The Girl and The Raven (2 page)

“I’m so happy you’re here, kiddo. I just wish the circumstances were different.”

“Me, too.” I notice he’s not wearing glasses. I take a deep breath and jump at the chance to change the subject. I can’t talk about Momma. Not here. “Did you get that eye surgery you talked about?”

“I did.” He grins, winking at Bernard before returning his attention to me. “Bernard finally convinced me and I thank him every day.”

My small brown suitcase appears on the conveyer belt and Sheldon grabs it for me.

As we head to the exit, I shift my purse to my other hand, which makes me lose my grip on my book. I bend down to pick it up and as I stand, a man collides into me, rocking me backward. His arm snakes out to grab my shoulder, to prevent me from falling. I’m about to apologize when an electrical shock rips through me.

I squeal and stumble back out of his grasp. The man is tall, with slicked-back hair, hair so black it looks almost blue. We stare wide-eyed at each other and I see that the color of his eyes matches his hair. My heart beats too fast and I struggle to catch my breath.

“It’s you,” he whispers.

Did I hear him right? My fingers twitch and my palms grow warm and I figure if this crackpot comes any closer, he’s in for a toasty surprise.

“Lucy!” Bernard calls. “Hurry it up!”

The tall stranger gives me a look I can’t quite interpret. Some cross between anger and curiosity. Everything about him kicks my spider senses into overdrive. He disappears into the crowd. I ignore the buzzing in my head and lumber toward my uncles on spongy legs, following them to the parking structure. As I toss my purse and book onto the back seat of their blue Volvo, a flash of white slides from my book and flutters to the floor. I bend over and retrieve the business card and read the name on its front.

Jude Morgan

JM Holdings

I flip the card over and read the message scrawled on the back.

Lucy,

It’s very important we meet. Call me, please.

Jude Morgan

I never saw the man slip his card into my book. And there was no time for him to write a note. My breath hitches and a chill dances along my spine as two thoughts hit me at once. How does he know my name? And why was he expecting me?

I tuck the card back in my book. “Um…did either of you see the man that bumped into me back there, in the airport?” Sheldon cranes his neck around, his face pinched with worry. “No. Did he take anything? Do you have your purse? Wallet?”

Bernard peers at me in the rearview mirror, his eyebrows scrunched as he waits for my response.

I shake my head as my heart thump, thump, thumps in my chest. “He just startled me is all.”

And nearly short-circuited my brain.

Who is Jude Morgan?

I always knew Momma wasn’t long for this world. The problem is, while Gram died of natural causes, Momma died of being selfish. She swore she was done with heroin for good, that she and Ronny planned to have some good clean fun, whatever that meant. But she lied. She always lied. I close my eyes against the wave of anger clawing at my insides. She could’ve tried harder. Instead she gave into the beer, the drugs…
trying
just wasn’t a part of her. Guilt slams into me so hard, I’m left gasping for air. I knew she was lying when she walked out the door that night. I knew it and didn’t stop her.

I squeeze my eyes against the burning tears. She used to be beautiful. I’ve seen the photos. After her last drug binge three months ago, I changed her clothes and cleaned her up. Her hipbones jutted out past her belly and her ribs looked like they belonged to a skeleton. I was terrified she would die.

Opening my swollen eyes, I glance around the room, taking in the lavender walls plastered with posters of Paramore, Katy Perry and Lady Gaga from summers past. Except for the last two years, I’d spent every summer here at Gram’s house. I’d always wanted to call Chicago—Edison Park, technically—home. I picture Momma’s body lying in a heap and a horrible realization jolts me upright. All those years of wishing…did I have the power to wish her dead?

I throw off the sheet and jump out of bed. I pace the room, trying to distract myself from the thought. Suddenly I stop and listen. No constant drone from the old air conditioner or non-stop chatter pouring from the ancient TV Momma ran twenty-four-seven. The silence is jarring.

She’s gone.

I walk over to the dresser and run my finger along the silver frame that holds a photo of Momma and me, the word Family engraved along the top. I’m reminded again how little I look like her. Her hair was brown while mine is black. Her eyes were brown while mine are hazel, like Gram’s.

I dress quickly and pull my long hair into a ponytail. After two days in bed crying, I need to escape this room. I pull the business card from my purse. Jude Morgan. Flipping the card over I read his message again, unsure if I should call him. I try to remember if I’d met him before. I’m pretty sure I’d remember the shock of his touch if not the man himself.

Hearing the clatter of pans on the stove and my uncles talking, I tuck the card away and eagerly follow the smell of eggs, onions, and peppers cooking. The thought of eating something other than Velveeta on white bread or Ramen noodles makes my mouth water.

“Good morning, kiddo.” Sheldon smiles as he sets a plate of cut-up fruit on the table and grabs an extra plate and silverware for me. He hugs me briefly before I sit down. “It’s great to see you out of bed.”

“Hey, Luce!” Bernard greets me from the stove. “You eat eggs, don’t you?”

“Yeah. I’ll pass on the animal flesh, though.” I nod at the plate of bacon Sheldon delivers to the table.

“More for us!” Sheldon bounces his bushy eyebrows up and down like a couple of crazy caterpillars.

I shake my head and smile at his attempt to be silly.

Sheldon clears his throat. “So, kiddo…we need to talk.”

Uh-oh. My back stiffens at his tone.

Sheldon glances at Bernard and then back at me. “We think it would be a good idea for you to, you know, talk to someone.”

“To work through the loss …” Bernard brings the pan of eggs to the table and doles them onto three plates. Sheldon pushes himself away from the table to get the toast warming on the toaster.

With a groan, I cover my face with my hands.
No counseling
. I talked to a counselor once, revealed the truth about life with Momma. The woman promised me she wouldn’t tell anyone what I said. Then she met with Momma behind my back, encouraged her to get help, to think of me. Momma played nice. Said all the right things. I was left with a shit storm. I broke the golden rule. Never tell family secrets.

Sheldon leans across the table and pulls my hands from my face. “Lucy, we love you and can provide for you, but I don’t know if we’re equipped to help you with the rest of it. The tough stuff.”

I lift my head, my expression pleading. “Can’t we just see how things go? How about if I need help, I’ll tell you.” He’s about to interrupt me, but I don’t let him. “I need time to grieve and to adjust…to being here. You know?”

They exchange a look, then Sheldon nods. They let the subject go for now. Bernard reaches over to wipe a smear of butter from the corner of Sheldon’s mouth and then turns to me, a sly grin on his face. “Well, then, how about the next best thing?”

I narrow my eyes at him. “What’s that?”

“Shopping!” 

I help clean up, ignoring Sheldon’s worried glances and Bernard’s joke that I cleaned my plate so well it didn’t need washing. After a quick shower, I take a seat on the front porch and wait for them to finish getting ready. Someone’s been keeping up Gram’s flowerbeds. They’re crowded with pink, white and purple impatiens, bright orange begonias, and the tall, purple stalks of the butterfly bushes. Lilac bushes line the edge of the house, taller and fuller than the last time I was here. I breathe in their sweet, perfumy scent, recalling the vase of cut stems Gram always kept on the kitchen table.

I count four empty bird feeders and make a mental note to fill them once we get home from the mall. A chorus of angry birds, chirping like crazy in the hedges bordering the yard startle me. Two-dozen house sparrows suddenly launch themselves skyward as a beige feline tail bobs and weaves through the branches.

“Hey!” I jump up. “Sorry to be rude, but you need to take off kitty. You’re freaking out our birds.”

From what I can see of the cat through the leafy branches, his spots remind me of a cheetah. “Go on now.” I march toward him, waving my hands. “Shoo!”

The cat looks at me and saunters off as if saying,
you don’t scare me
. I probably don’t. He’s huge, twice the size of a normal cat. With those large ears and extra-long tail, surely he’s some exotic breed.

I return to the porch as a car pulls to a stop in front of the three-flat. It reverses smoothly into a parking space, U-2’s song, “God Part 2,” blaring. The music cuts off and a guy climbs out of the car. I forget how to breathe. He’s tall and lean, with chestnut-colored hair. What strikes me most is his attitude. He wears defiance like a jacket.

I’m gripped with panic as he approaches, wishing I could disappear before he sees my shorts and top, compliments of Goodwill. They were out of style and worn thin when Momma picked them out for me a year ago. My eyes flit from his face—dark eyes, brows creased, lips pursed as if lost in thought—to his perfect-fitting blue jeans and tight white t-shirt. The chaos of a hundred butterfly wings erupts inside of me. It’s too late to run inside and I cross my arms over my chest self-consciously.

He stops in front of me and nods. “Hey.”

I study the bits of sawdust on his jeans before allowing my gaze to climb to his face. Super hot guy with a cocky attitude. My cheeks flush hot, bracing myself for the insult that’s sure to come my way. My stomach churns and I pray I won’t throw up on his shoes.

“Hey yourself.” The words feel wrong rolling off my tongue, sarcastic, and I want to gather them back and start again.

The corners of his mouth twitch. “I’m Marcus Turner. Who’re you?”

I struggle to find my voice as I force myself to maintain eye contact. “Lucy…Lucy Walker.”

Shock flashes across his face and then disappears, leaving me to wonder if I’d imagined it.

“I live in the two-bedroom upstairs with my brother, Aiden.” His voice is soft as he stares over my shoulder.

Inhaling sharply, I try to keep the shock from my face.
He lives here?

“Hey, Gabriel!” Bernard calls out from behind me. Sheldon pulls the foyer door closed behind them. “I see you’ve met our niece, Lucy.”

Marcus flinches.

“I thought your name was Marcus,” I accuse.

“Marcus is my middle name.” He glowers at Bernard. “It’s what I prefer to be called.”

“Sorry, I keep forgetting…” Bernard raises his shoulders in apology. The three of them launch into a conversation about the remodeling work Marcus is doing at one of the local churches.

Their conversation blurs as I study him. He’s respectful to my uncles. Maybe I was wrong about the cocky part. He looks to be in high school, but what year? Would we go to the same school? He glances at me and our eyes lock. My lungs seize as my heart hammers against my rib cage.

Sheldon reaches over and messes my hair playfully. “We’ve got to head out. We’re taking Lucy shopping for some new clothes.”

A fierce blush spreads to my ears and down my neck. Did Sheldon really need to draw more attention to my pathetic outfit?

“Have fun,” Marcus says. I glance up in time to see the frown returning to his face. I know what he’s thinking.
Lucy Walker the charity case.

With one hand on the car door, I sneak a peek over my shoulder. Marcus is still watching me. My breath catches and I look away but not before he catches me watching him watching me.

* * * *

My sense of smell was damaged by Momma’s two-pack-a-day habit, but I’m still overwhelmed by the ladies at Macy’s Department Store coming at me with their perfume bottles.

“No, thank you.” I dodge the fourth saleswoman before she can spray me or hand me a white scented card. I turn and glare at Bernard and Sheldon, who are laughing like a couple of loons.

In the juniors department, I stare at the clothes as I nibble my bottom lip. A group of four girls walk by, laughing, clothes casually draped over their arms, talking about going to Starbucks. I wish I felt as carefree.

Bernard looks over the endless racks of clothes. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

Easy for him to say, decked out in his pale purple plaid shirt and pressed khakis. Where was I even supposed to start?

Sheldon pulls on his earlobe as he looks around. “You’ll need some fun clothes for summer, but we’ll hold off on school clothes until August. Er…what do you like, Lucy?”