Page 37 of What She Deserves
Usually when she inquired about his past, he clammed up or said a few vague words before moving on to another topic. He preferred conversations about the present—his life, his plans for the weekend, how he came to be the co-owner of Newmark Advisors with his best friend. Nonetheless, he was making an effort to involve her, and she relished the fact that he was pulling her closer, no matter how difficult the decision was for him.
“After a while, I didn’t mind because I made friends, and there was always something going on after church—games, potluck lunches, that kind of thing.”
“Did you like your foster parents?”
“Yeah, they were good people. Joe used to take me fishing, and Suzanne, his wife, would clean the fish. Depending on how much we caught, she’d have to freeze some of them, but right after one of our trips, we’d have fish fordays—fried fish, grilled fish, whatever.” He laughed softly at the memory, shaking his head. “For a thirteen-year-old kid, though, it was kinda cool to know I’d helped put food on the table. Joe also taught me a little about working on cars—how to change the oil, switch out spark plugs, that kind of thing. ‘These are things every man should know how to do,’ he’d say in his big voice. Man, he was loud. You could damn near hear him on the next street over.” He stared down into his mug, a little smile softening the corners of his mouth.
“How long were you with them?” Layla asked quietly.
Rashad tipped the mug to his lips before he answered. “Year and a half, and then Joe got a job transfer to California. They left, and I went back into the system.”
He shrugged nonchalantly, but she sensed his pain, and her heart broke at how fourteen-year-old Rashad must have suffered. Their departure had to have been difficult for him. He’d talked briefly about his family before, and she knew his parents had passed away when he was very young. That’s how he ended up in foster care. He never talked about his foster parents before, but listening to his memories, and hearing that… something in his voice, let her know those people had meant the world to him.
“Did you stay in touch after they left?”
“We did at first, but then we fell off. They got busy, I got busy. It wasn’t realistic to stay in touch.”
“That’s too bad. Were you ever placed with another family?”
“By the time Joe and Suzanne moved, I was almost fifteen, and no one wants a kid that age. When I turned sixteen, I left.”
Cradling the mug of hot chocolate on her lap, Layla asked, “What do you mean you left?”
“I left. I packed up my clothes and my few possessions, and I left the home. I didn’t tell anyone where I was going. I bought fake documents on the street and started at another school, rented a room in a boardinghouse, and got a part-time job.”
Layla’s mouth fell open. “You’ve been on your own since you weresixteen?”
“Yep.”
She couldn’t imagine making such a drastic move. She’d lived a sheltered, upper-middle-class life. At sixteen her biggest concerns had been going on her first date, attending junior prom and other parties, or hanging out with her girlfriends. Certainly not working, paying rent, or figuring out how to survive. At that age, she hadn’t been anywhere near mature enough to go out on her own and gained new respect for Rashad.
“You never told me any of this before.”
He stretched an arm across the back of the bench and smoothed the stray hairs at her nape in an upward motion. “I’m trying to do better, like I promised. You said you want me to be more open, and I’m working on it.”
“I have to admit, I had my doubts.”
“I know,” he said with a smirk.
“You can’t blame me. I used to wonder if you were in the CIA, you were so secretive.”
He let out a short laugh. “Nah. Definitely not in the CIA,” he said.
