Page 79 of Jig's Last Dance

They were going to a party, which means Mom was probably wearing one of her little black dresses. Those she proclaimed perfect for hiding the baby belly she never could shed. Dad always wore a black suit with a black tie, and he looked so handsome.

Running my hand over the dresser, I stare at the layer of dust on my finger before wiping it on my jeans. The drawers in the single dresser contain nothing but clothes, and I bite back tears at the reminder that they’ll never need them again.

In the bottom drawer, I find a ring box and open it, expecting to find Mom’s wedding set, a gold band and matching solitaire diamond. But this ring has three round diamonds on a thick silver band. I don’t think I ever saw her wear it, but maybe it was one of those things I overlooked because I was so caught up in my world.

Sliding the ring on my finger, I step around to the closet and open the doors wide. Inside is the last of their things, hanging in neat rows: Mom’s sweaters and jeans, more of Dad’s black suits.

Boxes line the ceiling, and one by one, I pull them down, sifting through paperwork, old pictures, and mementos. Dad was always super organized when it came to official documents and it doesn’t surprise me to find them neatly tucked into folders, appropriately named by the company.

Setting those aside, I dig into a stack of Mom’s memorabilia, smiling at the trinkets she kept from her younger years. Old school pictures, trophies from dance, a few theater tickets.

Shuffling through the items, I pause on a picture of Mom with Uncle Sal. It’s yellowed with age and crinkling at the corners. He has his hand wrapped around her waist, and he’s staring at the camera with a charming grin. Beside him, Mom’s smiling wide, wearing a pretty rose-colored dress. With a frown, I examine it more closely, noting the curl of his palm around her skin and the way her body is turned to him.

Did she date Uncle Sal? When?

Rubbing my numb fingers down my jeans, I rise on stiff joints and leave without looking back.

∞∞∞

On my third day of avoiding everyone, I skid to a stop when I find Iris waiting for me out front of the school. She’s leaning against a light-colored sedan, chewing on gum as she surveys the students around her.

They give her a wide berth, which doesn’t bother her in the slightest, and I grimace when she waves at Janet Poppergamit with a wicked grin. Janet shrinks away, and Iris rolls her eyes before turning to me.

Her smile fades. She opens the passenger door before stepping around to the driver’s side. With a sick sensation in my stomach, I sit in the passenger seat and watch the school fade in the distance as Iris drives away.

Absently, I wonder if she’s high and safe to drive before shrugging it off. What does it matter? Maybe death is preferable to this shit?

After a few blocks, she pulls to the side of the road, puts the car in park, and turns to me.

Her blank stare makes me cringe, and I shift uneasily before saying, “Well?”

“You think you can threaten my cousin and get away with it?” she asks, raising a brow.

“Your cousin?” I grumble.

“Yes, bitch. They’re all one big happy family,” she says sourly.

“Whatever. You’re dating the dick who plans to take her down,” I say.

She swings her fist so fast I have no time to react, and my head smacks against the window. Covering my aching cheek, I mumble, “Bitch.”

With a smile, she leans against the door and surveys me. For being a thin, skinny little thing, she sure does pack a mean punch.

“Look,” I say, “I’m just trying to play the game until I can get myself out of this mess. You’re the one who said Jig stole the keys. Thanks for that.”

I smile with all my teeth, and she cocks her head to the side, her eyes shrewd, before she says, “There is no way out. You’re stuck. Now you have to decide whose side you’re on. And you can thank John for whatever I said. His word is my law.”

“I just want out,” I say, dropping my head.

“Don’t be stupid. This is the life. We’re all fucking stuck. Now, John wants to know when you’re going to the cabin.”

“I haven’t decided,” I say because, truthfully, I was hoping the subject would fade away.

“Well, he says this weekend.”

“What? No way! Why?”

“He has stuff for Castinetti. You’re his little grunt. Now act like it.”

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