Page 32 of Cruel Fate

There’s no other way to say what we mean—Zane announcing he’s ready to step into his father’s position at Maddox Industries. It doesn’t seem like a thing to need a party, but I have no idea how rich people operate. All I know is they look for any excuse to show off to each other how much money they have. A waste, if you ask me, but nobody is.

I can’t put off a meeting with her, but I told Maryanne I would stop by her house tonight. I ask Zarah if tomorrow is okay, and she sends me a thumbs up and a blowing kiss emoji. She doesn’t say what she has planned for her evening, and because no doubt it has something to do with Ash, I don’t ask.

I stop home first and change. My ass still tingles where Zane fingered me. I liked it or I wouldn’t have let him do it, but I don’t want to go further than that. I appreciate the condom he usedwithout complaint, and if he wants to start a sexual relationship, maybe I should go on the pill.

Should I ask him? That might sound too presumptuous. Now that I know he feels something for me, an occasional lunchtime quickie is fine and I don’t mind, but eventually I’m going to want to make love in a bed. Underneath his grief, Zane is a gentleman, and he will too, but who knows when he’ll have time for that.

Maryanne didn’t mention dinner, but she’ll want to feed me. She always does. We don’t talk a lot, but we chat more than I thought we would when I moved out of her house. I didn’t have to move—she invited me to stay while I took classes at the community college—but I know she couldn’t spare the room. Helping teen girls is important to her, and because of her guidance and support, I was ready to go out on my own.

I would never begrudge another teen the help Maryanne gave me.

She lives outside the city, and I ride the train and two buses to reach a stop that drops me off close enough to walk the rest of the way. I’ve never owned a car, and I can’t afford the expenses owning a vehicle entails. My new position as Zane’s executive assistant might give me access to a car service or a transportation allowance. That would be nice on afternoons like this.

Her house is a butter yellow ranch style that sits at the end of the block on a half acre of grass. Moving into the city was a shock to my system after having so much space, but I needed to live closer to school and job opportunities. I miss living in a house every time I visit Maryanne, but I dive back into the hustle and bustle of the city and the longing eventually fades.

Her minivan is parked in the driveway, and her living room curtains twitch as I walk up to the door.

Instead of just walking in, I ring the doorbell, and a pang hits my heart as it always does, but then Maryanne is there, all skirtand t-shirt and jingly earrings. She’s not a hippie exactly, but her free spirit loosened me up from a somber child to a young woman who could find joy in life despite the obstacles.

“Stella,” she breathes into my hair as she hugs me.

“Hi, Maryanne.” I happily return her embrace. She smells of barbecue smoke and immediately, I know she’s grilling hotdogs and burgers. It’s my favorite meal because she makes her homemade potato salad, a pitcher of her secret-recipe strawberry lemonade, and she always keeps my favorite chips in the pantry.

“You look nice,” she says, ushering me into the house. Netflix is streaming on the old television, and a girl, maybe fourteen, sits on the sofa simultaneously watching a popular TV show and doing homework. Maryanne would never have allowed me to do that, and she knows it.

“Bethany’s a straight A student. As long as she keeps it up, I don’t mind.”

“Hi, Bethany,” I say, holding out my hand. “I’m Stella.”

“You’re Zane Maddox’s girlfriend,” she says, ignoring my hand and sizing me up.

Wearing old jeans, a light blue scooped-neck sweater that probably belonged to five other people first, and a fawn-colored faux leather jacket that would make Zarah wrinkle her nose, I don’t look good enough to be labeled that, and even though his cock was inside me only six hours ago, I don’t feel worthy of the title, either. I drop my hand.

Maryanne laughs. “There’s plenty of time to gossip. It’s a lesson that nothing is out of reach.” She winks at me.

Unimpressed, Bethany looks away.

I can’t blame her. She’s in the foster care system. Who knows what her life was like before she ended up here.

The only foster mother who showed me any kind of love leads me into the familiar kitchen and gestures for me to sit atthe table. It seats eight and a doily runner lays down the center, autumn-scented candles sitting on top of it. Maryanne once said the table is a family heirloom, and it made me sad. I won’t have anything from my parents to pass down to my children. If I have any. I’ll be starting from scratch.

Maryanne has two children who rarely speak to her. They can’t understand her need to help girls like me. As the years pass, she says her foster girls are her daughters, though her smile always seems forced as she says it.

I look out the window and spot a girl hunched on a wooden swing positioned in the far corner of the yard. She looks lost, and my heart breaks.

“That’s Jilly,” Maryanne says, pouring me a glass of lemonade.

“She’s the one you want me to talk to.”

“Yes, the poor girl. Her parents are divorced, and her father had full custody. He suffered a stroke and can’t take care of her anymore—he’s in a nursing home waiting to die. Her mother didn’t claim her. She’s jetting around God knows where.”

I sip the lemonade, the tart mixing with the sweet on my tongue. Like my life. There are so many blessings I can’t discount, but my life has been hard. Would I appreciate the joy without so much sorrow?

“She doesn’t have any other family?”

Maryanne scoffs. “Scads. No one wants her.”

She doesn’t have to say what I’m already thinking. It’s tough to have no one, but it’s worse when there are people who could love you but don’t.

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