Crimson Footprints II: New Beginnings by Pugh Shewanda

Author:Pugh, Shewanda [Pugh, Shewanda]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Delphine Publications
Published: 2013-02-20T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

The center released Lizzie at twelve noon that Friday. In a slight variation on his promise, Kenji met her in the lobby, instead of the revved car in the parking lot. He stood there looking tall and awkward and unsure until she emerged from the main hall with a smile.

He hadn't expected her to look like that. Hair damp and heavy on her shoulders, plumper in the cheeks, thighs, and middle, she wore a simple white sundress, pure against butterscotch skin. She bit her lip at the sight of him, shylike, and something in him awakened.

Down boy. Down.

“I just—I have to sign out,” she explained after their weird, greeting-less greeting.

He wanted to say something. About how beautiful she was or how healthy she looked, but his tongue simply lay there, useless. So, he led her to the car, opened her door, and climbed in, wishing courage would find him some way. Without a word, he started off.

He imagined that it would be like it was when he’d dropped her off, but it dawned on Kenji that such a thing was impossible. The woman he’d fallen for had been high and abused, while the one next to him might be little more than a conglomeration of medications. In other words . . . a stranger.

“Where are you taking me?” Lizzie asked.

He glanced at her.

Why had he left this conversation for so long, the one where they determined what was best for her? They’d made no arrangements, and now they coasted . . . on a ride to nowhere.

“My apartment, everything I owned, was all from Snow. I gave up everything when I left him. I don’t have anywhere to go. Or even any clothes to wear.”

She looked down desperately at herself. “Even this stupid dress is from the center.”

“You can stay with me,” he said quietly. “No strings attached,” he added, when she gave him a distrustful glance. “I have a spare bedroom that never gets a guest. And as for clothes, I can just buy you more.”

“No.”

Kenji glanced at her.

“This is the way it starts with men. You need something. They get it for you. Now you owe them. I don’t—I don’t want to owe anyone else.”

Had he asked for anything? When he’d spent twenty-five grand on her drug rehab, did he ask her for an IOU?

Her comment was like a dash of acid. Still, he figured she must’ve had a lot of self-healing to do. Better to let her reach her own conclusions about him than to force-feed her any of his own.

“All right,” Kenji said. “Wear the same dress every day. See if I care.” He did, of course.

A flicker of skepticism wrinkled her nose. But, like that, it smoothed again. “Good,” she said evenly.

Kenji glanced at her again. Before inviting an ex-drug addict and prostitute to live with him just a moment ago, the most spontaneous thing he’d ever done was to call Aimee Winchester in the tenth grade so that he could ask her to the Spring Fling.

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