Page 47 of Forever Golden
BLUE
She’s not the big bad wolf. She’s not the devil. How bad could this be?
Still in a towel after showering, I let out a breath and stare at the phone. If it hadn’t been for the call that came in from West late last night, I wouldn’t even be considering this, but knowing there’s an actual ledger with names and records of cash exchanged makes this whole thing so much more real. I need to get Scar out of here as soon as possible.
There, I’ve dialed all the numbers. Now, just to actually make the call.
Just do it. Quick. Like ripping off a Band-Aid.
The next second, the line’s trilling in my ear and my stomach’s in knots.
“Hello?” an aged, raspy voice answers. A voice I haven’t heard in forever.
“Grandma, it’s Blue. I’m sorry to bother you.”
I hear what sounds like an old box spring creaking in the background, which means I woke her.
“It’s early, I know. I wouldn’t have called if it weren’t an emergency,” I explain.
“He dead?” she asks coldly. It only takes a second to realize she’s talking about Mike, her son.
“N—no,” I stammer. “He’s alive. This isn’t about him.”
A disgusting sound assaults my ears when she clears her throat and barks a rattly, mucus-infused cough.
“Then what the hell do you want?” she presses.
There are no formalities. No questions about how her three grandchildren are faring in this world. No questions about her son, other than to ask if he’s dead.
“I… was hoping I could ask you something. A favor.”
“Just say it, would ya?” she gripes, making it clear this is going to be a million times harder than I thought.
I swallow hard and close my eyes. “It’s Scar. For reasons I can’t really explain, she needs to get out of Cypress Pointe, and your house is the only place safe I could think to send her. So—”
“She pregnant?”
Caught off guard yet again, I stutter a clunky response. “She… I… no.”
“Sure about that?”
“Of course, I’m sure,” I say.
There’s a long pause, a sigh so deep I can tell she’s regretting picking up the phone this morning.
“What is she, eleven? Twelve?”
I roll my eyes, grateful the woman can’t see me. “She just turned fifteen yesterday.”
“That’s a terrible age,” she complains. “Teenagers think they know it all and don’t listen to a damn thing. No. I’m sorry. I can’t help you.”
“Grandma, please.”
It isn’t until those words leave my mouth that I understand the level of my own desperation. To be begging a woman to take my sister in who I know for a fact has never cared a thing for anyone’s wellbeing but her own.
She’s quiet again, either considering what I’ve asked, or she’s thinking of a more effective way to tell me to go fuck myself.
That hateful sigh hisses into my ear again.