Lauren's Saints of Dirty Faith by Alisa Valdes

Author:Alisa Valdes
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: romantic suspense, thriller, murder, chick lit, autism, boston, latino, erotic fiction, mexican american, new mexico, puerto rican, latina, cuban american, ranching, cowboy romance, alisa valdesrodriguez, alisa valdes, chica lit, hispanic american, irish mob, the dirty girls social club, american latino, dominican american, hispanic women
Publisher: Alisa Valdes

USNAVYS

When the big, angry knock comes on my door the next morning, I am not prepared, m’ija. I knew the bank letters and the sheriff’s letters said they’d be here, but I thought something might happen. I thought it might have just been empty threats to make me pay up. I don’t know what I thought. I didn’t think they’d actually come, though. I’m in bed with my curlers in when they knock. And when I don’t answer right away, they just open the door themselves and walk right in like they owned the place, which I guess they do.

I run out of the bedroom in my robe and slippers, with my eyes all puffy from crying all night. Juan is gone, and he didn’t even help me pack any of our things. I look at the wall of people coming through the door, and I scream. I don’t know what else to do.

“Please!” I tell them. “Give me one more day to get organized. I forgot you were coming.”

I didn’t even do the dishes from last night. They’re all still dirty in the sink. And the bathrooms are a mess. Everything is falling apart, and I am embarrassed for all these people to see the house like this, to see the way I’ve been living in the few days since Juan left. I haven’t had the energy to do anything but lay in bed. Two days ago, the bank came for my car. I don’t even have a car anymore, and now I’m losing my house. This can’t be happening. But it is.

“Sorry, ma’am,” says the policeman, handing me an eviction notice. “This property is being foreclosed upon today, and you have to vacate the premises immediately.”

“But I’m not even dressed.”

“You can get dressed. Have you made arrangements for moving or storage?”

“No.”

“Then you might want to start thinking about that now. Your belongings will be removed whether you have made other arrangements or not. I’m sorry, but you should have had plenty of warning and time to prepare.”

I watch in horror as moving men begin to take my things and put them in common household trash bags. There must be ten moving guys here. Some are already carrying the furniture down to the street.

“Where are you putting it?” I ask of the furniture.

“On the curb,” says one of the moving men, without looking at me. I can tell he’s afraid to look me in the eye, because of the pain he might see there.

“Look at me, you coward!” I demand. He ignores me. “How can you live with yourself?” I ask him. “How can you look at yourself in the mirror doing this to people every day.”

“We all have to make a living, ma’am,” he says, still unable to meet my eyes. “You don’t know nothing about me.”

“You can’t!” I shriek.

No one answers me, and the forced removal continues. I have never felt so violated in my life, so misused and so disgusting.

I rush to what used to be my bedroom, and throw some clothes on.

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