Anybody's Child by Michelle Kidd (polar express read aloud .TXT) 📕

“I miss Mommy,” Mindy said.

“Me too.”

“Does she miss us as much as we miss her?”

“Absolutely!”

They nestled together with only the rhythmic sound of their breathing, slow and comforting until a knock broke the stillness.

“You girls ready?” It was Lynne’s voice, soft and balmy like a wind blowing through her thoughts. It must be close to time to leave for the funeral.

Beth helped Mindy to her feet and stood, dusting her backside. For reasons she couldn’t explain, she didn’t want Lynne to find them huddled on the floor.

“Everything okay in there?”

“Fine,” Beth snapped.

“May I come in?”

Beth shoved aside the urge to deny the request. Awkwardness that hadn’t been there before hung between them. “It’s not locked.” She walked to the mirror and pretended to brush her hair to avoid the older woman’s eyes.

Lynne stepped into the room, looking stunning in a dark sheath dress—far too pretty to attend the funeral of her dearest friend. She was tall and trim. Her white-blonde curls were swept up in a French twist, her pumps and sheer stockings made her look more regal than usual—the kind of woman men were attracted to. Beth was suddenly aware of her own stunted stature. Like her mother, she barely reached five feet. She felt short and frumpy in comparison. Had Dad thought Lynne beautiful too?

Over the next few minutes, Beth answered in monotone syllables. Again, not sure why she carried the need to distance herself—Lynne had been a second mother. Beth tried to dismiss what Detective Arnold had told her about the affair, but he’d unlocked a door to things she’d never considered. Some things, once opened, could not be as easily closed. Somehow, Arnold’s comments changed her perspective. She viewed her best friend’s mother through different eyes. Inevitably, the temptation to play the what if game was too great.

“The family car will be around to pick us up any minute. Your dad asked for us to meet him out front,” Lynne said as she stroked Mindy’s curls.

Whoa, whoa, whoa! Beth’s attention snatched on the word family. She swung accusing eyes at Lynne.

“This is your father’s idea, not mine.” She must have detected Beth’s surprise. “I told him I didn’t believe we should, but he insisted. Your dad thought it was a good idea since you guys are staying with us. Your mom and I were best friends. He said we were the closest thing to family, and he was sure you’d feel the same.” She stopped stroking Mindy’s hair and crossed to where Beth stood, choking with anger.

“But if you’d rather we didn’t . . .” Lynne’s hands trembled as she worried with the pearls at her throat.

“No.” Beth hardly recognized her own voice. “It’s okay.” Once more, the image of her father and Lynne standing together left her with knots in her stomach.

Raven assumed a bored facade as Dominic, a hefty ex-football player-type, ushered her into the luxurious hotel suite. The thin fabric of his jacket stretched as his biceps bulged against the cheap material. He gave the customary grunt and nodded, indicating she should assume the position while he patted her down for weapons.

“Hey, watch it,” she warned when he got too personal.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Raven.” His voice sounded bored.

She sniffed and suffered the routine until he was satisfied and muttered a dismissal.

“You’re clean.” Dominic stood in the foyer consulting with the plastic piece in his ear, then indicated she should go in to wait. “Try not to antagonize him today. You’re on thin ice,” he cautioned, using the same flat tone.

“Antagonize? My, my, look who figured out how to use a dictionary.” Raven’s mouth twisted with a halfsmile.

“Just behave yourself. It’d be a shame to shoot you.” He gave her an appreciative glance, patting his side so she could make out the outline of his shoulder holster and gun. For added measure, Dominic leveled his index finger and thumb at her before pretending to fire. He chuckled, pursing his lips as he blew fake smoke from the barrel. Still laughing, he closed the door.

 Raven released an unimpressed snort at his morbid attempt at humor and looked around. She caught her reflection in the mirrored hallway and zoned in on the red lipstick she wore and frowned. Her mouth was wide, maybe too wide to be viewed as beautiful, but it never stopped her from getting a second look. Her glossy, black hair had been slicked away from her face to reveal, what she considered, too high cheek bones.

You’re far too critical, Granny’s voice interjected into her thoughts. You’re beautiful, honey. Just like those girls in those fancy magazines. You can be anything you want to be.

The memory of her grandmother softened her fierce expression. Would Granny still think her beautiful? Raven didn’t need to ponder long. She knew exactly what Trudy Connors, God-fearing Baptist that she was, would conclude about her granddaughter. She would never approve of her knee-high boots, laced up in the back, or the slimming black jeans that displayed her trim legs and curves. Granny would most definitely not condone the sleek-winged tattoo of a raven whose wings spanned out across her left shoulder. And it wouldn’t be just the outward appearance causing her to pin those all-knowing eyes on Raven. It was who Raven had become. Rayleen, God don’t care what’s on the outside, she’d say in her soft, southern drawl. It’s what’s on the inside that counts.

Her thoughts segued to sights, smells, and voices from her past. Shelling peas with Granny on the side porch and the distinct ping they made when they hit the metal bowl. With her eyes closed, she recalled the combination of Granny’s peonies, her delicious pinto beans and ham simmering on the stove, and the scent of Ben Gay that Granny applied liberally beneath her floral, cotton house dresses.

Ghosts. That’s all they were, but they frequented her mind far too often of late. They refused to hold their peace, creeping in to chip away at her rough exterior. Hungry and eager, the inner voice insisted on unearthing what she’d buried.

The simple country life had been far different from the vagabond life she and her mother lived. There’d been rules for one thing. Granny insisted her rebellious granddaughter be present and planted on the second pew of Piney River Baptist Church every Sunday morning, clothes clean, starched, and pressed. How she’d hated her old-fashioned beliefs. Shame washed over her. Wasn’t that the same as dishonoring Granny? Trudy Connors hadn’t had much, but she’d opened her heart and home, and for all her hard ways, she knew how to love.

Despite her grandmother’s best efforts, Raven never fit in. She struggled through school, lacking social graces. She’d known she was different. What parent wanted their kid hanging out with the daughter of the town drunk? In a small town, everyone had their nose in your business. An alcoholic mother and unknown father never made it easy for her to make friends.

When Raven turned seventeen, she’d had enough of the gossip. She’d taken matters into her own hand and set her footsteps on a new path. When she was old enough, she changed her name and left behind everything Trudy Connors had strived to instill. She’d brushed off the clay dirt of Piney River and refused to let sentiment drag her back. Yet here you are again, Rayleen.

Rayleen Connors. She shivered and mouthed the words, afraid of saying them aloud. The name would forever bring to mind a gangly girl with no friends, no confidence, and no purpose. The girl who’d wound up in juvie, just to prove she belonged.

 Blinking herself to the present, she realized she couldn’t afford to lose focus. Nicholas would eat her alive if she didn’t keep her wits about her. If he sensed weakness, he’d be in for the kill.

She checked her watch and gazed around at the posh digs. The layout was similar to an apartment rather than a hotel room. The foyer opened into a sitting area, and the furniture, she realized right away, had been selected for looks, not comfort. A couch flanked the far wall. Several of those stiff, prissy chairs were strategically placed. Probably some queen-this-or-that attached to the name. A long table, the kind you might find in a formal dining room, dominated the center space with six equally rigid chairs, primly pushed beneath.

One would think Judge Nicholas Garcia would be more conservative considering he was running for Governor of Virginia. But keeping a low profile had never been one of Nicholas’s stronger points. After all, he had a reputation to uphold, hailing from one of the most prominent families in the Commonwealth. He was on the fast track for the governor’s seat, funded, in large part, by their influence. Next stop, the White House.

Raven selected one of the more cushioned pieces of furniture. She flopped down, draped a leg over the arm’s edge, and casually swung it while she continued her appraisal. She did her best to maintain an air of indifference while she waited.

A movement to her left signaled Judge Nicholas Garcia had stepped into the room, oozing confidence and wealth. It was as if he rose every morning and bathed in it. No one, it seemed, was immune to his charms. Ladies swooned when he entered his courtroom, criminals recognized him as a force to be reckoned with, and he championed the weak and innocent. Except, Raven knew better.

Raven regarded him as he crossed the room and seated himself opposite from her on the sofa. She noted his dark hair, threaded with silver, and his aloof manner. He folded his arms and returned her cool stare with one of his own. He wasted no time with pleasantries.

“I don’t like rearranging my schedule.” Nicholas pulled back the sleeve of his gray Armani suit and checked the flashy Rolex. “Let’s make this quick. I have other appointments.”

 “Hey, this wasn’t my idea. You called me.”

“What did you expect after the debacle you two created?” His eyes glittered as he leaned forward. “I’ll get right to the point. You have one shot to make this right, Raven. Mess up again and I’ll kill you.”

Her eyes locked on his as she leveled a slight smile. “You could try.”

At the sight of his twitching jaw, she relished a small victory. She enjoyed taunting him. It was a bit like poking a cobra with a stick. His strike was lightning fast and just as deadly. Knowing this, or possibly because of it, Raven refused to break his gaze.

Seconds ticked by. The compressor on the small fridge in the kitchenette cut in with a groan. Finally, Nicholas threw back his head and laughed. The noise caused more relief than she cared to admit. Just as quickly he stopped, sobered. The man was unbalanced.

“I’m not used to people ignoring my orders.” His eyelids narrowed until they were slits. “You got that?”

She rolled her eyes and picked at the black fingernail polish on her thumb.

“I said you got that!”

His fist struck the small coffee table in front of him, causing her to jump. “Yeah, I got it.”

“Good.” He