The Cake House by Latifah Salom Read Free Book Online Page A

he was still here, and he wanted something. It should have been easy to say, but I remembered how she had looked the day my father died: white, bloodless, and ravaged.
    “Nothing,” I said, turning away so she would leave, while at the same time not wanting her to go. I wanted her to sit with me until I fell asleep, but I didn’t want to have to say it.
    “Do you hate me?” she asked, the same way she might ask if I had done my homework or if I could help her cook dinner. “I hope you don’t hate me. It’s not right, to hate your mother.”
    My throat closed. Sometimes I hated her more than I hated anything else. For bringing me here. For leaving my father. For letting Claude put that ring on her finger.
    “Although maybe you should hate me,” she said. Her eyes glittered like diamonds. “Sometimes I hated my mother. Never marry, she said. It’s a mistake. Don’t have children. They’ll only hurt you. I should have listened.”
    My father, with his hesitant laughs, his nervous energy, the way he used to twirl her around, never stopping until she pried herself free: He was her mistake. But perhaps I was the bigger mistake.
    Behind her, a shadow broke away from the rest. The shadow spread. It came up behind her with arms outstretched. Ready to swallow us in his embrace.
    I gripped her hand, too afraid to move, to do anything but hold on.
    “What is it?” she asked. She started to turn around to look, but I jerked her hand in mine and shook my head, unable to speak.
    “Dahlia,” called Claude. His silhouette loomed in the doorway.
    “Here,” she said to him, but she was still watching me with concern and confusion.
    “Come to bed.” Claude opened the door wider, causing all the shadows to scatter and revealing nothing unusual except for the ring of my possessions lining each wall.
    She nodded and started to stand. “Pick up your things from the floor, Rosaura,” she said, then turned to leave.
    “Wait,” I said, frantic to keep her with me, grasping at her hands. If she chose Claude, I might lose her forever.
    My fingernails scraped her skin as she pulled away. She cried out and cradled her wrist. I could see the scrape my nails had caused along her skin.
    “You’re bleeding,” Claude said.
    “It’s fine,” she said, letting him take her away.
    I said that I was sorry, but she was already in the hallway. Claude shut my door, leaving me in the imperfect darkness with silence pushing in from all sides. There wasn’t even a ghost to keep me company.
    THE NEXT MORNING I RAN downstairs to be first in the kitchen, but Claude was there scrambling eggs in a frying pan and wearing a frilly apron over his clothing. He beamed at me. “I was about to call you,” he said. “Breakfast is served.”
    Conflicting desires battled within me: I wanted to ignore him, reinforce how much I hated him, but I was also hungry. He didn’t notice, busy serving eggs and toast onto a plate and pouring a glass of orange juice. He sat at the table and studied me with his bright, expectant blue eyes until I gave in and sat down opposite him.
    I picked up the fork and stabbed a piece of egg. “What?”
    “Your mother and I have something to do today, but just for a couple of hours,” he said, as if wanting to reassure me.
    I managed an indifferent shrug, but it hurt to think that my mother would leave me in this house where my father’s ghost lived to go with Claude, even for two hours. He watched as I ate. I knew he was thinking of the previous night and how I had freaked out. I was trying to figureout a way to say there was nothing wrong when my mother walked in. I looked behind her, but there was no Alex. I wished I had been smart enough to stay in my bedroom too.
    Claude stood up when she entered. “Well,” he said, holding out his seat for her, and then placing another plate with eggs and toast on the table. She hesitated a moment before taking the offered seat.
    “Thank you,” she said. “This looks great. You