Chapter 5
Nikki
There’s something about the end of the week that makes me feel a little lighter.
Whether it’s because I don’t work weekends and can now stay at home with James, in our own cottage in the middle of nowhere, just doing our own thing, away from prying eyes.
Or whether it’s because James and I get to explore the forest, learning about the animals, digging around in the garden, or just keeping things simple. Probably both.
“Nikki, take the leftover lasagna from today.” Rochelle’s already walking toward me with the plastic container holding almost a week's worth of food.
“Rochelle!” I rear back, surprised. She does this sometimes.
I’ve never spoken to her about our circumstances.
I’ve never asked for food or help from anyone.
Even though I probably should at this point.
Dad froze all my trust funds, and I’m almost out of the money I saved for our escape, which means I’m barely keeping James and me fed.
But when my family has so much money that they could feed a small country, I feel conflicted, almost shameful.
Call it women's intuition, but Rochelle seems to know things aren’t normal with James and me. Hell, most of the town thinks he’s my son. Given I’m only twenty-three and he’s ten, I would’ve been way too young to have a baby. It happens. It’s not impossible, but it isn’t my story.
“It’s going into the bin unless you take it.
” She shoves the container in my hand and walks away before I can say another word.
Tears sting my eyes. Sure, I made some good tips this week, and certainly Sutton’s hundred dollars put us in a good position to buy some food and things we need that we haven’t had for a while.
But this container will feed us for days.
“Yum, I love her lasagna,” James whispers, and I can almost see the drool running down his chin. I give him a close-lipped smile, resigned to accept the food. For him. Everything I do is for him.
“Let’s go. My feet are killing me, so it’s going to take forever to walk home tonight.” We grab our things and walk out the back. We’re both tired, after a big day for him at school and work for me even longer.
“We need to start on my school project this weekend,” James reminds me as we step out the back door of Delish, beginning the walk home.
Just under two miles away sits our small run-down cottage, the one I use most of my saved cash for every month and silently thank fate for spotting on the Whispers community noticeboard, the moment the owner put up the small ad.
“What’s it on again?” I throw my bag over my shoulder, then help him with his heavy backpack.
He’s diligent and his dedication to his schoolwork is unrivaled.
Like me, we’re both studious. It was ingrained in us both from a young age.
While Mom was a little more free-flowing, Dad was strict.
Mom had us outside in the garden, learning by doing.
Dad buried our heads in books, having had us pegged for positions in his oil company since birth.
He made it clear to us how important grades were, that we needed to be successful to work at the firm, and luckily, it’s an area that James and I both succeed in.
Yet the vision our father had for us, it’s not the vision we want for ourselves.
“I need to do a biography on a well-known person.”
“Who did you choose?” My lips purse as I try to think what person a ten-year-old should base their project on.
“I haven’t decided. But I need to research.”
“We can walk to the library tomorrow; it’s open in the morning.
” It’s another long walk back to town, but we don’t have internet at home and my cell phone is an old one that barely works.
I can’t risk anyone tracking us digitally or finding us in any way, so whenever I need to do any online searching, I do it at the library.
“Hey!” There’s a shout from behind us, and I swivel around quickly. I spot the group of men who come into the diner a few times per month. The ones who are usually rude, who offer me unwelcome advances and are generally just horrible.
“Can I help you?” My diner manners are hard to ignore as I shuffle James behind me. It’s comical; at ten, he’s almost as tall as I am.
“What you got there.” One of them nods to my bag.
“Nothing.” I frown, wondering what they want.
“I’ll be the judge.” His hand whips forward so quickly I almost miss it.
“Hey!” I shout as he pulls my bag from my arm, and I grip on to it just as tight. But with the container of food in one hand, I’m left outmuscled.
“Give it up, darlin’. I saw the tip you got today.”
I grit my teeth. Nothing good comes from money. Everything bad has happened in my life because of it.
“Let go!” I feel James edge away from me and back toward the door of the diner, I assume to get help. My heart pounds powerfully, stomach twisting at what these men might do.
“Not so quick, little guy.” One of the other men grabs James around the upper arms, holding him still, and that’s when I release my grip.
My handbag is now being rifled through, and I turn and grab James, ripping him from the guy’s arms as they swarm my bag like a pack of seagulls after a hot fry at the beach. Seems like I’m not the only one around here in need of cash.
“Give it back,” I bite out but give them space.
I have no idea what they’re capable of, and here, in the small private parking lot behind the diner, no one can hear us.
The only things here are the large garbage bins and now my bag strewn all over the ground.
They pay me little attention as they throw my sweater to the side, then my small makeup case that holds my lip gloss and tampons scatters.
My little notepad and pen go flying. I pass James the container of food.
If everything else goes, at least we can still eat for the week.
“I said, give it back!” I step toward them as I yell, not liking the way they’re throwing my things around. I have no idea where my confidence comes from, but my anger at this situation is taking over my nerves.
“Shut it!” a guy barks back before his fist flies and connects with my cheek. I stumble, almost falling, but James balances me. It’s hard enough to leave me shocked, my cheek throbbing and my hair clip dropping from my hair.
“Nikki!” James gasps as I lean on him, my ears ringing.
I’ve never been hit before. There were plenty of threats, hard grabs, pushes, my stepmother Maribel has slapped me a few times, but I’ve never had a fist to my face.
With my head pounding and the taste of blood in my mouth, I can now tick that off my list.
“Now shut up!” The guy stomps his foot, and I feel my world turn.
Because underneath his boot is my hair clip.
The one my mother gave me when I was a child, the one thing that I took with me when we ran.
It’s the last reminder I have of her, and while the guys continue to rifle through my bag, my heart shatters.
“No!” I cry, my voice weak, my eyes glued to the ground. The clip is broken in three places, the sparkling rhinestones glittering among the gravel.
“Shit, why’d you hit her, man?” one of the crew says, stepping away from my bag like he doesn’t want anything to do with it anymore as I clutch my face, the pain exploding in my cheek.
“Got it.” Another one pulls the small wad of cash from my bag, throwing everything else on the ground. All my tips from today. The money that needs to see James and me through most of the week with food, supplies, rent, and bills.
“Thanks, beautiful.” He gives me a wink before they walk off without a care in the world.
“Nikki!” James looks at me with wide, teary eyes, and I take in a breath. I feel my cheek burning up, so I wiggle my jaw back and forth. It’s throbbing but not broken.
“I’m okay. It’ll just be sore for a few days.”
“You sure?” James doesn’t look convinced, so I give him a small smile, one I regret immediately as the throbbing pulses through my cheek, up to my eye.
“I’m sure. Come on, let’s get home.” Bending over, I grab my things, shoving them back into my bag, trying my best not to cry. I can’t. I need to be strong. I need to keep it together for James.
“But they broke your clip… the one from Mom.” He picks up the pieces, one by one.
It was a jeweled clip that had hand-painted bees on it.
Mom used to say she was the big one and the other two were James and me.
It was because she loved gardening and said that a garden without bees is like a song without a melody; let them hum, and the earth will thrive.
She’s where I got my love for the environment and passion for sustainability.
Passing the broken glass and jewels to me, I wrap them in a tissue and pocket it.
The shattered pieces reflect my shattered heart. It’s only a clip. But it was her clip.
“Who were they?” He looks over his shoulder, watching them all get in a truck.
My eyes canvass the area to see if anyone nearby saw what happened.
But it’s empty, as I expected. No one besides Rochelle, Sutton, and I come through the back way, and now only James and I stand here.
I should take us into the diner. Get some ice.
Ensure James is all okay. But I don’t want to bring that issue to Rochelle.
She does so much for us already; she doesn’t need to know that I’ve had an altercation with some of her customers.
“Just some guys. Let’s try to stay clear of them from now on.” With my bag now recovered, we begin to walk.
“What are we going to do?” James’ voice is quiet, but I hear the fear. The uncertainty.
Once Mom died, our family died too. Dad threw himself into work, was barely home.
So my brother and I grieved together. But soon after, Dad met Maribel, and things changed.
While I was away at college, James’ life spiraled, and our father was too busy to notice.
Now, as we disappear into the background, his young, beautiful wife, who’s also the devil in disguise, is celebrating our absence.
“We’ll do what we always do. We carry on.”
He looks up at me and smiles, but that drops immediately as he says, “You’re going to have a black eye tomorrow.” He’s right. And we don’t have an ice pack or anything. When I get home, I’ll have to dunk my head in some cold water for a while, because I already feel it swelling.
“Yeah, well, I never said running away was going to be easy.” The words are more for my benefit than James’.
“It’s already better than what it was,” he adds. Maribel was awful to us both, but James took the brunt of it. While I know Dad is canvassing the countryside looking for us, he’s blind to the fact that his new wife is the entire reason we’re running in the first place.
Whispers is better, by a long shot.