Wings of Glass by Holmes Gina

Author:Holmes, Gina [Holmes, Gina]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Retail
Publisher: Tyndale House Publishers, Inc.
Published: 2013-03-01T05:00:00+00:00

TWENTY-THREE

FATIMAH DIDN’T SAY a word to me as we worked. She wouldn’t even acknowledge I was there until the drive home. My word, that woman could hold a grudge.

“You missed my turn,” I said as we whizzed past the drugstore on the corner.

Stone-faced, she stared ahead at the road. “I am not take you home.”

“What?” Her words from earlier replayed in my mind. She wanted me to leave Trent. To live with her and Edgard. But we weren’t heading toward her apartment. Where, then?

Sunlight stabbed through the windshield, nearly blinding me. Pulling the visor down, I shielded my face.

Fatimah flipped on her blinker. “Callie Mae want to see us. This is where we go.”

We turned from the one-lane road onto the highway, and I relaxed. Fatimah’s baby was due in a week, and mine soon after. I’d been wondering when Callie Mae was planning to discuss how she would handle our work schedules. Today must be the day. Trent wasn’t going to be home for a few hours, so I didn’t have to worry about him fussing about me being late.

I stared at Fatimah’s profile, wishing she would at least look at me. “Where are we meeting her?”

“Her house.”

The car bumped and hummed along the road as I watched my breath turn to frost in the cold air. I reached over and turned on the heat.

Fatimah glared down at my hand, then at me. “You are cold? I am burning alive.”

I rubbed at the too-thin sleeves of my coat. “It’s like thirty degrees out. How can you be hot?” In my pregnancy, I hadn’t experienced any of the hot flashes Fatimah and other women complained about. With winter upon us, I would have welcomed a few.

She didn’t answer, so I split the difference on the dial. Heat streamed out of the dashboard vent and I held my hands over it to warm them. After a few minutes, we turned into a newer neighborhood lined with young, leafless trees and huge houses with almost nonexistent yards. Each house on the street was roughly the same size and shape, just a different facade.

“Callie lives here?” I knew she had money. Her husband had been a successful attorney, so I wasn’t surprised she would live in an expensive house. I just expected one with a little charm to it.

Fatimah didn’t answer. I knew her well enough by then to understand that her silent treatment would last only a few days, so I didn’t worry.

We pulled into the driveway of a stately brick house outlined in rows of perfectly trimmed boxwoods. Together, Fatimah and I walked up the paved pathway. The door opened and Callie Mae stood there wearing a pair of jeans, a turtleneck sweater, and a somber expression. She waved us inside.

As we entered the warmth of the foyer, I noticed an arched shelf built into the wall. On it stood a sculpture of a woman with butterfly wings fashioned from pink, purple, and blue stained glass. I stopped to admire it. Standing around six inches tall, her long, wavy hair covered her body like a mermaid’s.

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