Page 66 of Shame

“Yes?” A deep baritone, commanding.

My throat clenches up. Oh fuck. I tremble so hard I can barely keep my grip on the phone. Come on, you silly girl, you’ve practiced this!

“This is Carmen Moreno. I have a proposition for you.”

“Young Carmen! My favorite girl! I’ve missed you. Where are you?” His voice is smooth as velvet, filled with honey and that underlying threat that he always oozes of.

Wouldn’t you like to know, you piece of shit?

“That’s irrelevant. I have something you want. You have something I want.”

“So I was told. Now, how the fuck did that happen?”

“Do I really have to educate you on the birds and the bees? You’re a grown-ass man, you figure it out.”

“Still got that cocky mouth of yours.”

I don’t answer.

“So, Carmen, what makes you think I want what you have?”

“We can hang up now, and I’ll find a nice family somewhere far away for your son.”

It’s his turn to go quiet. I don’t speak either. My heart pounds in my throat. Please, please, please.

Finally he speaks. “How do I know it’s mine? How do I know it’s not that puppy’s?”

I scoff. “You’ll know. Trust me. He’s all yours. I think Elena can vouch for that.”

“Oh, she did. She didn’t hesitate.”

“Besides, you can do a paternity test. But I know, because you’re the only one who’s…”

I swallow hard. I don’t want to talk about our interactions. I’ve tried to put the memories behind me.

“Who’s what?”

“Fuck it. You know.”

He laughs his too-pleasant laugh. It’s not reasonable that a man like him should have such an attractive exterior, how he looks, sounds, smells, all of it, when he’s nothing but a monster.

A monster I’m selling my son to.

A boy that is his, I remind myself, a boy that will save Lucas. I nearly double over in pain.

“Come to me, Carmen, and we will sort this.”

“Dream on,” I spit. “We’re meeting on neutral ground, and you’re giving me Lucas. Get him off your hit list and get him out of jail.”

“You know I can’t do that. He has committed murder. It’s out of my hands.”

I scoff. “All right. Baby’s off for adoption then.” I’m not so sure anymore. But he doesn't know that.

I hang up. I’m taking a huge risk. My palms are sweaty and I’m nauseous as I walk over to the bar.

“Tequila. Three shots.”

I grab the tray with the little glasses and go sit in a corner where no one needs to see my tears. I cry and try to numb the pain that spreads through my chest.

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