Willows, Jennifer - Lust for Life [The Moreland Brothers 2] (Siren Publishing Allure)

The Moreland Brothers 2

JENNIFER WILLOWS

Copyright © 2011

Chapter One:

The Princess and the Pauper

1992

Ten-year-old Charlene Montana was exhausted. She spent most of her day walking the streets of town, Dumpster diving. The last few days, pickings were slim, and she was faint with hunger. She had skipped school for the last week, trying to hustle up a meal, but there was no one to give a damn. Although, it seemed as though her teacher, Ms. Stafford, tried to help her, and even seemed to like her somewhat. But her mother couldn’t care less what happened, to herself or her daughter. There was no shame in her momma’s game, and if her daughter fell through the cracks, so what?

Just two days ago, Ms. Stafford came to the house they lived in to reason with her mom. Through a hole in the wall, Charlene saw her coming up the cracked driveway, neat as a pin in a white blouse and brown skirt. Her hair was groomed into a neat bun at the back of her head, and Charlene wanted that feeling. She needed to know what it was to be neat and clean, and unashamed of herself. When a person wore white, they were clean and pure to the eye, and Charlene knew that was her favorite color for that reason. When Ms. Stafford came to the door, Jared, one of the house winos, walked out smelling rank and offensive. One would never know he used to be a doctor, Jared took to the liquor so well, Charlene thought.

“I have to tell you that your daughter will be held back if her attendance doesn’t get better, Geraldine.”

Charlene heard each the word her teacher spoke, even though the tone was pitched low. Junkie houses weren’t known for their privacy, and anything said or done was overheard. Even if the fucked up occupants ignored it, they still heard, but their constantly high state of mind kept them from caring in the least. Just Sunday night a woman was raped by two men, and the sheep-minded junkies just watched. That is if they were sober enough to be titillated by the violent show portrayed before them live and in color. Charlene liked the word
titillate
. She’d read it once in a book from the school library. Supposedly that word meant that people found excitement in someone else’s drama.

“So what does that mean?” Geraldine appeared to come in and out of sleep, head rolling left then drunkenly to the right.

“It means that she won’t go to middle school next year with her class. It doesn’t have to be this way. She’s the smartest girl in her grade.” Ms. Stafford sounded exasperated, as if she didn’t know why she was trying. Her face showed her thoughts on the matter, as if she was speaking to somebody that was from another planet, or at the least didn’t speak English and everything was lost in translation.

Charlene heard her mother’s slurred speech that afternoon and felt embarrassed. She walked past homes every day that were normal. Where the children were well dressed, well spoken, and had real meals each day. Why didn’t she have that? Charlene had never had a home for real, just the flats that the washed-out residents used for a night or two. The junkies would huddle together for warmth, burning small fires inside metal drums in every corner. But this one had been her home for the longest at over three months, as the police hadn’t raided it yet, and had the bonus of being around the corner from school.

Even though she didn’t go to school regularly, Charlene had learned much on days spent pounding the pavement. Number one rule was “see nothing.” She couldn’t speak on what she didn’t see. Number two was “no diving at restaurants.” They tended to use everything, down to the bones, and chased folks from the trash. Folks at home tended to be more wasteful, which was why she had a plethora of fish heads in her shopping bag now. The owner could have made a good soup or stock from the heads, and they contained a good bit of meat. But they were either too lazy or unskilled to do so, and that was her gain tonight.

Too bad her mother cared less about what happened to her. Shoot, she was the adult in this situation. Too many days where her mother would forget to eat or drink, and Charlene was left to make the best way she knew how. She spent her nights pulling together meals from scraps, and too many hours of the day diving through trash cans belonging to the nice houses she envied. The folks that lived in the homes were lucky. Their refuse was better than most of the food she had access to daily.

That was one of the reasons she skipped school so much. Charlene knew the sharp bite of hunger, and if she were careful and quick, could be in and out of a trash can in moments. Most times she knew what would be in the trash based on what cooking smells escaped the house. Charlene loved food, as there wasn’t enough of it in her life, and could cobble a feast from nothing. Scrap potatoes and steak remnants or fat made a big difference. After she fed herself and her mom, she would sell whatever was left, although she never saw the money. Her mom shot up or smoked all of it away.

The other reason she didn’t go to school was her appearance. Anyone that saw her knew she was no good and came from no-good parents. Charlene hated the looks people gave her on the street, as if she were a mangy dog, only good for pity. She hated that word, once she learned what it meant. That she was pathetic. Yet another word she disliked with a passion.

Charlene was making the long walk home, carrying a small grocery bag filled with the hard-won fish heads. As she crossed the street, she saw herself in the window of a shop and looked away, but she couldn’t erase what she saw. The nappy hair she sported was the length of her pinky and matted low. She wore two different shoes, really the same type of shoe, but one was a size bigger than the other. Never mind the clothes themselves, jeans and a long-sleeve tee. They were not only too big, but made for a boy. But boys’ clothing gave her some protection. They were harder to get into than girl clothes and had the bonus of hiding her sex. Most people that saw her mistook her for a boy anyway. There wasn’t much of a girl to see about her. She was scrappy just like a man anyway and could bring a grown man to his knees with dirty tricks and homemade weapons.

More than likely Mom was passed out as usual, in a heroin nod. But that would give her time to cook the heads and scrap potatoes into a soup and maybe sell a few bowls. But when she got to the small house and walked inside, her mom was awake. She watched her mom crawl to a nearby group of junkies, begging for a fix.

“Come on, please, just lemme have a taste! I’ll do whatever you want.”

Geraldine had started out screaming, but her body was too frail to the have any real volume. When she spoke the second sentence, her voice was low and hoarse.

“Hell naw, I had to do too much to get to this. Don’t want none of your tired pussy anyway. What about that boy you got? Ain’t had any virgin ass in a minute.” The creep was rubbing himself, and Charlene stood still, scared to be seen. Geraldine looked panicked then scratched her head and arm in quick succession.

“I can set you up later. The baby is out right now.” Charlene felt the last shred of love for the woman she knew as mother wither and die. The flurry of emotions burned away like ash scattered on the wind. She dropped the bag and ran, letting the wind take her away.

Charlene ran until she couldn’t go any farther, her legs crafted from rubber and shod with cement. Looking ahead, she found herself at a park and decided to make use of the bench to the left of her. There was a fountain just a few feet in front, and she dipped her face in the cool water, trying to wash away the disgusting feelings crawling over her skin. She drank the water until she couldn’t hold anymore, and though she was still hungry, her stomach hurt less. Now she could sleep.

Curling into a ball on the hard wooden bench, Charlene lay down and cried. But after this moment, she vowed to never cry again. She would never be dependent on anyone and could only rely on herself. She slept fitfully on the bench until three hours later, at ten till midnight, when she dreamed that warm arms picked her up and bundled her against the cold.

When Charlene woke the next morning, she felt strange. There was another person with her in bed. Bed? She peered out of the corner of her eye, not wanting to let the person next to her know she was alert. That could be the only thing to get her out of this situation alive and whole.

The girl next to her was her age, with a fro plaited back in two tails. She looked well fed and clean, and Charlene felt a bit of envy for her nightgown, a girlish pink with real lace. There was a moment once when she almost stole a gown like this one from a clothesline while diving for dinner. But her practical nature refused to let her take what she couldn’t use. That was just greedy. Looking out the window, she noted the sun was out, and Charlene smelled bacon and eggs. Her stomach growled, and the cramps from days without eating were painful. The sounds must have woken her bedmate, who stretched and yawned.

“Good morning.” Huh?

“Yeah.”

“I’m Makenzie. My mom told me your name is Charlene. Right?”

“Yeah so?”

“I hope you stay. I would really love a sister.” What? A sister? Did this Makenzie have all her marbles?

“That’s okay. I don’t think I want one of those.” Especially not a crazy one, Charlene had enough of that. But the words made the girl sad, and Charlene immediately felt guilty. She shouldn’t have taken her anger out on Makenzie. The culpable feeling made her look south, where she found that her clothes were gone. In their place was a gown like Makenzie’s.

“Where did this come from?” Makenzie looked confused, so Charlene elaborated. “The gown, where did it come from?”

“Oh, that’s one of mine.” No one had ever shared anything this nice with her. Maybe there was something to having a sister.

“Wow, thanks... Maybe we can be sisters, but your name is too long. Can I call you Mak?”

“Sure, and you can be Charli.” The two of them laughed. “Do you want to brush your teeth then have breakfast?” Mak asked, standing up quickly and sticking out her hand. Charli took it, not sure what it was for, and Mak pulled her up from bed.

“Sure, but I don’t have a toothbrush.” The snaggle-bristled one she owned was in the junkie house, under a loose board on the back porch. There was no way she would say that out loud though. Some things were best left silent.

“That’s okay, Charli. Mom already took care of it.” Charli had forgotten about that. Who was her mom? And how did she get here? Wherever here was.

Mak tugged her new sister to the small pedestal sink and gave her a fresh toothbrush from a paper wrapper. Charli squirted a dollop on the end and brushed her teeth quickly. She felt hungrier every moment that passed. When the new friends made their way downstairs, Charli saw Mak’s mother and almost cried again. It was Ms. Stafford.