3
Kayla
I knew today was going to suck the moment I woke up with a spider on my face.
A spider.
ON MY FACE.
This is what happens when the only motel you can afford is a lopsided building called THE QUICKIE STOP.
But the spider wasn’t the only thing that kicked this day off to a stellar start.
First there were the mysterious body hairs on the nightstand that I accidentally touched when I tripped over the 1970s porn rug that coats the floor. A shaggy porn rug—because a flat porn rug just wouldn’t have been gross enough. Followed by the trickle of ice-cold water from the mold-caked shower, which turned out to be the home of my friendly face spider from earlier. And lastly, there was the lovely smell of cat urine that wafted in through the rusted ceiling vent all morning.
So I’m not exactly in a good mood by the time I’m dressed and ready to leave. But I’ve handled worse. Much worse. This might be a crappy motel room, but it’s a luxury establishment compared to the roach-infested place I left back in Chicago.
I catch sight of my reflection in the bathroom mirror and scowl. I suppose I’m dressed the way one is supposed to be for the reading of a will. A royal blue blouse with a black pencil skirt and black heels. The top is too fitted for my comfort, molding around my breasts and making me feel like I’m on display. And the neckline is relatively respectable but if I were to lean over my cleavage would hang out. Note to self: No leaning. The skirt is worn and a little too short to be considered professional, but it’s the only one I have so it will have to do. And the shoes are scuffed up and old, but from far away they look decent enough. Overall, it’s not my favorite outfit. I don’t like tight clothes that emphasize my hourglass figure. But since my only other options are jeans, pajamas, or the thick gray dress I sweat through in the summer sun yesterday, this is what I’m wearing.
I throw my purse over my shoulder and grab my car keys. All I have to do is get through one stupid meeting with Dad’s lawyer—the same lawyer who called last week to shockingly inform me that my father had passed away—then I can pack my things and head home. Although “home” doesn’t really mean much when everything you own fits in one small brown bag.
My eyes drop to the suitcase on the bed and a ball of stress forms in the pit of my stomach. I have no idea what my next move is. Not just in Copper Springs, but in life. Riffling through my purse, I find my wallet and count the bills within.
Thirty-six dollars. Crap.
I shove a hand into my bra, where I always keep emergency money.
Twenty-one dollars.
I pull off my right high heel, carefully pull up the black leather sole, and lift a precious few bills from the hiding place below—where I keep my emergency emergency money.
Eighteen dollars.
So altogether I have… seventy-five dollars. To my name.
Every other penny I had was spent on my trip out here and I couldn’t qualify for a credit card if my life depended on it—which it might, if things keep going the way they have—so I’m officially broke. And unemployed. And homeless.
The ball of stress tightens.
I had a job at a diner back in Chicago, but when I asked my boss, Big Joe, for time off for my father’s funeral, he refused. So I quit—which didn’t go over well.
Unbeknownst to me, my mother, Gia, had borrowed $20,000 from Big Joe to pay off some old debts. I knew nothing about this until I tried to leave and Big Joe started demanding his money. Since my mom was no longer able to pay him back, he insisted that I work for free in order to pay off her debt. It was a threat, not a negotiation, and I was scared out of my mind.
My lease was up at the roachy apartment so I packed up my stuff, cashed my last paycheck, and drove out to Arizona. And now, even if I had the gas money to drive back to Chicago, there’s no way I’d be able to afford a place to live and I’d be forced to work for Big Joe until my mom’s debt was settled. And knowing Big Joe, he’d probably demand reimbursement in other ways too, like by smacking my ass or squeezing my boob. Or worse.
I shudder.
I’m broke, but I’m not a prostitute. I’d rather sleep on a park bench than let myself be groped for favors.
Ugh. I might actually have to sleep on a park bench.
I shake myself from the thought. One day at a time, Kayla. Just get through one day at a time. God. Life isn’t going the way I’d hoped at all.
I’m supposed to be in nursing school right now with a bright future ahead of me. Instead, I’m on the run from a debt collector, attending unforeseen funerals, and waking up with arachnids on my face.
Stuffing all my emergency dollars back into their designated hiding places, I exit the motel room. It rained all night but the storm passed quickly, leaving the air clean and crisp, and a lungful of fresh air lightens my mood a bit as I head through the parking lot and climb inside my mom’s car. Although, I guess it’s mine now.
It’s the color of dying grass, a few decades past its prime, and beat-up at every corner, but I’m not complaining. It has four wheels and doesn’t smell like pee. In my book, it may as well be a limousine.
I drive through the small-town streets of Copper Springs and a hint of nostalgia wafts over me. The best years of my life were spent here; first living as a family when my parents were still married, and then visiting my dad every summer after they divorced and my mom and I moved away.
The cute storefronts and well-manicured streets look every bit as pleasant as they actually are—or were. I haven’t been back here in over five years. My plan was to never return at all, but it just seemed wrong not to come to my father’s funeral. And if I’m being honest with myself, I needed the closure. Especially after the way my mom passed away…
Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it.
I swallow and concentrate on the road, forcing my mind to stray somewhere else—anywhere else. I easily find the lawyer’s office and park. Then silently give myself a little pep talk.
I know my dad didn’t leave me anything in his will, which is no shock. He didn’t share his money with me when he was alive so why would I expect his death to change anything? But I can’t help but feel a little disappointed.
Being a descendant of the original town founders, Dad owned quite a bit of land in Copper Springs—including most of the town square, which made him relatively wealthy. The most valuable thing he owned was Milly Manor, his stately home on the outskirts of town. Since it was a historic building, my father always let people take tours and pictures of the place. He was always more than happy to share his home with the people of Copper Springs.
So when the lawyer called me last week and explained that my father had donated his estate and all of his belongings to the town, I wasn’t that surprised. But when he said he needed my signature to finalize some of Dad’s will papers, then I was surprised—and not in a good way.
I went through a myriad of emotions: shock, curiosity, bitterness, annoyance. It seemed needlessly cruel for my father to ignore me for five years and then have the balls to ask me to come out to Arizona to sign off on all the expensive crap he wanted to give to other people. Especially when my mother and I lived like paupers and he barely offered us a smile, let alone a handout.
Nevertheless, I’m here, so I will sign his precious papers. Surely, I can do that gracefully. Or at least without cursing or spitting.
Turning off the car, I stare at the lawyer’s office door and fidget with my keys, then pull down the visor and fuss with my long hair in the mirror. I already feel out of place and I’m still in my own car. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe I should have stayed back in Chicago and suffered through the debt payment. Though, even in Chicago I felt out of place… even more since Mom died.
I immediately shift my thoughts, flick the visor up, and exit the car. There is a time to mourn and that time has passed. Straightening my shoulders, I stride inside the lawyer’s office.
The first thing I notice is that Mr. Perkins is quite possibly the most unorganized lawyer of all time. Papers and files are everywhere, with no rhyme or reason to their placement, and random articles and pictures are taped up on the walls like this is his seventh-grade bedroom and not the place he practices law.