How does she get out of work all the time?
Her fingernails newly painted, she brushes her hand against his and bats her eyelashes to gather his attention.
“Well, hello there. Seems like you’ve had a cakewalk day,” she says to me.
I scrunch my forehead and retort, “Not as easy of a day as you’ve probably had.”
“I’d watch my mouth if I were you.” She sneers. She places her hands on her hips and raises her over-plucked eyebrows in a challenge. I don’t know what I did to earn her nastiness, but she instantly hated me, even before I ever talked to her.
“That’s enough, you two. Let’s go.” Cole shifts his posture and beckons me to follow him to the staircase.
“See ya,” Amber calls to him.
He swings the door open and it almost smacks me in the face as I pass through behind him. My good feelings about reading to Alyssa are gone as I think about spending another night alone in my dark, damp room.
CHAPTER 7
Prostitutes, three of them, rush into the hospital, screaming about someone who’s hurt. I can’t turn my eyes away from them as the staff tries to herd them back to the front waiting area.
“Stay here,” one nurse tells them, “or you’ll have to leave.”
All three of them lean against the wall, dressed in promiscuous clothing that sticks to their slim figures and wearing chunky high heels. Tears track down one of their faces. She looks familiar. One of the girls from Cole’s party the other night. Her dirty blond hair hangs in tangles, matted against her back from the rain. The heavy, black charcoal lining her brown eyes drips down her cheekbones. Her nervous fingers fiddle with a small handbag. I try to ignore her brand to keep from judging her because I don’t want to treat her the same way I’ve been treated. My hand moves to my neck self-consciously just thinking about it. Looking up, she locks eyes with me and then nods like she remembers who I am.
I quickly nod back and walk upstairs with an overflowing container of ratty, washed blankets. The undependable elevator is stuck on floor three, so I huff my way up to my wing. My breathing comes heavy and labored under the weight, but I welcome the break from reading to Alyssa. I’m not used to reading so much and my eyes hurt. Guards pass, but I duck behind the height of the blankets, angling them in front of my face.
Just keep walking.
Fortunately, the stairs teem with people today. The eighth floor comes as a reprieve and I drop the basket into Alyssa’s room to keep her company while folding it. Her solemn expression lifts and a smile crosses her face like she’s bursting at the seams to tell me something.
“Well?” I ask, waiting.
“What?” She smiles.
“Spit it out.” I flip open the first blanket and begin matching the corners.
She pushes herself up and laughs. “Okay, so I read ahead a little…”
I cock my head sideways, giving her a knowing look. “And?”
“Her brother Lucien, well, he’s against owning slaves, so the family shuns him. BUT, it just complicates things more because the Confederates surround Charleston and…”
“Whoa, slow down! How far ahead did you read?” I drop the blanket to my lap.
She grows quiet and then mumbles, “The whole thing.”
“You read all of it? That’s a three-hundred-some-page book!” My jaw drops.
“Well, I liked it and felt good enough to finish… Hope you’re not mad.” Her hands clutch the book protectively as she pleads with her eyes.
“I’m not mad at all, just surprised. Well, glad actually.” I finish folding the blanket and place it on top of another. “I’m not sure if Sutton has any more—”
“It’s okay. It was really good and I’ll probably read it again, anyway.” She lays back, places the book on her chest with her hands over it, and closes her eyes. “The confusion and the violence remind me a lot of the Hole, except she has family…”
Her soft words cause me to pause and let my thoughts linger. She’s so mature for a thirteen-year-old. I can’t imagine drawing comparisons between a Civil War novel and the Hole at her age, but then again, my childhood aged me too.
Maybe the Hole ages everyone beyond their years.
“Why are you here?” I lower my voice when I ask.
Her eyelids flutter open. “I’m not a bad person, really, I swear. I was only trying to feed my family. They were starving to death and stealing was the only—”
“I never, not even for a minute, thought you were.” I lean closer to her. “How old were you when this happened?”
“Eight,” she says, dropping her eyes. She fiddles with her hands in her lap.
“And what? The guards took you away?”