Page 4 of Mama Si's Paradise

“Yes,benefits,” said Annabelle, wiggling her brows. “Which is why it costs an arm and a leg to get in there. Which is why they pay really well.”

“So, go work there yourself,” I muttered, though it really did sound pretty good. I mean, it was housekeeping. I knew how to clean. I’d been cleaning after myself and my grandmother, and then Brandon, since I was like six years old.

“If I didn’t bust my ass for this fucking place, trust me, I would. But you know what else I heard?” She put her hands on the edge of the counter and leaned close to whisper. “Mama Si is an actual witch. She’s been in this town for hundreds of years and sheneverchanges. She can do some type of that voodoo shit that is as addictive as fucking heroin. Actualmagic.”

Her eyes were wide and her brows raised, her lips parted as she gave her words a second to sink in.

Then we both burst out laughing.

I did wonder about working at the brothel as I drank my martini, despite knowing better. I did wonder about Mama Si’s Paradise, the pink castle atop the cliff with trees and roses and golden gates—such a pretty fantasy. Eventually, the countertop began to look really comfortable. Maybe that’s why I’d leaned my head against it, had closed my eyes.Job, home, witch, magic, train money—those words spun around in my head like a tornado. I wanted to escape them so badly, and maybe that’s why I’d fallen asleep even though the radio was on and Annabelle was chatting up the other patrons constantly. I heard nothing at all.

Then…

“Wake up!”

My eyes popped open and I straightened up with a jolt, forgetting that I was sitting on a stool at a bar. A miracle I caught myself on the edge of it before I fell over.

Annabelle’s long face filled my vision. “This is on the house, and then you get the fuck out there and walk around for a bit.” She pushed the small cup of coffee toward me, still steaming.

My memory was hyperactive, and the alcohol in my system helped in making all the images coming in front of my eyes so damn vivid.

I wanted to argue.

I wanted to remind her that I had nowhere to go.

I wanted to tell her that I didn’t want to walk around for any amount of time ever.

Instead, I drank the shot of espresso she so kindly put in front of me, paid her for my drinks, left my bag with her to pick up later, and I got the hell out of her bar.

The countertop had been my bed for two whole hours, it seemed. I wasn’t even drunk anymore. My phone said it was almost three p.m. when I walked out into the street.

People all around me. It was mid-April still, but the weather was beautiful, the sky blue, the birds loud, the trees by the sides of the roads thriving. The world looked sohappy.I couldn’t fucking stand it—but what other choice did I have? Go back to my trailer park home, to my grandmother who’d told me in plain words that she hoped I died before her so that she never had to see me again, even by accident?

No.

Screw the train money that was burning my ass through the back pocket of my jeans. I wasn’t going home. I was going to get my first job by the end of this day instead.

Two

A million thoughtshaunted me like ghosts of the past floating all around me, blurring the view of my surroundings as I walked. As if they didn’t want me to see where I was going on purpose.

That train ride back home was sounding better by the minute.

The moans of that woman whose face I hadn’t even seen, being fucked bymyboyfriend inmybed—and then she kicked me out of my goddamn apartment, too.She doesn’t want you here.

I laughed in the middle of the street—and so what? At least I was still standing. I had yet to give up. I was moving.

Probably because I was so pissed, which was understandable. But…that’s it.

I was not heartbroken. I did not miss Brandon. I did not think my life was over because I wasn’t with him anymore. I did not care that I was never going to kiss him or touch him or lay with him again.

On the contrary. I was relieved.

Relieved—which was not what I was supposed to feel, was it?

“Does it matter?” I asked myself out loud.

It really didn’t. I’d basically knocked on the door of every business for the past couple hours, and the best I had was a restaurant at the edge of town that only paid per table,and the grocery store—the same one I was on my way to this morning when I forgot my wallet. They wanted me in the back handling the storage room with Jamison the manager,who made it so painfully clear thatfavorswould be required of me during working hours and sometimes after because—and I quote—“the market is tough out there. One must do anything they can to keep their position, if you know what I mean, he-he-he.”

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