Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 75015 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75015 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
I swallowed. That sounded just like Lincoln. He was of Native American descent. God, I was so confused now. “Great.” I forced a smile. “Thank you for letting me know.”
“Sure.” He paused. “Is everything alright?”
“Yeah,” I lied. “Everything’s fine.”
He glanced at my bag on the seat. Eve’s purse. There was a mild twitch to his right eye. “Are you leaving?”
I scoffed. “I don’t think that’s any business of yours.”
“I was just asking.” He threw his hands in the air again. “I know your check-out is in the morning.” He stepped back some more, shrugging. Then he gestured to the car. “Do you want me to take a look under the hood?”
“That’s okay. I’ll call triple A.”
“Oh, please. They’ll take forever to get here. I’m happy to look. I work with cars all the time.”
“Alex, really, that’s okay. I’ve already called.”
Alex blinked with his lips pressed. Then he stepped back again, swinging his arms forward and clasping his hands together. He appeared to be praying as he brought his hands in front of his chest. This man was no saint.
“Alright. Well, if you need anything at all, feel free to reach out.”
I nodded. “Sure.”
He turned away, hesitant at first, like he was trying to make sure that I was sure. When he finally put some pep in his step and found his way around the bend of the path, disappearing into darkness, I sucked in a breath and dug into my purse for my phone.
I sent another text to Diana.
If something happens to me, tell the authorities to look into Alex and Damian Reed.
It was dramatic, sure. But it was better than nothing. Even if the message wasn’t sent now, it would eventually . . . I hoped.
Besides, I didn’t need Alex’s help checking under the hood. My dad was all about teaching us girls how to be independent. If a tire needed changing, I knew how to swap it out. Battery dying? I knew exactly how to replace it. He didn’t want us roaming this world helpless or relying on a man to rescue us. He wanted us to be our own saviors.
I popped the hood and then climbed out of the car after taking a visual sweep of the area. The culprit became very clear when I checked the engine. One of the spark plugs was loose.
I fixed the spark plug, slammed the hood, then climbed behind the wheel again. The engine started with ease, and I drove away, but not without thinking that someone had purposely loosened my spark plug. Probably because that same someone didn’t want me leaving.
Eve Castillo journal entry
I think about my mom a lot. Sometimes I catch myself feeling guilty about what I did to her.
The problem with Ma is that she was so easy to manipulate. To me, she was like a lump of clay: easy to mold and shape into whatever you wanted.
I remember a time when she was actually nice to me and Zoey. I recall her braiding our hair, and even taking us to Cici’s Pizza so we could eat however much we wanted and then play arcade games afterward. The cinnamon rolls were her favorite. She used to bring some home with her and eat them while she watched telenovelas.
The thing is, Pa left her for another woman when Zoey was born. We were okay for a few years. But that other woman he was with kicked his dusty ass to the curb. When she did, he came running back to Ma. And Ma took him right in. At first, it didn’t bother me that he was around. Pa worked and helped her with the bills. He ate dinner with us most nights but avoided me and Zoey for some reason.
Then something changed. It started with the slamming of doors. A quick beer that led to two, three, four, five even. Punching holes in the wall after a bad day at work. When I was eight, I remember him coming into my room, grabbing one of my braids, and yanking me off of the bed. Zoey was on her bed, sound asleep.
Pa looked down at me with his fists clenched and said, “Why the fuck didn’t you wash the dishes?”
I was too stunned to speak. He’d never hit me before, never been rough with me. He took my speechlessness as disrespect and hauled me up, just to steer me out of the bedroom. Ma came out of her room with a robe on, her hair all over the place, and bleary eyed. She worked the third shift, and it wasn’t time for her to get up yet. She asked what was wrong.
“She didn’t wash the fucking dishes!” Pa yelled as he stormed into the kitchen with my arm in his tight grasp. I cried for him to let me go. I kept telling him that he was hurting me. He didn’t care.