Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 43837 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 219(@200wpm)___ 175(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43837 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 219(@200wpm)___ 175(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
“Tomorrow afternoon?” I wonder, and then my exhausted brain recalls. Of course, when mom was better, it was a lot easier. “Oh, the reading list, right. Yeah, I’ll be home after lunch, and then I’ll drop by the library, does that work, kiddo?”
Stevie yawns again, harder than before, and he nods. “Thanks, Kat.”
I herd my little brother to his room, and he collapses into his faded race car bed. There are posters on the walls that are a little bit faded. I move to leave the room, my gaze catching sight of the shoes resting on the floor next to the bed.
My chest aches as I stare at the worn canvas of the sneakers, all of them looking the worse for wear.
In my mind, I calculate the portion of my tiny check that I’ll need to buy my brother some new, nice-looking second-hand shoes. If I can’t get him new ones, that will have to be enough. He deserves that much from this life.
I think about calling the nursing home, but I know I won’t get an answer, and maybe I don’t actually want one. I don’t want to hear that I’m not doing enough.
I bite my lip as I stand in the apartment, the phone at my ear. I have already knocked on Mrs. Maxine’s door to let her know I will be back after lunch to get Stevie after I drop him off tomorrow morning.
I’ve already tried running the numbers in my calculator, and I know that if I take one or two extra shifts at the diner, I can hopefully have a few extra bucks in tips before heading back to the club to waitress.
Maybe I’ll have enough money then and be able to just live.
“I don’t have any more shifts to give you, girl,” Carlos growls down the phone as he pushes some papers around in the background of the diner.
I can hear the sharp tinkle of the door and the sizzling of the fryer crackling somewhere behind him. He’s never been a man who cares about what others need from him.
“Come on, Carlos, please,” I know I must sound like a child as I beg for something that I’m most likely not going to get. “There has to be something for me.”
“Not unless you want to stop working at the strip club and start working here full time,” Carlos counters, sarcasm dripping from his words. It makes me grind my jaw in frustration.
He knows that I won’t be able to do that. I know that much.
I stop, though, doing the quick math in my head. There’s just no way I can quit the club. Even working at the diner full time for a week wouldn’t get me the same amount of money I make at the club in a couple of nights from tips alone.
“I can’t quit the club,” I tell him, gritting my teeth. “You know I need that job.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Carlos answers me, not at all swayed by my situation and obviously uncaring either way. “I can’t just be doing charity cases.”
“Carlos, please just listen, okay,” I ramble on desperately, ready to plead my case on what’s likely to be deaf ears for sure.
I haven’t had an ounce of pride for so long when it comes to my brother’s life and keeping him comfortable.
“Getting your kid brother a gift for his birthday isn’t my problem, girl,” Carlos says flippantly over the phone, and I can hear him as he starts to walk away, pushing the phone down. “You’ll just have to find more shifts at the club if the diner isn’t important enough for you. Now, I’ve got business to attend to here.”
With that, he hangs up the phone and the dial tone blares in my ear. I feel nauseated, and what’s left of my snack of crackers at the club begins to creep back up. I press my hand to my mouth, putting my phone down.
I lean on the kitchen counter for support as my head spins. I pull in deep, aching breaths into my lungs as I fight back against the tears that threaten to spill over.
I can do it, I have to. I have almost a week to go until my little brother’s birthday, and I have to make it as extra special as I possibly can.
Things will get better eventually. They have to, or all of this is for nothing.
For years now, it’s been just me looking after Stevie. It’s my job, though, and Stevie deserves a better life than what he’s been given, but I’m doing my best.
I press my fingers to my forehead, pushing against the headache that throbs there.
I need to get some sleep, at least a few hours anyway.
I hear a creak from Stevie’s room, though, and my ears perk up, as tired as I am. I hear the creak again.