Problem Child (Jane Doe #2) - Victoria Helen Stone Page 0,95
morning.
My parents had told me they didn’t have money for gifts and I was a nasty little bitch anyway. All I’d gotten was a set of cheap flavored lip gloss and a fake Barbie doll from the thrift store. My teenage brother, on the other hand, got the exact remote-control monster truck he’d wanted.
He ran it into me all day long, leaving bruises on my legs and back. Then he offered to let me “play with it” while pointing at his crotch. “Five minutes for five minutes.” My mother just laughed.
The minute he went outside to sneak a cigarette, I stole the remote and threw it at the wall hard enough to break it. Then I threw it again. And again. Until it finally ricocheted off the window with a satisfying snap. At the time, I wished I’d cracked his head instead of the glass. I still do. I wish I’d cracked them all open.
That old trailer is packed with trash and could easily ignite and spread flames to the brand-new trailer next to it, still stinking of flammable chemicals. Spread to the elderly woman inside and her stroke-victim husband, unable to navigate out in the smoke and heat. A clean slate. For me and Kayla and the rest of the goddamn world who’ve been subjected to these people for almost seventy years.
But no.
Not worth it. I have a real life now. A gorgeous condo and a beautiful cat and a new car and a niece full of promise, not to mention a successful boyfriend who wants more. The fucking American dream. Everything my mother will never have.
So when Kayla emerges with a duffel bag packed with belongings, I leave my mother behind, still screeching and cursing about what I owe her. I leave her behind because I don’t owe her shit except revenge, and she’s not even worth that anymore.
CHAPTER 23
I watch her like I’m bingeing a fascinating new television show. She changes personality with her wardrobe. Today Kayla is wearing her traveling outfit: sleek black jean leggings and a stylishly slashed pink T-shirt. The girl is already hooked on shopping, but I’ve made it clear she’ll be getting a job soon to cover some of those costs.
“A real job,” I cautioned, and she smiled sweetly. Lord save me from the machinations of a child monster.
She’s softened the twang of her accent as if she’s a wealthy Dallas teenager who’s accustomed to plane rides and airport smoothies, but I see her wide eyes. All the wonder of a five-year-old with none of the innocence.
“This is business class,” I explain as we board the plane and find our seats.
“Not first?”
“First class is something you can discover on your own dime. I think these seats should be sufficiently comfortable for your narrow ass.”
She shoots a squint toward the leather seats in front of us. “I thought they were going to be cool capsules anyway. Those just look like Grandpa’s ugly recliner.”
“You’ve seen too many commercials,” I mutter, but she’s already ignoring me to poke around on the in-flight entertainment system. I feel like a real mom now.
Just kidding. This is much easier to do without guilt or worry. As soon as we’re in the air, I get out my laptop and get some work done on my new cases. I can’t wait to be back in the office, kicking some ass. It’s a new Rob-free era, and I’m ready to shine!
She maintains her air of boredom as we rise into the sky. When the flight attendant comes by, Kayla orders a Coke, then demands all three snacks when offered a choice. I feel tingles of affection when the woman grudgingly hands Kayla peanuts, pretzels, and a granola bar. Finally, someone I can actually relate to.
Ninety minutes later, I reach past Kayla to open the window shade. “Look down,” I say.
“Huh. What’s all that water? Flooding?”
“Land of Ten Thousand Lakes.”
She looks at me blankly.
“That’s what Minnesota is called. The Land of Ten Thousand Lakes. You’ll like it.”
“Whatever,” she says, but I notice her sneaking looks out the window as we turn into the descent. It’s new and different, and that will be enough to keep her interest for a little while. Then there will be a new house, a new school, new people. This should be easy.
“Do I really have to sleep on the couch?” she asks suddenly.
“Just for a few weeks. I’ll find a new place.”
“I could take your bed and you could stay with your boyfriend. I’ll be fine.”