Page 1 of Property of Indiana

PROLOGUE

ZOEY

Life hasa way of throwing you lemons without providing the pitcher and sugar to make lemonade. That seems to be the running theme for my life, both in the past and present. When I was sixteen, I went to a friend’s Halloween party and found myself in a situation teen girls dread. Everyone was decked out in masks and costumes, making it next to impossible to identify those who you weren’t closely acquainted with.

My best friend at the time, Brooklyn, had a crush on the captain of the football team, and when he pulled her out onto the makeshift dance floor, I was all but forgotten. I didn’t take it personally, I could understand where she was coming from. When the boy you’ve been fantasizing about for most of your sophomore year notices you, you do whatever it takes to keep that attention solely directed on you. Because if you don’t, there’s always some other chick who wants your man lurking in the corner waiting for her opportunity to snatch him for herself.

Being naive and unaware of the evils that surrounded me at my young age, I ignorantly took one of the red solo cups being passed out by one of the partygoers without thinking that there’d be any repercussions or that any of my classmates had any ill intentions toward me. I wish I’d listened to the warnings of my father when he lectured me on never taking an open drink, but not me, no, I knew everything and didn’t need to heed his words of wisdom.

However, that opinion drastically changed when the room started spinning around me and my knees wobbled whenever I tried to walk. My limbs grew numb and I crashed into the walls as I stumbled down the corridor, searching for the bathroom to put some water on my face in hopes that it’d dissipate the vertigo and hot flashes. Dizziness swamped me and my vision swam with dark spots. Each step was heavy-legged and with the way my heart was beating in my chest, I thought I was on the way to having a heart attack.

A warm hand wrapped around my waist as I was guided into a room empty of spectators. When I peered upward, Ghost Face from the thriller movie franchise greeted me. I couldn’t pinpoint who the person was considering there were at least ten other people wearing that same exact getup—what sucked was thateveryone of them were donning the same garb down to the robe, making none of them distinguishable or identifiable. Which means, I couldn’t pinpoint who I thought was going to be my hero but actually ended up being my perpetrator.

That was both the worst and best night of my life. Yes, I was violated in the worst way a woman can be, but I ended up with Elodie—my little princess. That night haunts me, but I decided that I wouldn’t be a victim of my circumstances, instead, I let it strengthen and embolden me.

The percussion of feet clomping on top of the irritated mumblings of my daughter as she scurries down the wooden floored hallway of our apartment drags me out from the reflection of my past. Knowing that she’s in one of her moods, I look up at the ceiling hoping it’ll help me find the patience I’ll need to deal with whatever today’s issue is. There’s always one—every single morning.

“Mommy? I can’t find my shoes,” my five year old daughter whines, stomping her foot.

“Did you look in your closet and underneath your bed?” I ask her as I pour my first cup of coffee for the morning.

“I did,” she insists, peering up at me through her mop of unruly, brunette hair.

Sighing, I glance down at her and give her what I call my ‘mom’ look. “I saw them last night under your bed. Go try again, munchkin.”

“Ugh,” she groans, glaring at me like I’ve betrayed her by not dropping what I’m currently doing and rush to do her bidding. But she should know by now if I don’t start my morning off with an entire tumbler of caffeine before she has her festive breakdown, I’m worse than a cat that’s been dropped into a bathtub full of water. “I looked! They aren’t there.”

“Elodie, count to three and try to talk to me again. This time with a little less attitude, missy,” I chide, hoping to circumvent a temper tantrum meltdown before she has the chance to light a fire under her ass and release a smoldering tirade. Nobody can throw a hissy fit like my Elodie. This is what I deal with every morning, afternoon, and night.

Lucky me.

There’s no rest when you’re the mother to the unholy spawn of the underworld. My baby is my everything, I’d take a bullet for her without any doubt. Even with that being said, she’s demonic when she doesn’t get what she wants when she wants it and I’d rather avoid that volcanic eruption if at all possible.

“Mom,” she babbles, crossing her arms across her chest as a tear falls down each cheek. “I looked. I promise, they’re not there.”

When her lips start quivering, that’s all this mom’s heart can take and I know matters are only going to get worse if I don’t give in and help her search for them. Sitting my mug on the counter, I reach out and grab her hand with mine.

“Okay, love, let’s go see if we can find your shoes together.”

Her frown turns upside down with a triumphant smirk. That’s one trait she doesn’t get from me, it has to come from whomever her sperm donor is. I wish I recognized that look from someone from my past so I’d know who’s dick I need to chop off.

“Elodie, did you just play me, little girl?” I ask, using all my inward strength to hold back the laughter that wants to break free. Unfortunately for me, this is one of those situations where her pulling the wool over me is funny—yet at the same time, it’s not. I can’t help it, she’s cute as hell when she does this but I don’t want to teach her to be an asshole as she grows. My hopes and dreams for her are for her to treat others as she’d like to be treated.

“No, ma’am,” she swears, adamantly shaking her head. “I’d never do that. You told me I couldn’t.”

“Um hmm,” I hum, biting my lip so she doesn’t notice I’mstillfighting off a smile.

“Promise, Mama,” she emphatically states, holding up her pinky. “Pinky swear.”

Wrapping my finger with hers, we shake them and it’s then that my laughter bursts out of me. “You are something else, pumpkin. Let’s go find those shoes of yours so we can get to shopping.” Today is tax free day for back to school supplies and clothing. I have our day mapped out.

Since moving back to my hometown, I’ve stayed to myself and have locked us into our home and kept us busy by unpacking our belongings. I’ve chosen not to reunite with anyone from my past because I don’t want to subject Elodie to the toxicity of their sharp, judgmental tongues. I was all but run out of town after it came to light what happened to me at that Halloween party going on six years now. The old biddies in town called me a floozy, my friends and classmates spread the rumor that I was looking for attention and willingly gave myself to a gang of men, my parents, those backwood, hillbilly assholes, all but threw me under the bus and gaslighted me to the point I couldn’t live in the same house as them without wanting to end my life, so I chose the best path for me and took off for my paternal grandparents who only lived three hours from us, but it felt like I was states away, and could finally take some time to breathe. It was with them at my side that I learned of my pregnancy. They were the best people to have in my life. They didn’t toss their beliefs on my shoulders and force me to go a certain path. My memaw took me to a gynecologist where the doctor sat with me and went over every option available to a young teenage girl caught in the web I was stuck in. The first time I heard Elodie’s heartbeat, my decision was made—I fell in love with her instantly and knew in my heart that no matter how she came to be, she was mine. It was, and is, my job to protect her. She wasgiven to me for a reason and I chose to give her all of the love and support that I never had.

Peering down at my baby girl, I issue a challenge. “Race you!”

“Eat my dust, mama!” As my feet shuffle down the hallway, little giggles chase me and when she passes me I grin. My girl, she doesn’t take second place well and gives it everything she has to come in first. As her mother, should I let her win? Maybe not, but there are times for lessons and then there are times when you should help build your child’s self-esteem. I pick my battles and don’t mind giving my daughter the gold.

“Find your shoes and there may be a donut in your future, El.” I’ve noticed since we moved out on our own that she’s been more needy than usual. My gut is telling me she just wanted me here with her while she finished getting ready to head out. They say our kids can feel our tension, and I’ve had a buttload of it since my tires crossed the county line leading us into Canton. I can’t help but wonder if I’m in danger coming back home, but it wasn’t my decision to come back, my hand was forced but that’s not something I want to think about right now. Today is about my girl, not my tremulous past.

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