Chapter Twenty
1235 Words
Chapter Twenty
“Everything will be all right, my girl, this was meant to happen.” Adalia’s dad hugged her tight, and then helped her cart her bags over the threshold of his home.
“What do you mean, Dad?” Adalia tugged her bag in, but he lifted it for her and marched it through to her old room. “How will it be all right? I don’t see it right now.”
“Trust me. This is what was meant to happen.”
“Why?”
“Everything in life happens for a reason,” he said simply, as if it was the plainest fact in the world.
“And what’s that?” She looked around the old room with its single bed and plain white dresser.
“The reason is to teach you a lesson. Life wants you to learn something from this and it’s up to you to take that lesson and run with it. Adapt, rethink, stand up fighting.”
“That’s easier said than done.”
“That’s life, girl.” He patted her on the shoulder, and she remained tense. “Life is supposed to kick you down from time to time, just to make sure you know your place.”
“What’s my place, Dad? Is this it? Is my place to be a failure before I even hit thirty?”
He sighed and turned her by the shoulders to face him. “My girl, your place is where you know it is, in here,” he said, pointing to her heart, “not in here,” he continued, gesturing to her forehead. “You’ve got to reconcile what you want and what you can do to get it. If you don’t, you’ll end up back here every time things go wrong.”
She stared at him, jaw hanging open slightly. He didn’t usually speak all that much.
“I’ll leave you to get settled in. Dinner at six.” Then he shuffled out and closed the door behind him.
Adalia’s entire body drooped.
Here she was in her old house, a place she’d never thought she’d return to, but what choice did she have? It was this or live on the streets.
She’d failed at everything, but the streets were still beyond her. She wanted to believe there was a manner of salvaging this, but she didn’t envision an answer. Her reality had turned dark, and she waded through the fog of depression.
Adalia sat down on her old creaking bed and fingered the hole in her floral bedspread. She’d planned the bakery in this room, dreamed up her bright future and been so convinced she could do anything if she put her mind to it.
That was a load of bullshit if she’d ever heard it.
There was no hope left.
Riiiiiiing.
She let out a low groan. She’d had about twenty missed calls from Trent in the past few days and hadn’t returned any of them.
Adalia drew out her phone and pressed her lips together. Sure enough, Trent’s name flashed on the screen, lighting up her memories of him.
Her thumb hovered over the red phone icon. She shifted it to the green.
“Yes?”
“Finally,” he said, and that deep voice sent shivers down her spine, soon replaced by the color of anger racing up her throat.
“What do you want, Trent? I told you not to contact me again.”
“I have news I think you might find quite pleasing. In fact, I’m sure of it.” He was totally at ease and it made her angrier. How was it that he thought everything was fine when it clearly wasn’t?
“You’ve got about five seconds before I hang up the phone.”
“Don’t give me an ultimatum. I’m doing you a favor right now.”
“I don’t need your f*****g favors,” she barked, and pulled the phone away to hang up.
“I can help you get the bakery back.”
Adalia froze and stared at the screen, with Trent’s image displayed. The bakery back?
“Adalia? Are you there?”
“Yeah, I’m here,” she replied, placing the phone back on her ear and lying down on the bed with a squeak.
“What was that?”
“None of your damn business.”
“You’re about as friendly as a bear with a hedgehog up its ass.” Trent was clearly losing patience, but she couldn’t help pushing him – it was justified after what he’d done.
“That’s what happens when you have s*x with a bimbo, I guess.”
“You’re still on that? You never gave me a chance to explain, but if that’s the way you want to play this then fine.”
“Play this? The only person who’s playing here is you. I was serious... I put myself on the line. I even fell into bed with you.”
“I meant everything I said.”
“To who? Me or Michelle?” Adalia grunted the question, but the answer would never be satisfactory. He was a liar, and she’d never believe him. Never!
“We’ll get to that another time. There are more important issues at hand.”
“Spit it out.” She stretched her arm upward and gripped the back of the bed, then closed her eyes, picturing she was back in her own tiny apartment, lying on the couch. A month ago she’d had it all.
“I bought your bakery on auction from the bank.”
Adalia’s insides turned to molten lava. Her eyes snapped open. “Pardon?”
“I bought your bakery, and I want you to run it. I’ll give you the money you need for marketing, to hire help, anything you want, with no strings attached. I’ll be your silent partner, consider it an investment in who you are as a person.”
Adalia sat bolt upright, then lurched off the bed with a telling creak.
“What do you say?”
“I say you’re an interfering asshole.”
“What?” Trent shouted then lowered his voice. “Adalia, do you realize what I’m offering you here?”
She stormed to her bedroom window and pulled it up, then stared out at the streets below. There was a guy with low-slung jeans dealing pot on the corner. Across from that there was a group of kids playing jump rope near a bright red fire hydrant.
It was a hood scene out of a movie, for God’s sake, and she wanted nothing more than to escape before crime or danger swallowed her whole.
“Adalia?”
“You’re offering me a handout not a hand up. I’m not interested.”
He clicked his teeth. “I didn’t do this to make you feel small, only to give you the big break you deserve.”
“No, you did it because you feel guilty about what you did with Van Heerden, and I have no interest in your guilt money. I can’t believe you would interfere in my life like this. I can’t believe you think this is justified.”
A group of guys came around the corner, chatting. They stopped and stared at the pot dealer. Uh oh, trouble brewing. Maybe it was a turf war. The kids had noticed, too – they cleared off, disappearing into a block of flats across the road.
Her dad’s tiny lawn was well-groomed, but they trampled over it in their haste to get away.
“Adalia, this is your last chance. Either you take this offer or I turn that place into something else. I’ve got plenty of uses for a building like that.” The threat fell on deaf ears. She didn’t want his help or his money – she’d been right not to trust him and she wouldn’t start again now.
Once bitten and all that crap.
The pot dealer flicked his jacket back to reveal a pistol in the belt of his jeans.
The men across from him yelled something.
“Last chance.”
“Goodbye, Trent.”
Shots fired and screams rang out. Adalia hung up the phone, turned and walked back to her bed. There was a swift knock at the door and her father entered.
“I called the cops. Just wanted to check you were all right.”
“I’m fine,” she lied.
- Writer
