Page 45 of My Girl
“What?” I smirk. “You like that I pissed on you, don’t you?”
She rolls her eyes. “No.”
“You like that I degraded and fucked you, and that I still want to fuck you right now. And that makes it all okay, doesn’t it?”
She sighs in irritation, but her eyes linger on my crotch. It must kill her not being able to make me come.
“Not tonight, little girl,” I tease.
Her eyes trace the stairs again.
“You need to be gone on the thirteenth,” she says. “Unless—” She lifts her shoulders, gaining her confidence back. “Unless you want to come to the party.”
“Not my scene.”
“You don’t want to miss out on the fun, though.”
She walks up the steps, leaving me behind.
Shewantsme to come. To make my appearance. It’s not like it’s a Halloween party—there’s no excuse for me to wear my mask. What would she do if I came? How would she explain who I am?
I could always show up in the flesh.
Chapter14
Rae
While the restof Pahrump is Anywhere, U.S.A., the graveyard on West Street is deserted. Bitter. Desolate. And yet it’s one of the only places that feels real.
Off to the side, Penny wanders the grounds, shouting to me about the different burial plots. I’m listening, but as soon as I find the grave we’re searching for, my mind loses focus.
Weeds grow around Michael Hall’s grave. His stone is flat, dirt smudging the surface in the shape of a footprint. Even the groundskeeper doesn’t care about what happens to a murderer’s final resting place.
A fresh bouquet adorns the neighboring grave, and balloons decorate the headstone to the other side. I dust my hand over my father’s stone, clearing it off. The epitaph reads:A good man who did what was right for his family.
Family has always been a strange concept to me. I was raised by a single mother who put me through one of Clark County’s only private schools, paid for my college, and made sure I had everything in my grasp to find a good job in upper-level hospitality management, just like her. She did everything for me. Even if it’s just us—a mother and a daughter—I should be able to easily call us a family. My mother loves me.
I check my phone briefly. Red notifications dot the screen. Today, I have two missed calls from her, and that’s not counting the other calls, voicemails, and texts I’ve ignored since moving to Pahrump. I can’t bring myself to call her. I just don’t care.
If Michael Hall—a man who killed his own wife, and perhaps didn’t even know he had a child—can be called a family man, then what’s keeping me from calling my mother and I a family?
The word “family” never fit us though. Even before I learned about my father’s past, there was always suspicion lurking in my mother’s gaze, like she knew instinctively not to completely trust me. And maybe she had a right to feel that way. After all, half of my genetics were controlled by a man capable of killing his own wife. Maybe it’s not that far off to think that one day, I might become the same as him. A woman capable of killing my own family.
The gravel crunches. Penny shrugs her shoulders, then kneels down and pulls a weed next to my father’s headstone. The roots hang down from the plant like blood vessels.
“I guess if the government says you killed people, you’re not worthy of proper maintenance,” she says.
“I guess not.”
We both pull up weeds and lie them down in a pile. I appreciate the sentiment. Penny doesn’t care about Michael Hall’s criminal record; she still wants to honor and respect a dead man by doing this small act.
My phone buzzes in my purse. Penny snarls. I elbow her side playfully.
“It’s your uncle,” I tease.
“That’s even worse,” she chokes. “Why don’t you marry him already?”
I playfully smack her arm. “Trust me; we aren’t thereyet.” I answer the phone: “Hey, Ned.”
