Wings of Glass by Gina Holmes Read Free Book Online

The ignition turned over on the first try, which was unheard of for Old Sally, as Trent liked to call our car. She almost always tookat least three turns before rattling to life. I watched the thermostat creep up as the car idled. The temptation to drive off and never have to face Callie Mae again was overwhelming, but of course, I couldn’t do that. Not after how nice she’d been to me.
    After a minute, she came out carrying an oversize canvas purse. She walked over, leaned it on my open window rim, and unzipped it. I hated myself so much right then. I didn’t just feel like a beggar, I felt like one of those bums you hated giving money to because you just knew they would only blow it on drugs or booze.
    She reached into her bag and pulled out a green and white soft pack of Salems. Shocked into silence, I just stared at her.
    It was she now who couldn’t make eye contact. “Don’t you dare go telling anyone I smoke. The last thing in this world I need is another well-intended lecture on what these things make the inside of my lungs look like. I was planning on quitting again tomorrow, anyway. I’ll just do it today.”
    Not knowing what else to do, I took the cigarettes from her hand. This pack was not only missing a few, and not your father’s brand, they were menthol. He hated menthol. But I didn’t want to hurt her feelings, and beggars couldn’t really be choosers. “I don’t know what to say. Thank you, Callie Mae.”
    She waved me away. “Don’t mention it. And I mean that literally. You had best not show up to church on Sunday thanking me for those things, neither, understand?”
    The look on her face tickled me. “No, ma’am. I wouldn’t think of it.” It felt almost as good to laugh as it had to eat. I guess I’d been starving for both.
    As I drove off, leaving an oil stain behind me, I caught a glimpse of my smile in the rearview, and at that moment, I remembered how life was supposed to feel.

SEVEN

    I FOUND TRENT in the same spot I had left him—in front of the TV. The only difference was now he was lying down instead of sitting. He had the couch pillow doubled under his head and the avocado-and-brown afghan wrapped around him like it wasn’t eighty degrees outside.
    With my arms still full of groceries, I started to ask what he was watching, but caught myself just in time. Instead I said, “What are you listening to?”
    With a sigh, he pushed the cover down to his waist, revealing a shred of green yarn stuck to his chest hair. “Stupid news. Nothing good ever happens to nobody. Ever.”
    I wanted to blurt out that simply wasn’t true. Lots of good stuff happened in the world—just today, in fact, to us—but I couldn’t show my hand too early, not if I was going to get to take the job that would keep food on our table. First, I needed to butter him up good. “I’m going to make salmon cakes for supper.” My hand was starting to hurtwhere the plastic handles of grocery bags had twisted around my knuckles.
    He turned in my direction. “Don’t toy with me, woman.”
    All nerves, I faked a laugh. “With fried potatoes and pole beans. If that’s all right with you.”
    The look on his face was priceless. It must have been the same one I wore when Callie Mae pulled out those oatmeal cremes and offered me one.
    After walking the bags to the kitchen and setting them down on the counter, I rubbed at the indents they had left on my palm and returned to your father.
    I hadn’t shaved him in two days, so his facial hair was starting to sprout up in spotty patches along his jaw. Something about the way he looked past the television at the wall behind it with his hair all spiked up every which way made my heart skip. Despite everything he had put me through, I loved your father. And now I was going to have a baby. His baby.
    I walked over and bent down to where he lay. When my lips brushed his scruffy cheek, he turned to give me his lips. It had been so long since he’d done that, I had