Magnolia Blossoms by Rhonda Dennis

Author:Rhonda Dennis [Dennis, Rhonda]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Atchafalaya Publishing LLC
Published: 2014-01-06T13:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

Big Daddy asks me to meet him at the courthouse for eight o’clock. I’m on time; he’s not. I take a seat just outside the courtroom on a long empty wooden bench that lines the corridor. I nervously run my hands through my hair, which is finally long enough to lie semi-flat. Honey says it looks like a pixie cut, and that my short dark hair makes my green eyes pop. I’m still not sure about it. She also suggested my wardrobe, a white and green dress that came with a bolero jacket. She wanted me to wear heels with it, but I know better. I need lots more practice before donning heels in public. I have on no makeup, first because I wasn’t sure how much to use, and second, because my eye is still pretty darned puffy and crusty. It’s embarrassing, but Big Daddy said that a crusty eye wasn’t reason enough to reschedule the trial.

Honey wanted to be with me, but I let her sleep because her late night visitor didn’t leave until the wee hours of the morning. He tried to sneak by the sofa I was resting on, but his patent leather shoes made this funny squeak/fart sound that prevented a quiet exit. He departed around five, so I didn’t dare wake Honey for this.

My head is in my hands when I feel someone sit beside me. I slowly straighten, and I’m dismayed to see Nick the Dick dressed in a perfectly pressed uniform and sporting a shit-eating grin that rivals the Cheshire cat’s. He looks beyond handsome now that I get the chance to see him in the daytime, and I begin to feel the butterflies fluttering in my stomach—until he opens his mouth.

“What happened to your eye? Catch some kind of cooties from your hooker friend?” he asks.

“That’s just mean, and totally uncalled for. If you must know, I hurt my eye while trying to figure out how to use mascara. Isn’t it illegal for you to harass me before the trial or something?”

“I asked a question about your wellbeing. That’s not harassment; that’s courtesy.”

“I have enough going on today without your courtesy. Feel free to find someone else to inquire about.” A loud ruckus echoes down the corridor as Big Daddy heaves his girth through one of the double doors at the end of the hall. He has his briefcase and several large posters under one arm, and a cup of coffee with a donut precariously balanced atop in the other.

“Daughter, please come help Big Daddy with his things,” he requests, and I instantly jump up to take some of the load from his arms. I’m on the verge of tears when I realize that the posters are huge, blown up headshots of me before my facial surgery.

“What are these for?” I ask, choking back the emotions racing through my body.

“This, my dear, will help to prove to the judge that your ‘never been kissed’ story holds water. One look at

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