Gettin' Hooked by Nyomi Scott Read Free Book Online Page A

redo my hair.
    Shoving the cell into my pocket while I waited for her to respond, I headed to Gram’s room. I hadn’t talked to her much since I’d gotten home and wanted to make sure she had everything she needed before I went out for the night.
    Pale light seeped out her half-opened door, not just from the TV but from a small table lamp. That was kind of weird, considering I hardly ever saw the light on because it bothers her eyes. Leaning around the door, I looked inside and saw her sitting her favorite recliner, rocking slowly before the news.
    â€œHi, Gram,” I said, moving into her room.
    She swiveled the chair, turning toward me, shifting something on her lap, then sliding it beneath an oversize book. “What is it, baby?”
    My attention was fixed on the fact that she seemed to be hiding whatever it was that she’d been looking at. And I couldn’t help wondering why. “Just wanted to see how you’re doing, Gram.” Though I answered, I couldn’t get my thoughts from lingering on what was now covered by the pages of her book.
    â€œI’m good, girl. Don’t you be worrying yourself about me, child.”
    But her voice sounded sad, a little more distant than usual. Maybe she was looking at pictures of my granddad. I’ve seen her doing that a bunch before, and it always seemed to bring on this mood. Must be it, I decided, not wanting to press her much about it.
    Moving farther into her room, I sat down on the edge of her bed so we could talk for a bit before I hit the town. Okay, not so much the town, but maybe a party or movie or something other than staying home on a Friday night. “Has daddy called?”
    She glanced slowly at the phone, the look of sadness somehow overshadowed by the darker image of guilt. What she had to feel guilty about, I couldn’t guess. She couldn’t change the fact that my dad worked for the airlines and spent most of his time in the sky. Gram sure as hell wasn’t responsible for the fact that my momma couldn’t deal with being a momma and skipped out on me before I’d formed any real memories of her.
    Gram shifted her gaze back to me, looking me straight in the face. “No, Imani, he hasn’t. Not since Wednesday night.”
    â€œHe must be busy.” I knew he was, because I knew deep in my heart if he wasn’t he’d have called me. But even knowing it doesn’t help ease the ache sometimes. “He’ll be home this week, still?”
    â€œBaby, I’m sure he will.” Her voice cracked as she spoke, and the strange mix of sadness and guilt clouded the sweetness of her words. Gram shifted forward, reaching to take my hand. She squeezed gently, the touch soft but firm, always the way of her loving.
    Clamping my lids closed, I willed away the flow of tears, something about Gram’s mood dragging on me. Swiping my free hand across my cheek to catch the lone escapee droplet that seeped past my lashes, I took a couple of breaths, then opened my eyes to see Gram looking me in the face.
    â€œIs it something else, Imani?” she asked.
    â€œNah, just miss him, is all.” Reassuring her nothing else was popping off in my life, I leaned toward her to give her a hug right quick, but when I put my arms around her the book shifted on her lap and I caught the corner of a picture.
    Of me. My most recent school photo, the corner tucked into an envelope, a handwritten address mostly still hidden beneath the hardcover of the book. My gram’s handwriting, telling me she was sending it out.
    Oh, lawdy, my chest hurt bad, as my heart stopped beating for a sec. And my breath caught in my lungs as some strange pressure tightened around my stomach. Who was Gram sending a picture of me to? Some long hidden place in my soul gave a shout-out, that maybe—just maybe—she was sending a picture to my momma.
    I had to bounce. Had to step out of her room, step the hell out of our condo