Page 3 of Blood Ties

I wasn’t so sure about that, but I kept my opinion to myself. My mom was a good-hearted person who always looked for the best in everyone. Not a terrible trait to have, but she did tend to be a bit naïve at times. Probably why my dad was always very in-tuned to her “projects.” He was good at ensuring she wasn’t taken advantage of.

“And I’m sure the sex was good!” Dad called out from the background.

“Dad!” I blurted out, though I shouldn’t be shocked at all that he’d said that. My dad was very open. Very, um, blunt. I wanted to laugh.

“Honey!” Mom chided.

“Okay, I’m sure he was probably very in love with her,” he conceded from near the phone. Then he hollered into the phone. “Nivea, we love you! You say the word and we’ll be on a plane to be with you!”

My lips quirked. “Thanks, Dad.”

I’d been blessed. My adoptive parents were amazing and my biological father, Justin, had been too. My biological mother? Who knew. She made her part of the adoption process so airtight that I couldn’t find her.

Justin, on the other hand, hadn’t known about me at all. He said that was a rough time in his life. He’d been engaged to his first wife and didn’t want to get married. It was a marriage that his family had pushed for but held no emotional bond for him or her. Their marriage had ended up lasting less than three years.

After that, he really went wild and sowed a lot of oats. He’d returned to his manwhore ways—his words, not mine.

We found out my bio-mom had forged his signature for the adoption and made sure her info was never released. Great genes on that side.

“Well, you let me know if you change your mind. We’re always here for you, Niv.” Mom was the best.

“I appreciate you guys so much. Thanks for being awesome.”

“Anytime, baby girl, anytime,” she assured.

We wrapped up our call and I stuck my phone in my back pocket. A shiver shook me from the open windows telling me it was time to get busy. Then I went back to my work area. I set my favorite playlist and turned the volume up to be heard over my equipment. I thanked the good Lord for the soundproofing my parents had paid for so I didn’t make enemies of my neighbors below me.

A quick inventory told me I had what I needed. I grabbed the helmet and my welder, then finished constructing the steel frame. Next came the foam core that I sealed with latex. Finally, I began working with the heated clay.

Deep in the zone, I lost myself in the warm clay as I made the rough form. I meticulously carved out the details of the fairy’s four-foot wings. I’d already finished the majority of the sections, and the wings were the last pieces. When I was done, and all the sections were welded together, she’d be a bronze statue that was destined for outside a children’s museum in Texas.

So far, I was way ahead of schedule.

Which was good because I had plenty more commissions lined up.

Before I knew it, it was getting dark, and I glanced up in surprise. I’d been so absorbed in my work that I’d completely lost track of time. My stomach growled, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten since my bagel at breakfast.

“Shit. I gotta stop doing that,” I muttered. Despite the cold air coming in through the windows all day, I was soaked in sweat. Now that I’d quit moving, the chill was setting in.

After washing my hands, I made a peanut butter sandwich. Munching on it, I went around the loft closing the windows. I was humming along to a Lana Del Ray song as I moved. When I got to the side that faced the top floor of a parking garage, I got a chill. I paused, sandwich half in my mouth, processing the strange feeling.

Was that the glow of a cigarette in the corner where one of the lights was burned out?

No sooner had I questioned it, then I saw it go out.

Shaking off the eerie feeling of being watched, I closed the window. Then I went to the corner, worked the cords to close the drapes on that side of the condo. I’d never been nervous in my home. I loved it. It was the top floor of an old building down in the River North neighborhood in downtown Chicago.

When my parents bought it for me for my graduation from SAIC—School of the Art Institute of Chicago—it was four apartments. They had the entire floor gutted and remodeled, so I had a huge studio area and then an open-concept condo that appealed to my artist’s heart. I hated feeling confined. Yeah, I knew I was spoiled as fuck, but I can promise I appreciated it.

Still, I couldn’t shake the chills, and I did something out of character for me.

I closed all the curtains.

“Paranoia”—A Day To Remember

“Something isn’t right. I watched her for several days. I followed her to the funeral, then to her condo. Nothing I saw gave me the impression she’s a cold, calculating, murderous bitch,” I muttered with a sigh as I rested my forearms on my thighs. My brother, Vittorio, quietly waited, letting me work through my frustrations.

I kept it to myself that watching her operate a welder like a boss made her look like a badass to me.

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