Page 15 of Lesson on Depravity

“I-I’m sorry I’m late, Mrs. Curtis. It’s won’t happen again! And it’s not what you think!” I blurt out, waving my hand around to find the right clarification without giving away too many personal details.

“I don’t care,” she says with a scoff, but she huffs with a cunning smile. “The inventory isn’t going to count itself.”

I nod frantically. “Right, I’ll get right on that!”

The bell on the door rings, beckoning the arrival of a customer. I turn to greet them with a smile, and it’s a middle-aged woman with permed waves. First appearance judgment tells me that she isn’t from around here because that hair screams money and that Pomeranian’s haircut on her is more expensive than taxes on these properties.

Mrs. Curtis takes the customer, and I turn back to my job, but the woman’s voice calls the name that I haven’t heard in a while.

I spin around, eyes wide and heart thumping against my ribs. “My name is Coco.”

She shakes her head, a smile on her lips. “Oh, nonsense. I would know my own niece.”

What?

I don’t have an aunt. My mother and father never mentioned any relatives, but then their minds were filled with holes from all the drugs. I doubt they even recognize me if they saw me again, that is, if I knew where they are right now after dropping out of my life.

“I don’t have an aunt,” I cautiously say, eyebrows furrowing in confusion as the woman’s face doesn’t change.

“Of course you do, sweetheart. My sister, your mother, is Josephine, and she has a birthmark at the bottom of her foot—it’s the shape of Georgia. I used to call her Georgian peach.”

That’s not information anyone knows, and even if they were my mother’s customers, I doubt they care enough to see the birthmark on the bottom of her foot.

“I’m Jessabelle, but you can call me Auntie Jessie.”

Mrs. Curtis barks out with impatient words. “If you’re not here to buy, then get the hell out.”

The woman—my auntie, but I’m very doubtful—smiles and seems nonchalant about the callous words from my boss.

“I would like a pack of Oslo’s Gummy Pie, please.”

The clipboard in my hands shakes with the force of my trembling. That is my mother’s favorite food despite there are other things to eat if she would just spend the money on the right groceries, but she would always have that weird green jelly pie when she eats.

“Josephine loves those,” the woman comments.

Another shock shiver stops at the end of my spine and wraps invisible hands around my neck when I hear her words. Never in a million years have I ever thought of a scenario like this, and I don’t know how to deal with this sudden appearance of someone who claims she is my relative.

My auntie. A family member.

“Coco, go start on the inventories.” Mrs. Curtis doesn’t turn to me when she orders me to do that.

I wordlessly look away from the woman and slip into the back room. Shaking my head, I think this is all wrong. She’s playing tricks on me; that woman is just a stranger. I don’t have an aunt, and I know better than to simply believe someone just because they pull out some proof.

Anyone can put pieces together and say they know someone just by little hints here and there.

I shake my head again, but I have to admit that a part of me is restless.

Chapter Five

Alistair

“Oh look, little Coco is in the wolves’ den.”

Tito’s voice is not what brought my head up from staring at the beer; it’s her name that makes me snap my eyes to the door.

Her tiny figure is out of place in this place; everyone’s eyes are on her as she shuffles her feet by the door. She doesn’t like coming to the bar because she’s still dealing with her dead alcoholic father—not that she knows he’s a bag of fertilizer somewhere in the middle of the ocean.

I leave my unfinished beer at the table, ignoring Tito’s snicker as the chatter in the bar quiets down.

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