Black Rain, Page 2

  I was thirteen, one week before the news. My mom just performed at the Chicago Symphony and she was on a high. I loved my mom after a show. Front row seating left me with a proudness that I’d only ever felt for her. My mother tackled more than anyone I knew. Nothing stood in her way. Not even me.

  Of course my Grandma Rhonda had a lot to do with that. We lived in her house and she kept me while my mom finished nursing school. Even after my grandma’s sudden death at the age of seven, my mother continued to strive for us. We of course inherited Grandma Rhonda’s house. My mother continued to practice piano daily, and she was the best pediatric nurse in Chicago. She was busy, but I was busy with her. Unless I was at school, or she was at work, we were together.

  I did have one friend that I remembered, Karen, but mostly it was my mom. She was the person I wanted to be with and I was more than okay with hanging out with her. It was that night after her amazing performance that I got the necklace. She wore half and I wore the other half. My hand went to the broken heart around my neck. Closing my half in my hand, I tried to hear her voice.

  ***

  “Mom, it’s a hundred and eighteen dollars. Are you sure?” I asked, knowing at the age of thirteen how much money that was.

  “Of course I’m sure. Here,” she said, slipping mine around my neck. I never took it off again.

  That was when we lived at the top of the world, just my mom and me, in our house on Begonia Drive. The house I grew up in with the fenced in yard and the tire swing, hanging from the tree outback. Where I had my own bedroom with all my things. I swallowed the dry lump in my throat, trying not to think about the last day. Of course that’s what I did. That’s what I always did.

  Four years of fighting. There are two types of pain; one that hurts you, and one that changes who you are. What is it when you have both? I was still a child. I still needed her in my life. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye. I would never be ready to let her go.

  “Honey, is there someone we can call? Where’s your father?”

  I could hear the words as plain as the social worker spoke them. They never did register. Not for one second did I comprehend what she was saying. I turned my head to the female sitting across from us; her eyes quickly went back to her paper while she pretended not to meddle. Nosey bitch. The signal from my brain failed to send words to my lips. They screamed loudly in my mind, but never matured into lyrics.

  “Mikki, do you know where your father is?” Ms. Davidson asked, taking my hand. I swallowed the lump in my throat and shook my head again, still trying to make words. She was gone. All these years of fighting. She was gone. My entire high school career. She was gone. It wasn’t fair. My mom didn’t deserve this. I didn’t deserve this. Why me? After everything I gave up to help her. Why me? Why her? Why my mom?

  Feeling the bitterness burn my throat, I sprung from my chair and sprinted to the end of the hall. Green bile splattered the bowl and I cried, wrenching in pain. There is no pain in the world like losing your mother. I would never recover from this. How could I go on? I was a seventeen-year-old orphan and my mother was gone. Wherever she was, was suddenly the better alternative. I didn’t want to live without her. I was never going to hear her words again. Ever. My mom was gone.

  “I’m going to give you a few minutes, sweetie. We need to call someone to come and get you.”

  I spit in the toilet and stood to look at her, “Oh yeah? Someone like who, Ms. Davidson? My father is ashamed of me, he’s never owned up to even being my father. Who would you like for me to call? I’m going to be eighteen in three months; maybe you could put me on one of those adoption lists.”

  “Makayla, you’re still in high school. We can put you through the system until you graduate.”

  “Which is also in three months. And then what? Just go. I’ll be fine.”

  “I can’t do that, Makayla. You’re a minor.”

  Humph. “Stop calling me Makayla. Really? So you can’t leave me now because I’m not eighteen, but when I turn eighteen in three short months, you’ll toss me out on the street. Makes sense to me,” I smartly accused.

  “Mikki, there has to be someone we can call. I really don’t want to take you to a stranger’s house tonight.”

  “You said I could have a minute. Will you just leave me alone?”

  “Sure, I’m going to make a few calls. Think of someone we can call. I can hand you over to any willing adult. Surely you have a friend you can call?”

  “I’ll think about it,” I lied. I didn’t have anyone. I had just spent the last four years of my life, caring for my dying mother, all for nothing. She died anyway. I swallowed the bitter lump again and pulled myself together. What was I going to do? I had to think of something. I wasn’t about to go to some foster home, not after the day I had.

  I never thought about him—ever. It must have been all the questions. A sudden force of anger pierced my skin and filled me with a flood of anger toward him that I didn’t know I had. I mean I knew I hated the bastard, but not this much.

  Knowing the only choice I had was to get out of there, I peeked out the door. Ms. Davidson was on her cell phone at the end of the hall. I pointed to my backpack, hoping the lady that hid behind the paper would be nosey one more time and help me out. I placed my finger over my lips and pointed to the social worker.

  Yes!

  The lady picked up my backpack, looking behind her. Ms. Davidson was asking about the Handlin family, trying to find a place for me. I wouldn’t be needing the Handlin family, or any of her other families.

  “Thank you,” I whispered, taking my bag and quickly walking down the hall. Tears entered my heart and it began to hurt again. Once I walked out of this hospital, it was over. It was real. Sucking in a much-needed breath of strength, I walked out the double doors, never to see my mom again.

  I marched down the concrete steps, drawing in air that Chicago didn’t seem to have. It was gone. Like my mother; the air was gone. The further I got away from Ms. Davidson, the closer I got to him. Two alleys, a bridge, a subway ride and nine miles later, I was almost there. Now what would I say to him?

  I didn’t care who was around him. I hoped there were hundreds of people, high-class clientele, workers, and even his family. I didn’t care. I was going to scream every foul thing my mind could come up with. Who the hell did he think he was, coming here and rubbing it in my face? I would show him. I would show everyone who I was. I would make his grand opening the most memorial one he’d ever had.

  Before I realized what I was doing I was in a full blown run. I had to; I was too afraid of cowering out. I’m sure, had I not broke out in to a sprint, I would have coiled into a pathetic tight ball, and died too. How dare he come into my city and rub it in my face. How dare he think he could get away with it, twice… I was going to show him. Maybe I didn’t have much ammunition, maybe I would even go to jail, but at least he was going to know who the hell Mikki Carlie was. I’d make sure of it.

  That’s when I ran into him. Call it fate, call it coincidence, call it what you want, but I believe there is a developed reason. A higher power sent my body crashing into his. I will always be convinced that our paths crossed by fate, not chance. I’m not a hundred percent sure my mother didn’t shove me into him. I don’t know what happened; I saw the guy, walking in circles on his phone. He was distraught, yelling and flailing his arms at whoever he was talking to.

  I crossed the road to him, raising his arm for a car and that’s when we crashed. Blake Coast grabbed both my shoulders to keep me from plowing into him. His cell phone crashed to the sidewalk while he glared, and yelled in my face.

  “Watch where the fuck you’re going!”

  “Sorry,” I apologized, looking into his deep emerald green eyes. Just like I remembered them. He was tied to him. He knew him. This guy had some sort of connection to Barry Holden. He had to. I remembered him from that party. He was there when I was fifteen. He was the one who roughly escorted me out. I remember his cold white face, like he w
as in some sort of trance. It was the same guy. I was sure of it.

  The well-dressed man moved me to the side and retrieved his phone from the sidewalk. I stayed close, listening to his dilemma with the upmost attention. His car pulled to the curb while his fingers dialed back the party who had gone flying in the air with his phone.

  I took a step back to him, “Hey, can I hitch a ride with you? I left my wallet at home this morning.”

  “Sure you did. Go away.”

  “Come on, man. Please. I need to get out of here,” I begged, wondering if Ms. Davidson had already called the cops.

  His eyes scanned my body with disgust, “Who are you running from? Hey, do I know you? You look familiar.”

  “I’ll tell you about it in the car. Let’s go,” I coaxed, jumping into the stopped car without an invitation. I lowered my head and ducked when the cop car passed. I knew this guy was looking at me like I was crazy, but I didn’t care. He was my one and only chance to get to Holden. I was leaving with him.

  “What’d you do?”

  “What do you mean? I didn’t do anything.”

  “Who are you running from?” he clarified, calling my bluff.

  I lied, “An ex. Where you headed?”

  “To the airport. Where are you going?”

  “Oh, I guess the airport will do.”

  “Do for what?” he asked curious, “How old are you?”

  “I can get away with sleeping there for a couple nights until I can figure out what I’m going to do now.”

  “What were you doing?”

  “Not much; living with my ex.”

  “Where’s your family?” he questioned.

  “I don’t have family around here; I moved here with a guy, I’m from Florida. Where are you headed?”

  The good-looking man held up one finger, shushing me for a call. “New York,” he answered before taking his call.

  New York. That would be perfect. My mom was always going to take me there… We never made it.

  “Sure, don’t mind me,” I shrugged and looked around the city, silently saying goodbye to Chicago. I was getting the hell out of there. Some way, somehow, I was leaving the windy city behind.

  “Sorry about that, some idiot ran into me on the sidewalk,” the guy spoke into the phone. I turned to see the glare, knowing he was talking about me. I could hear the broken English through his phone. The girl spoke quickly, explaining she had to leave.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa. What do you mean you quit? You can’t quit. I’m in Chicago.”

  “I sorry Mr. Coast, it’s my father. I go to him. You neighbor have London. I sorry. I have to go.”

  “No. No. Wait, wait. Okay, listen. I’ll give you a raise. I’ll give you a bonus. I’m in the middle of opening a new hotel. Come on. Please, Patricia, don’t do this to me.”

  “You money not explain why you business deal be more important than me ailing father.”

  “No, I didn’t mean it that way. Three days. Just give me three days.”

  “Good bye, Mr. Coast.”

  “Patricia! Patricia. Don’t hang up. Patricia!” he yelled to his dead phone, “Fuck!”

  I listened while he pleaded with an ex-girlfriend for help next. Felicia. I couldn’t hear everything she was saying, but I did hear her tell him they broke up two weeks ago, and that he never had time for her unless he needed her to babysit.

  “That’s because I am the CEO of Zazen Resorts. We’re not a successful chain because I’m not busy. This new hotel is getting ready to open, I won’t be coming here anymore. We’ll talk about it when I get back in a couple days. I’ll have more time for you after this. I promise.”

  The CEO… And there it was. Bam… I knew he had high ties with Barry Holden.

  “Goodbye, Blake,” the voice said, giving me a name. Blake. Mr. Coast.

  “Mom!” he yelled to no one but himself and dialed the next number.

  “Hey, Blakie. Can I call you later? I’m up.”

  I heard every word of what his mother said. The driver probably heard what she said. The one in the next car. Geesh lady.

  “Up for what?”

  “I’m bowling. I’ll call you later.”

  “Mom, I need you to come and stay with London for a few days. I’m in the middle of trying to get a store open and Patricia up and quit on me. She left London with old Wilson next door. Can you go to her?”

  “I’m sorry, I can’t, Blake. I leave for my trip out west tomorrow. I won’t be back for three weeks, remember?”

  “Mom, can’t you push it back a few days? I’m begging you. I need you. Please.”

  “It’s a bus trip, Blake. I can’t push it back. They don’t really push back trips for people, you know. I’m sorry. I have to go. Give her a kiss for me. Good luck, love you.”

  “Mom, mom. MOM! Fuck.”

  Wheels turned like spinning spokes while I planned my move. Just like prey, I set Blake up with the temptation. This was too easy. I hoped.

  “Hmm, sounds like you’re in a jam. I could help you out. See, it all makes sense. I didn’t just end up in this car with you because of chance. I was put here for a reason. I need to get away from my old man, and you need a sitter,” I offered, explaining how we could help each other out.

  “You can’t even talk right. I don’t want my child around some slang throwing gangster that can’t even buy the right size jeans.”

  “Suit yourself, but if you ask me, it’s a win-win. How old is your kid?”

  “She will be three in September.” Was he really thinking about this? “What’s your name?”

  By this time I was dancing in my shoes.

  “Mikki, put’re there,” I said, shaking his hand with some sort of gangster handshake. I have no idea where that even came from. I was a bottle of nerves, but for just a little while, my mother wasn’t part of my thoughts. This guy and his kid was the only thing I could think about. I needed this gig.

  “Like Mickey Mouse?”

  “No, like Makayla, but no one has ever called me that. I’ve always been Mikki.”

  “I like Makayla better. What do you know about kids?” I almost screamed with excitement. This guy was an idiot. Just like that he was going to let some stranger around his child. And father of the year goes to… “What’s your social? I need to get a background check. Have you ever been around kids, little kids?”

  Damn. Now what smarty pants? “Oh yeah, yeah. I used to babysit my nieces and nephews all the time.”

  “Social?” he questioned with raised eyebrows and a thumb on his phone.

  “Oh, I’ll have to give my mom a call and get back to you. I left it back home. She’s on a cruise,” I lied, hoping to pull it off, excitement deflating with every lie. I was never going to pull this off.

  “So you have siblings?”

  “No. I’m an only child.”

  “You said you used to babysit your nieces and nephews?”

  “Oh, I meant my cousins.” I sucked at being witty. I needed time to think of my lies. I couldn’t fire them off like this.

  “What’s your last name?”

  “Casino.” That one was easy. It was my mother’s maiden name. I didn’t give him my given name, just in case Ms. Davidson had called the cops.

  I took a deep breath while Blake sized me up. I could only imagine what he saw. Had I even combed my hair? My eyes had to be puffy and swollen from tears. The jeans I wore were now two sizes too big, thanks to the worry my mother caused, and my shirt had a grease stain right down the center from an order of greasy cheese sticks from the day before.

  “You don’t really look like nanny material. Let me see your arms.”

  I held down on my right sleeve. Even for Chicago, I didn’t really need the long sleeves this time of year. “Why?” I cautiously questioned, holding the cuff.

  “I can’t let my kid around a druggy. Why do you think?”

  “I assure you. I don’t do drugs.”

  My eyes watched his. Blake took my hand in his an
d lifted the sleeve on my left arm. Clean. Our eyes locked when he did the same to the right arm. I watched the amazement cross briefly over his face.

  “Did you do this? That’s amazing.”

  “Yeah,” I said, pulling my sleeve.

  “You always sit around and write on yourself? What is it?”

  “Black rain, and only when I have too much time on my hands. It was a distraction I needed over the last couple days. Are you going to hire me or not? I gotta make other arrangements if you’re not.” We weren’t discussing the artwork going up and down my right arm.

  “Okay, Makayla. I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt and trust that you’re not going to kidnap my daughter. Only because I’m in a pinch. This is what we’re going to do; I’m going to fly to New York and get London and you can stay with her at the hotel.”

  “I’d rather stay with her there. Why would you fly her here? That makes no sense.”

  “Because I don’t trust you. I think I should keep you close.”

  “Fine, whatever. Makes no sense to me, but hey, you’re the boss. Speaking of boss, how much you paying me?” I asked. I wasn’t doing it for free.

  “First of all,” he said with a stiff finger, “If this works out and you do end up working for me, you have to stop with the vocabulary.”

  “Sorry, sir. I would be delighted if you would elucidate how we will be working out the financial side of our arrangement,” I confidently replied with a straight posture and a fake smile. I can be as smart as you need me to be, asshole.

  Blake chuckled a little, “Impressive.”

  “So, where’s London’s mother?”

  “She’s around. Sort of.”

  “Nice,” I said, waiting for more of an explanation that never came.

  “Forget that. You do know how to cook and clean, don’t you?”

  “Of course. I do have a vagina, you know. It’s a natural instinct for most women, probably not your class of women, but where I come from we learn basic survival early on.”

  “I’m not sure I want my daughter around your smart mouth, either.”

  “Sorry, I’ll watch it,” I apologized. And just like that, I was in. What a sucker.