HER DREADFUL WILL: a Southern Gothic romantic fantasy by Rebecca F. Kenney

Author:Rebecca F. Kenney [Kenney, Rebecca F.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Midnight Tide Publishing
Published: 2022-04-05T16:00:00+00:00

22

Zillah Dean tried to scrub the prickling sensation from her eyes with the heels of her hands. She squinted at the screen of the old laptop again and flicked her index finger over the mouse wheel, scrolling through job listings. None of them looked promising. Ever since the Cheshire’s Steakhouse fiasco and the restaurant’s subsequent closing, she hadn’t been able to find another waitressing gig. Wonderland, Georgia had a limited number of jobs available. A limited number of businesses.

If Zillah were free, she would move out of town, to Savannah or Charleston where the food service industry was booming and she could have her pick of waitressing jobs. Maybe even a hostess job, though they usually picked the younger, prettier girls and guys for those roles. The cost of living would be higher, but tips would also be better, maybe. And she’d be near the ocean. Hadn’t been to the ocean in ages, never mind that it was a mere six hours’ drive away. Thanks to a nearly empty bank account and her useless lump of a grandmother, there was no time or money for travel, or even a weekend away. Zillah would kill for a weekend away. Instead of spending her entire Friday job-hunting, she’d spend it on a beach towel, under a fluttering umbrella.

She could see it now—a tiny private rental, maybe just a room in someone’s house, nothing fancy. The crinkled surface of the ocean, glittering under the sun. She would stand in its shallows while it rushed in, pooling and foaming over her bare feet. The wet sand would sink and suck away from her toes with each gentle wave. And the sea air, wild and careless, would whip her hair into a salty tangle.

Maybe there would be a man. Someone who wouldn’t mind her smoking habit, or the way parts of her were beginning to sag and wrinkle. Someone who would treat her right, not like Henry, or Burt, or Ellis—damn them all.

“Zillah?” The quavering voice issued from the bedroom. “Zillah?”

“Just a minute!” Zillah yelled. She scrolled a little further down the webpage. Still no promising jobs. If only she weren’t stuck here, chained to the old family home and its shriveled owner. If Mom hadn’t died of breast cancer, she would be tied down here, taking care of Gran.

But Zillah always drew the short straw. Always. As a teen, she’d taken care of her sister Delia while Mom worked, after Dad left. She had taken care of Gran and Mom, during Mom’s cancer. And now, she worked her ass off all damn day and then took care of Gran in the evenings, after that no-good Nancy finished her shift. Nancy was cheap, the only at-home care Zillah could afford for Gran on the weekdays. Of course, cheap meant “nearly useless.” All Nancy could be counted on was doling out the pills, slapping together sandwiches, and helping Gran to the toilet. No cleaning. No reading aloud—not that Gran could tell one chapter of a book from another anymore.

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