildings, cars, and stoplights. The city never slept.
Out here, in the country — or what I considered the country — the only light in the sky was from stars. For most, it would be a welcome sight.
But, for me, it was just darkness.
And hell.
My mind began to backtrack. Back to that night… back to that room.
“She didn’t tell me what time to pick you up,” my aunt chimed in again.
I thought she was trying to apologize, but I couldn’t seem to pay attention. Not when the black of night was closing in on me.
Finally, we pulled into a driveway, and she pushed the car into park. The overhead lights came on, and I exhaled, relaxing, before the breath returned to my lungs, and the memories faded.
“It’s okay,” I finally responded. “It’s not the first time she’s forgotten about me.”
And it certainly wouldn’t be the last.
Addy offered to help me with my soggy bag of clothes, but I declined, grabbing it out of the back of her rusty hatchback. Looking around, I noticed she lived in a small, well lit neighborhood. It appeared dated but well kept, nothing like the filthy apartment building I’d come from.
Following her toward the front door, I took note of the many plants and shrubberies that lined the walkway. There was even one of those dumb little gnomes you would see on TV. Hers was dressed like a ninja, making it hard to see in the dim light, but the pointy little hat was hard to miss.
I waited for her to unlock the front door, taking my time to absorb every little detail — from the hand-painted single initialFon the door to the tidy doormat that matched the season.
