happen to their marriage if he was forced to trade Maya's school to protect their livelihood—and maybe even his family's safety?
Chapter 29
I tried sniffing Coke once, but the ice kept bumping my nose.
The chimes tinkled as Maya entered The Curiosity Shoppe. It wasn't her store anymore, but she needed to clue Cleo in on some of the changes she'd made at the instigation of Axell and Selene. She was rather proud that the place was finally making a small profit. She prayed Cleo would appreciate what they'd done. Her big sister was the only real home she'd known growing up. She wanted that connection back—another impossible dream, she supposed.
"What are you doing here?" a raspy voice asked from the dark interior. "Isn't it enough you've got my kid, you want my store too?"
Well, so much for prayer. Maya was beginning to remember why she and Cleo hadn't parted on the best of terms. "You wanted me to leave Matty with Social Services?"
She probably ought to just turn around and leave. She didn't have the stamina for Cleo's anger this morning. Axell had left her limp and so confused she didn't know whether she was coming or going.
"That's not what that legal paper you sent was all about. You want my kid." Cleo emerged from the back of the shop, coffee cup in hand. She looked as if she hadn't slept all night. Her short hair stood on end, and her T-shirt looked as if she'd wrung it out and put it on wet. She was so thin, the shirt outlined her rib cage.
Maya searched for some sign of drugs, but Cleo's eyes were clear and snapping. "That's a legal maneuver. Axell's lawyer says if we have guardianship, then Social Services can't do anything if we let you take care of Matty as much as you like. Otherwise, you can't have Matty until the social worker says you can."
"Where's my teapot?" Cleo reached for her pockets as if hunting for a cigarette, cursed, then shoved her hands in her jeans waistband.
Maya didn't need an explanation. Cleo had always smoked, for as long as she could remember. Cutting out cigarettes and drugs both must be driving her crazy. "It's at the school. We almost lost everything when the other building collapsed, so I packed it up and stored it somewhere safe. I'll get it for you."
Cleo dropped into the wicker chair and curled her legs under her, not looking at Maya. "I want my life back. You've got my kid, my store, my damned teapot. Hell, you've got my town. You married Wadeville's golden boy. What am I supposed to do, crawl off in a hole somewhere and let you have it all?"
This was the point where Maya was supposed to slink off into the sunset and let everyone do their own thing. She didn't have answers. Never had. But she'd made some decisions that got her into this position, and she didn't see any immediate way out.
Maya dropped into the other chair. "Why did you move to Wadeville?" Maya kicked herself, but the question was out there and she couldn't think of a better one.
Cleo shrugged and rested her head against the high back of the chair. "When I left the Creep, I had to go somewhere. I thought maybe I could make it in our hometown, find our roots. I should have known better."
The Creep, Cleo's husband, the one who'd hooked her on drugs. Maya knew all that from garbled phone conversations over the years. But the Creep hadn't been in Wadeville. Whatever Cleo had done here, she had done to herself.
"I kind of like it here." Maya was surprised to hear herself say that. She didn't like places. They changed too often. But the people of Wadeville had offered her more opportunities than anywhere else. "Wouldn't it be nice if we could be a real family, raise our kids in a real town?" she asked with a tinge of hope.
"It ain't gonna happen." Cleo said callously. "I can't keep this place running. The only job I qualify for is waitressing. The rent around here is too expensive to live on tips. Old Man Pfeiffer cut me a break on the other building, but I'm not living off your husband's charity."
"Pfeiffer? Mr. Pfeiffer owned the other building? I paid the rent to some corporation." There was a topic she could sink her teeth into without disturbing old arguments.
"Yeah, but he must have owned it. I think the old goat owns