Shade's Lady

So. First thing—find a phone and call Hannah. Then figure out how to get home. Shade had promised me a lift, but I didn’t want to wake him up. Not yet. Not in bed with a stiffy of that magnitude.

Sliding out from under his arm very carefully, I dropped my feet to the floor and grabbed my bag. The room looked smaller in the daylight. Dingier, too. Shade might have a few things thrown around, but it obviously wasn’t a full-time home. More of a place to crash. Reminded me of my corner of the bedroom at Hannah’s place. Her ex’s parents had let her stay in the little trailer that she’d shared with Randy rent free, but there wasn’t a hell of a lot of extra room. I kept my stuff in a suitcase and slept on the couch most nights. She insisted we could share the bed, but there was almost always at least one kid in there with us. Nothing quite like three-year-old twins kicking your kidneys to keep you awake and alert all night long.

The couch was a lot more restful.

Easing open the door, I started down the deserted hallway. There had to be a phone around here somewhere, right? Most of the doors were closed, although a couple had been left open. I glanced in one to find the two girls from the hall last night buck naked on a bed with a biker I’d never seen before.

Damn.

Those girls got around.

I reached the end of the bunkhouse and let myself out into the courtyard, which was full of debris from the party. The fire pit gave off an anemic trail of smoke. Red cups littered the ground, and toward the back I spotted three little tents. Guess they’d had company from out of town. This probably held some significance, but damned if I knew what it might be. The back door of the clubhouse was unlocked, so I let myself in and headed toward the main room, where I finally found signs of life.

Specifically, there was a girl about my age wandering around, picking up garbage and throwing it into a white plastic kitchen bag.

“Grab the broom, will you? And the dustpan. There’s a broken bottle back here,” she said without looking at me. I glanced around, wondering where the broom might be.

“Hey—who the hell are you?” asked someone else, and I looked up to find one of the guys, a younger one who didn’t have a Reaper’s vest, stepping through a side door. The girl spun around and raised her eyebrows, clearly startled.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I thought it was Samantha. She must be back in the kitchen.”

“You didn’t answer the question,” he told me, ignoring the girl. “You look familiar. Where do I know you from?”

“I’m Mandy McBride,” I said, swallowing uncomfortably. “I work at the Pit. Waitress.”

“You’re the waitress?” the girl asked, looking me over with a critical eye. “I heard all about you last night. Shade know you’re leaving?”

“Shade’s asleep,” I said. “I just need to use a phone. I’m supposed to be watching my sister’s kids this morning while she works. Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“It’s about seven,” the girl replied slowly. “And there’s a phone on the wall. But I think you should check with Shade before you do anything. He might have plans—”

I was already grabbing the phone, a battered, old-fashioned beast with a long, coiled cord. Couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen anything like it, but it worked.

“Hello,” said a small, soft voice. My five-year-old niece, Callie, had answered. Knowing my luck, Hannah was in the shower.

“Hey baby,” I replied, careful not to let any of my frustration into my voice. “This is Auntie Mandy. Is Mommy around?”

“She’s sleeping.”

“Can you go wake her up?”

“She said to be quiet. Her head hurts.”

Oh, shit. Hannah had gotten migraines ever since she was a little girl. Not sort-of-uncomfortable-but-manageable-with-Tylenol migraines, but full-on, knock-you-on-your-ass-after-hallucinating-and-puking-for-hours migraines.

“Have you had any breakfast?” I asked, trying not to panic. Callie was the oldest. She could help the twins get some cereal, maybe turn on the TV until I got home. It was either that or call Randy, and he was worse than useless. Hannah had finally kicked his sorry ass out when she learned he’d been selling drugs while he was supposed to be watching the kids.

His parents were theoretically willing to help, but his dad was stuck in a wheelchair and his mom was legally blind. Thus the need for my relocation…

“Yeah, we ate some Cheerios and a candy bar,” Callie said proudly. “I cooked it in the microwave and it was soft and yummy. The twins want to go outside and play in the dirt. I told them Mommy wouldn’t like that.”

“You’re right—definitely stay inside,” I replied, thinking fast. “Turn on the TV, but keep it quiet so it doesn’t hurt Mommy’s head. I’ll get home as fast as I can. Until then, don’t bother Mommy unless it’s an emergency. You remember what an emergency is?”

“Yes,” she said gravely. “If there’s blood or someone can’t breathe or there’s a fire.”

“And do you open the door?”

“Only to a firefighter or the police. Not for Daddy, even if he’s being nice.”

My heart caught, because it wasn’t fair that a kid so young should have to deal with shit like this.

“All right, then,” I told her, forcing myself to take a deep breath. “You’re doing great. I’ll get home as fast as I can. You watch your sisters until then.”

“I’m a big girl. I can do it.”

I hung up the phone, running a hand through my hair, my own headache growing steadily worse. I felt like I should call someone, but who? The girls were safe and the last thing Hannah needed was an investigation from CPS. Given the whole single-mom thing—combined with the fact that she was an outsider and their dad was the local drug dealer—she didn’t look so good on paper. But she was a good mom. A really good mom.

Just get your ass back to the trailer and things will be fine.

But how was I going to do that?

“Everything all right?” the girl asked, looking concerned. She had big raccoon eyes from smears of makeup and was still wearing a teeny tank top with a push-up bra from the night before, but a sort of innate kindness still shined through.

“Not really,” I admitted. “I need to get back home.”