2. Kali

CHAPTER 2

Kali

Seven days before I was taken…

Do you ever feel stuck?

Where your mind moves on to better, grander, and exciting places, but the body is left behind? Where your feet are stuck in quicksand, and reality slowly swallows those dreams? That’s my life. Every day. If only I could escape to the place where my mind wanders off to as soon as my head sinks into the pillow. A place where I have a loving mom and dad. A place where love isn’t only a shadow in the past.

The only thing I feel here is stranded. Trapped.

Some people say it’s strengthened me, and some people say I was the lucky one. But at the heart of reality, I was alone. I let out a deep sigh and push aside the self-loathing. I try not to pity myself. After all, everyone else in this town has that covered.

“Is everything okay?” Chip asks as I pour his coffee, his eyes narrowing as he studies me, and I force a smile at our breakfast regular and offer a feeble nod. It’s nice he cares enough to ask. It makes my shitty day a little less shitty. I’m invisible to most people in this town, an insignificant moment while they catch a quick bite or a coffee during their busy day, so his concern is a welcome change.

I blow my side bangs out of my face, the ones I thought would look cute because it’s the trend. However, seventy-year-old Margo doesn’t quite grasp the art of trendy cuts. Most days, I end up looking like a mushroom head with my hair pulled back in a ponytail and the side bangs puffing out.

This happens after a cute guy sends you a pie.

A new haircut, painted nails, and an attempt at whitening your teeth with the cheap stuff found at the corner drugstore. But after the hair massacre, I’m glad he hasn’t returned. All he’d find now is a mushroom head, half-chipped nails, and forget the white teeth—those strips had me cursing in shooting pain.

“It’s been one of those mornings,” I groan.

Chip’s radio chatters next to his ear, and he tilts his head to the side to listen. I can’t imagine being a cop, witnessing the worst of the world and then trying to see the good in people because you can’t live thinking everyone is bad. That’s a quick way to drown in misery. That’s why I make it my mission to make Chip laugh every morning.

But not today. Today, I wish I could crawl back in bed and have a do-over.

“What did the zero say to the eight?” he asks, turning his attention back to me. I twist my lips and hum. I’ve got nothing. “That belt looks good on you.”

“Pretty funny, Chip,” I say over my shoulder, pouring coffee for another customer down the bar and chuckling at the total dad joke.

He claps his hands. “I made you laugh,” he says from across the room. “It was my turn.”

That you did. If only everyone knew how a simple act of kindness can flip a person’s bad day with one gesture. Moments later, he drops cash on the counter and waves at me right before he leaves for work.

God, watch over him , I say to myself, looking up. Despite living in a small town where crime rarely happens, it occasionally does . You can ask anyone about our town, Blackburn, within a hundred miles in all directions, and the first thing they ask about is the Harpers.

Eighteen years ago, Elizabeth Harper walked in on her husband in bed with their neighbor. She went into a rage, grabbing a chainsaw. I was four, so I only heard the horror stories years after it happened. Gossip says you couldn’t tell whose parts were whose by the time she finished. Here’s the kicker: the jury found her not guilty for reasons I can’t even understand. I want her lawyer if something ever happens to me. She’s supposedly living across the country, living her life like she didn’t slaughter two people. But yeah, other than that and my parents’ accident, our small, sleepy town doesn’t see much excitement.

“Looks like you got a little action last night.” Pearl wags her pencil-drawn-in brows, wrapping her apron around her narrow hips. “Did a certain college kid find his way back here and have some pie?”

I groan as I pass her, stopping at the drink station to refill some sodas. It’s been three weeks, and they’re still at it. “You guys will never let me forget him, will you?” She shakes her head. “Sorry to disappoint, but no action here, just the typical curling iron excuse.”

That’s how my day started—burning the shit out of my neck.

Then, I spilled a full bowl of cereal all over my shirt and tripped on a rock while walking to work, cutting open my knee. I stare down at my worn-out canvas tennis shoes, each scuff and worn thread telling a story of the miles they’ve covered, my left one now adorned with a new embellishment of dried blood on it. Let’s hope bleach will get that out.

The day drags on, and when I think it can’t get worse, someone says, “Kali?”

I glance at the table it came from, and there’s a stunning platinum-blonde woman sitting alone, waving. I stare at the stranger for a beat. As I approach her table, she leaps up and envelops me in a tight hug. The hug is stiff and awkward.

More like, I’m stiff and awkward .

“Kali, oh my gosh, it’s been forever.” All I can think is she smells like vanilla, her shirt is soft, and she reminds me of a Barbie doll. If she didn’t know my name, I’d say she had the wrong person.

“Hi,” I say.

She pulls back and lets out a short, humorous laugh. “You don’t recognize me, do you? I mean, it hasn’t been that long.” I gaze into her bright blue eyes, detecting a glimmer of familiarity, but I’m still having trouble placing her. She dips her chin as if coaxing recognition from me. After a few awkward moments, throwing her arms out, she says “It’s Ruth Ann.”

My eyes widen in disbelief as they scan up and down her slender frame. Where did the rest of her go? “Wow.” Nobody could blame me for not recognizing her. Who would? The last time I saw her, she was heavyset, had messy dark brown hair, and braces. Everyone teased her. Except me . I befriended her because I felt bad people treated her worse than they treated me. She left in the middle of our junior year. I hadn’t seen her since. “You look…stunning.”

“Thanks! I can’t believe you’re still here,” she says, casting a disdainful look around. By around here, she means Blackburn, and her passive-aggressive comment lands with a sting, coming from the one person who I thought would never act superior to me.

Her life growing up wasn’t much better than mine. Whispers hinted her mom was a prostitute where she spent most of her weekends in Austin. No one knew for sure, though. Her mom was high most of the time we hung out, and she rarely wore enough clothes to cover her boobs and ass, so it wouldn’t have surprised me if it were true. They lived in a double-wide trailer on the outskirts of town, and Ruth Ann’s lunch consisted of one peanut butter sandwich and one apple every day. She would always say her mom put her on a diet, but I wondered if it was because they couldn’t afford anything else.

She slides back into the booth. “So, who else got stuck here?” I blink at her backhanded slap in the face. “Oh, I didn’t mean to sound so rude.” Really? You could’ve fooled me . “But you’re still here cause you love it.”

Now I know she’s being condescending.

There are plenty of people who have deep-seated roots here and would never move. I am not one of those people, and every single person within the city limits knows that. She knows that . But she ignores my irritation as she launches into a ten-minute monologue about how great her life has been since she left here. Her mom did, in fact, go to jail for prostitution, and that’s why she had to move her junior year. She moved in with an aunt she didn’t know she had, who ended up being a wealthy purse designer, providing her a life of privilege. Lucky for her. She went to a private school and later to college. Now, she’s in law school and only came back to this lousy town— her words —to take care of some of her mom’s legal matters.

With every passing moment, jealousy coils around me like a suffocating vine. I can’t help the twinge of bitterness, not only because of her condescending attitude but also because she escaped this place.

I thought I would too.

Once.

There was one time a family wanted me. My ninth birthday. Peggy Sue, the caretaker of the group home, bought me a light blue dress from the second-hand store that had white lace around the neck, and she did my hair in two braids the day they were coming to meet me. I sat on the bench in the entryway, with perfect posture, my legs crossed like a little lady, and my hands folded in my lap. I waited. And waited. Even with a sore butt from the wooden bench, I didn’t move a muscle, afraid they would walk through the doors at any second.

They never came.

They had changed their minds, decided it wasn’t a good fit. My already scarred heart was crushed. My nine-year-old self couldn’t understand. I was a well-behaved kid, had a kind heart, and I wanted a family so badly it hurt. But in the end, no one gave me a chance to live a decent life like Ruth Ann.

Nothing like the past coming back to shove your misfortunes in your face.

I swallow my contentment and force a grin. “Ruth Ann, I’m?—”

“It’s just Ann now,” she says, interrupting me, still with the plastic smile on her face that has yet to go away. It’s like she’s auditioning for a teeth-whitening commercial.

“Oh. Well, Ann ,” I reply, overemphasizing her name. “I’m thrilled for you. I always wondered how you were doing after you left.” Total lie, but what else do I say? I’m trying to not sound bitter. Even though I am.

Especially today .

Pearl—my hero—notices how uncomfortable I am and makes up an excuse about how I’m needed in the kitchen. Once away from just Ann, Pearl asks, “Who’s Miss America?”

I let out a bitter moan. “Another example that life gets better for everyone except me.”

She looks into my eyes with fierce intensity as she grips both my shoulders. “You listen here, missy,” she clips, her words cutting through the noise in the diner. “You are a beautiful, determined young woman who has years left before you reach your peak. This phase in your life, no matter how challenging, is only a stepping stone. It might be a bigger stone than what others face, but you’ll climb it, and when you come out on the other side, you’ll be better for it.”

I take a deep breath, releasing it into a small, appreciative grin. She always knows what to say. “Thanks. Sometimes it’s hard for me to see past this point in my life. I feel stuck. And then just Ann comes in, flashing her success, throwing in my face what I don’t have.”

“Hon, don’t let someone else’s success dampen your journey. Life has twists and turns, and right now you’re navigating through a tough stretch. But remember, storms pass, and the sun will shine again on you. And like Dolly Parton said, ‘If you want the rainbow, you gotta put up with the rain .’”

She’s right. I need to snap out of this wave of self-pity. It’s not like me to dwell on what I don’t have. It’s just been one of those days. And as I walk back out, a sense of relief washes over me spotting the empty seat where Ann had sat. I’ll take the small wins.

The second five o’clock rolls around, I’m out of here. I notice Pearl by the front window, staring out. I walk up behind her. “Whatcha looking at?” She jumps, startled. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” I laugh.

“I was watching the storm off in the distance,” she says, turning, and we both walk toward the back. “I’m not going to bingo tonight. The last thing I wanna do is hunker down with the town people while a tornado rips through.”

I grab my purse from under the counter. “Is it supposed to get bad tonight?”

She nods, grabbing some plates to deliver.

And is it already Friday? My life has become such a routine that days aren’t different anymore—a monotonous blur between days and nights. The only exception is Friday nights when I play bingo with the forty-plus crowd. Everyone else my age hangs out at On the Rocks bar. I bet Ann will be there, flaunting that she has morphed from an ugly duckling into a beautiful, successful swan. I’d kind of enjoy seeing the spectacle with all the has-beens still living here. Since she left the diner, and after I got over the initial envy, I realized I was actually happy for her. However, tonight, with a storm brewing, I’d rather stay home, too.

As I walk through the gloomy night, ominous clouds threaten rain during the wettest April we’ve had in years. My mind drifts to the plans I once had when I left the Stonemeyers’ house and the idealistic notion of going to college so my mom would’ve been proud of me and then getting a career as a flight attendant.

This orphaned little girl wanted to see the world.

And not be trapped in the very town that took my parents. I hate this place. I hate the memories. Every day, I walk three extra blocks to avoid the stoplight the drunk asshole ran when he collided with my parents’ car head-on. To see the exact spot where they suffered while they hung from their seat belts in their upside-down car, bleeding from their fatal injuries, makes me want to vomit each time I pass it.

If only I had a car to escape this stifling town. Instead, I’m stuck waitressing at the local diner, making enough to scrape by, never enough to move forward. For four years, I’ve saved every extra penny I’ve made in the hope of leaving this town. It isn’t much, but soon I might have enough to buy a used car that probably has a million miles on it. Most people who work corporate jobs commute to Austin. My options in town for jobs were limited.

On my way home, I notice the gas station’s G in their large GAS sign flickering above the store. I pause, debating if I could splurge a little tonight. A pint of ice cream won’t put a huge dent in my budget, and of course, it’ll make me feel a lot better. Since I’m not going to bingo, it’ll be a wash. Decision made.

The door’s bell jingles, and Henry, the owner’s son, peeks his head around an aisle and grins. “Hey Kali. Surprised to see you here tonight.” When I say we live in a small town, I wasn’t kidding. Everyone knows what everyone does.

I point outside. “A storm and a crappy day makes Kali a boring girl. Nothing ice cream won’t help.”

“I get off in an hour. Want some company?”

Occasionally, we hang out, but lately I’m worried his feelings have changed toward me. I like us being friends, and that’s it. “Not tonight, I’ve had the worst day and want to go to bed early,” I murmur as I stroll toward the freezer section. He’s a cute guy, in a big bear kind of way. He was once the town’s prized high school linebacker, who unfortunately had to have reconstructive knee surgery during his senior year, and he decided to stay to help his parents with their business after high school. With the sweetest demeanor, it’s hard not to like Henry. But that we’ve known each other since childhood makes it awkward. He knows my entire life history, and his mom still sees me as the homeless child from fourteen years ago—the town’s charity case. I’m hoping his interest will fade and we can go back to being buddies.

He’s already waiting for me behind the counter when I plop down the pint of cherry ice cream. He scans it and puts it in a plastic bag. “That’ll be three forty-four.” I dig out my five-dollar bill, and when I lift my eyes, they land on a bright lottery ticket ad. For a brief second, I think, what if ?

What are the chances? One in five million? There’s still one, right? How about it, God? Maybe do me this one solid?

“Kali?”

I shake out of my plea with God and find Henry holding his hand out for my money. Not giving it another thought, I blurt out, “I’ll take a lottery ticket, too.”

It’s only a dollar. I spend five of them every week at Bingo, and I’ve never won there, but I keep doing it. His brow shoots up. “I have a better shot at taking you on a date than you winning. You know that, right?”

I laugh. “I won’t hold my breath if you don’t hold yours.”

He snorts, and his cheeks burn red, making me chuckle. “I swear you would’ve grown out of that.” He curses under his breath once and hands me my change and lottery ticket. “It’s still cute, though.”

He wags his bushy brows. “You think I’m cute?”

“Good night, Henry.”

With only two blocks to home, I speed walk, both to prevent the ice cream from melting and to escape the looming rain shower threatening to drench me. I cross the train tracks, hoping the lightning stays distant. Heavy brush lines both sides of the street, and with my luck today, a bolt would strike a tree and land on my head. The pressure in the air gives me a headache, or maybe it’s thinking about Pearl’s words from earlier.

“It might be a bigger stone than what others face, but you’ll climb it, and when you come out on the other side, you’ll be better for it.” Am I better for it, though? When I think about the successful escapees of Blackburn, it’s hard not to succumb to the pangs of failure I feel regularly. “But remember, storms pass, and the sun will shine on you.”

How I wish the sun would shine on me tomorrow.

The fresh scent of rain from last night and the gentle, cool breeze tousles my hair as I stroll through the apartment parking lot. Today is already better. I can feel it. I draw in a deep inhale, letting Mother Nature wash away any lingering bad vibes. I kick my foot up and smile at my bleaching skills.

Blood is gone, and they live another day.

As I turn the corner, the normally empty gas station parking lot is filled to the max with commotion. A crowd gathers in front of the store, with the only two squad cars in town parked to the right. I squint my eyes to read the side of one van. Channel Eight News. Oh, my god. Henry . What if someone robbed him? Or worse, shot him because he tried to fight them off? He would do that. But then he walks out the front door of the store with excitement on his face, alongside his family. Cheers erupt, and I let out a breath.

What the heck is going on?

I peek down at my watch and groan. I can’t be late two days in a row. What am I worried about? I’ll get the scoop the second I enter the diner. Sure enough, the restaurant buzzes with excitement.

“What’s happening?” I ask Steve, the line cook today, as I tie an apron around my waist.

He flips a few eggs and shrugs. “Something about the lottery. Didn’t pay too much attention as I don’t play.” He points out to the diner. “It’s too early for this much activity. It’s like our sleepy town woke up for the first time. It’s weird.”

“Did someone from Blackburn win the lottery?”

He shrugs again. “I guess.”

I dart out of the kitchen, searching for Pearl, and the swinging wooden doors swoosh closed behind me. If there’s anyone that knows town gossip, it’s her.

“Pearl,” I say, rushing toward her. “Did someone win the lottery here?”

“Yes, ma’am,” she squeals, grabbing my arm. “This is exciting as a pig in mud!”

“Do we know who won?”

“Not yet. Word is, someone claimed it, but they haven’t made it public. Can you believe it? Someone from here could be a millionaire! They better leave us a damn good tip.”

The buzz of excitement permeates the diner. Conversations grow louder as people talk to their neighboring tables. Everyone is smiling, which is actually nice to see. Many in Blackburn struggle with the sameness of their lives, so no doubt this will bring some excitement to the community. I think about the lonely ticket on my dresser. Too bad it wasn’t me.

My voice is hoarse, and a splitting headache pulses at my temples by the end of the day. The incessant chatter about the lottery has filled every corner of the diner. How much the person was going to end up getting after taxes— four million dollars—and what said person should do with it.

“I hope to never hear the word lottery again,” sighs Pearl. We both lean against the back station, arms crossed, observing the jam-packed restaurant. We’ve given up trying to keep everyone’s cup filled. This unofficially became the hot spot of the day after people left the gas station. Everyone in this freaking town must’ve taken the day off as if they marked today a holiday. If someone wasn’t here, wild speculation was that they were the winner. Nobody wanted to leave, afraid if they did, they’d miss something.

But the missing person would walk in, and the pendulum of speculation would swing to a new guess. The cycle persisted all day. Back and forth, it swung. Roberto issued warnings about loitering, but everyone started ordering drinks so they could stay.

“I hope it’ll be back to normal tomorrow,” I say, relieved to see our replacements walk through the doors.

“It better. My tips sucked today.”

I nod. “Same.” When I counted my tips earlier, a pit of panic surged in my stomach. Saturdays are our best tip days. I have rent due next week, and if I have another day like today, I won’t be able to cover it. It’ll piss me off if I have to dip into some of my savings.

“Bunch of cheapskate busybodies, if you ask me,” Pearl barks as we push past the swinging doors.

That’s for damn sure.