Impossible by Jocelyn Shipley

Author:Jocelyn Shipley [Shipley, Jocelyn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781459815582
Publisher: Orca Book Publishers
Published: 2017-11-01T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

In the morning I can hardly drag myself out of bed. I didn’t fall asleep until long after midnight. Now it’s six thirty, and Violet’s crying. I lean over her crib and try to shush her, but she won’t settle back down. She’s hungry.

I lift her and tiptoe past the futon in the living room. Don’t want to wake Wade. I shut the kitchen door and get a bottle ready.

When Violet’s had her milk, I sit her in her high chair. Pour some Cheerios on the tray. She loves to pick them up and stuff them in her mouth or hurl them onto the floor. Keeps her busy.

I make strong coffee. Open the box of day-old baking I brought home from the café last night. There are blueberry muffins, cheese scones and oatmeal cookies. Normally, I’d want one of each. But today I can’t face eating.

I’m too exhausted. Too guilty. Too scared.

After Wade leaves for work, I vacuum the apartment, clean the bathroom and even scrub the kitchen sink. Anything to keep my mind off Razor.

But I can’t block him out. The thought of what he might do is terrifying.

And what about the actual shooter? If he does know I am a witness, he’s not going to just let me be. He’s going to make sure I don’t rat.

The pressure is too much. I have to talk to someone or I’ll freak.

But there’s only Betty. I’ve been avoiding a visit because I’m afraid she’ll get the truth out of me. They don’t call her Big Bad Betty for nothing. For such a tiny person, she can be very intimidating. She’s on the co-op board, and everybody’s scared of her. Except for Wade. They adore each other.

But I really need some company right now. So I take Violet and some muffins down to the fourth floor. Betty answers her door like she was waiting for us. Which she probably was. We often stop by around this time of day.

“Come, come,” she says, pulling us in. “See what I make.”

Betty creates cool jewelry with fine silken cords of all colors. She ties them into fancy knots. Apparently, it’s an ancient Korean craft. “For Amadi,” she says, holding up a necklace. The knots look like beads. Betty has used shades of red, orange and gold.

“Oh, wow, that’s beautiful.”

Betty nods. “To remember her boy Kwame.” She reaches out to take Violet. “Happy flower face,” she says. “So precious.”

“Brought you some muffins.” I hand her the bag.

“Thanks,” Betty says. “Tea?”

“Tea would be great.” I take Violet back and sit on Betty’s floral sofa. It almost matches the flowered stretch pants she’s wearing today. Violet loves the sofa’s pattern and colors. She grabs at the cushions like she wants to pick the flowers.

Betty puts the muffins on a plate and sets it on the coffee table. She makes jasmine tea in a black iron pot and pours me a cup. Violet grabs for that too.

“No, no, sweetie. Too hot.” I break off a piece of muffin for her.

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