Embittered Ruby (2 page)

Carmen’s eyes roved to take in the garb of the others. All black and gold. The tattoos among them too numerous to count. Latin Kings.

Did they carry…? Oh, yep. Right in plain view. A polished handle stuck out of the waistband of the tallest of the group. How many of the others had guns?

Great. Now she crouched alone on a narrow fire escape, in a place God had forgotten about, being leered at by a gang. Carmen wanted to be safe inside, cocooned on her bunk bed or better yet on the queen four-poster she’d left behind in New York, but she had frozen under their sneers. Too scared to move—too afraid to appear nervous or show any sign of weakness. What were they doing there outside her apartment? More importantly, why were they staring at her?

The leader snapped his fingers, and a cigarette appeared at his lips. Another pair of hands flicked a lighter, and it sparked to life. He took a long drag and blew out the smoke in slow motion. Then he winked one dark eye at her and ran his tongue along his lips.

Carmen shivered as goose bumps speckled her body from head to toe. She flung the sliding door to the side and scurried back through the opening. She slid it shut, latched the lock, and lowered the bar until it clicked into place.

Don’t look. Don’t even turn around. Keep moving, and don’t look back
.

She could feel their laser-sharp stares burning holes between her shoulder blades as she moved though the family room. A quick right and she stood in the hallway. Three more steps to her room. Was she safe there? Were any of them?

Those jerks were going to be trouble. Just what she’d expected when she moved to New Jersey.

M
ain Street, Hackensack, New Jersey. Great place to take a sightseeing tour if someone wanted pictures of rundown buildings and homeless people. Carmen scuffed along the sidewalk, careful to avoid the side of the street where those gang members had been standing and ogling her the day before. “There used to be a market near Main Street,” Mom had said. Should have been easy enough. People in Hackensack cooked, right?

Pangs of longing struck Carmen’s gut as she remembered the decadent aisles of the Whole Foods in White Plains. Wandering the rows of culinary perfection hour upon hour several times a week, Carmen invented recipes and special treats using the polished produce and pungent herbs. Would the salesclerks forget her name if she’d only be there once a month, or even less?

Carmen shuffled past a run-down library. The grease odor from several hole-in-the-wall restaurants seemed to follow her down the street. And the gym boasted a life-size mural of a steroid junkie punching a bag.

Definitely no shortage of nail salons, barbershops, pawn shops, convenience stores, and lawyers’ offices. But a market? Maybe she could ask someone for directions. She lifted her eyes just enough to peek around for a friendly looking pedestrian, but from the looks of things she’d better explore on her own. Carmen slipped her hand in her pocket and gripped her cell phone…just in case.

Ah. There across the street with a wide green awning, G
IANT
F
armers’
M
ARKET
. Sounded like a store made especially for her. Carmen waited for a gold Monte Carlo with bass pumping from the speakers to pass and then jogged to the other side. Her head down, she pulled the glass door open and stepped inside. As her eyes adjusted to the fluorescent lighting, she glanced around the store.

Now this place had hope. Fresh. Bright. Almost happy.

Piles of colorful produce. Artichokes, guava, pomegranate. Some things even she didn’t recognize. Shocker. Should probably learn the place before making selections. She wandered up and down the aisles, touching the bags and reading labels. The Latin aisle alone boasted rows and rows of bottles Carmen had never seen. Ethnic oddities, rare herbs and…um…pig ears? Those might have to wait for another time. Mom sent her on a milk, eggs, and bread kind of shopping trip. But maybe, for lack of anything better to do in Hackensack, she’d be able to practice for culinary school with some of the specialty things in here.

Thirty minutes later, Carmen hurried back to the apartment. Her bags banged against her legs and twisted as she walked. The plastic dug into her wrists, cutting off the circulation. She’d had enough culture for one day. Odd though, no one glanced at her the whole way home—at least not that she’d seen. Didn’t she stand out at all? Couldn’t they tell she didn’t belong there—that her home existed far away? Probably a good thing she blended in, though. Not like Kimberley, who had luscious blond hair like their dad. Wonder if things would be more difficult for her?

Dead bolt. Lock. Second lock. The door swung open three inches then jerked. She shoved her face into the opening to see into the room. “Hey. Can someone come take the chain off the door so I can get in? These bags are heavy.”

Little Harper cartwheeled across the room, her tongue poking through the space where her tooth had once been. “Coming.” She closed the door and slid the chain off before skipping toward the kitchen.

Eight-year-olds never just walked. Or was Harper the only one who bounced everywhere she went?

Carmen rushed through the door, reached her foot back to nudge it shut, then hurried to the galley kitchen. She heaved her packages onto the gold-flecked countertop and freed her wrists from the bags. Red rings remained where they’d indented her skin. “Phew. I almost lost the whole load. Where’s Mom?”

“In your room.” Harper flashed a dimpled smile and bounded down the short hallway.

Carmen took a deep breath before entering her bedroom. She’d been a real grump lately. Maybe surprising everyone with a nice dinner would help make up for some of her bad attitude. “Hey. I’m back.” She stepped over the tools and packing material strewn across the stained and tattered carpet. After all, it wasn’t Mom’s fault they’d had to move into the dingy apartment. Which was probably rat infested. And should be condemned.

Mom probably shouldn’t have told Carmen about the money battles she was embroiled in between Dad and the lawyers—but at least Carmen could sort of understand why they were in the situation they were. At least for now.

Well…not entirely Mom’s fault, anyway. There had to have been a place across the river they could have rented, right? Yeah, yeah. They needed to be close to Mom’s new job at the dentist office. Affordable. Close to public transportation. Carmen had heard it all. But did she buy it? She just hoped they hadn’t been dragged out to the end of the earth just to make Dad feel guilty for taking his lawyer’s advice and withholding money until the court settled the divorce. It sure didn’t look like he suffered under the weight of regret.

“You’re still at it, huh?” Carmen sank to the floor and picked up the instructions. French? She flipped the paper over. “Want some help?”

Mom swiped at the hair strands that escaped from her ponytail then went back to wrestling with a screwdriver. “I think I’m almost done. Finally. How’d the shopping go?”

“I found this neat market—they have lots of fun cooking stuff. I’m going to make a surprise dinner tonight.”

“Okay, but remember, even though God’s sure been faithful to us, we don’t have extra money for you to buy all kinds of exotic foods to play chef with. At least not now.”

Carmen took a deep breath. The God stuff again. “I know, Mom. Just trying to do something nice. Besides, I don’t
play
chef.” Change the subject. “But hey. Since the bunk beds aren’t finished, how about we just separate them and put one on each side of the room? Or better yet, put Kimberley’s in the living room.”

The hammer clanged as Mom dropped the screwdriver on top of it. “We’ve been over this. We have no choice, Carmen. You’ve got to share a room with Kimberley, and trying to squeeze two separate beds in here is silly. It would take up way too much room, and there’d be no place to put all your books. Unless, of course, you want to give up some of your bookshelves.”

Over Carmen’s dead body. “You can’t be serious. My books?” The cookbooks alone would fill two shelves.

“I didn’t think so. Then that’s all there is to it.” She sat back on her heels. “You know, it’s not like I’m thrilled to share with Harper. At my age, I didn’t expect to be roommates with an eight-year-old.”

“But…” Oh, what was the point in arguing? Stop thinking about her big bedroom at home…er…at Dad’s. The good life wasn’t her life anymore—at least it stood waiting for her to visit two weekends a month. Carmen looked around the tiny space. Up at the water spots on the ceiling then down at their mirror images on the carpet—one pair of them reminded her of elephants with their trunks raised in salute to each other. Her new home—whether she liked it or not. But she didn’t like it one bit. “Why can’t I at least commute to my old school from here? I mean, I could take the bus. Nate and I Googled it.”

Mom pressed her fingers into her temples until her knuckles turned white. “You Googled
what
exactly?” She thrust out each word with what seemed a huge effort.

Oh no. Mom appeared done in. Why hadn’t Carmen waited to bring this up after dinner? Too late, though. “Um, the bus schedule. All I’d have to do is catch the one-sixty-five a block away at State Street. Then hop on the number seven subway at Times Square. A quick ride to Grand Central, and then I’d get on the Metro-North Hudson Line to Ossining, and then I’m basically there.”

“Right. And what time is the first bus at State Street? Four a.m.?” Mom shook her head. “You’re talking to a native New Yorker. I know full well what you just described is at least two hours’ traveling time each way.”

Two and a half actually. But admitting the actual travel times to Mom sure wouldn’t help Carmen’s cause at all. Besides, Carmen didn’t pick Hackensack. They could have moved closer to home if only Dr. Miller from Mom’s church hadn’t offered her a receptionist job in his Hacker location. “I don’t mind the travel. Really. I can do homework, read, or even nap.”

“No way, Carmen. Walking around outside this apartment while it’s still dark in the morning and then not getting home until after dark? I don’t think so. It’s just not safe to have you traipsing all over two states twice a day.”

It had to be safer than going to school in Hackensack. But Mom wouldn’t like to hear that at all.

“Plus what about your sisters—how are they supposed to get to school, and who will be here for them after? I’ll be working at the dentist office during the day and hopefully doing Mary Kay facials at night.”

But why was it Carmen’s responsibility to be the parent?

Mom slapped her hands on her thighs and pulled herself up, her knees creaking the whole way. “I have an idea, though. If you and Nate want to be together so much, why doesn’t he do the daily bus pilgrimage and transfer to college in New Jersey to be with you? How about trying the chivalrous thing for once, rather than expecting you to do all the work.”

“Right, like his parents are going to let Nate McConnell, heir to the throne of their political empire, slum it in Hackensack, New Jersey.” Carmen wrinkled her nose and gazed out the tiny window at the billboards and barred store windows below them. He wouldn’t do it anyway. No way. “Just forget about it. Besides, it’s a lot harder to transfer colleges, and he’s been in classes for a month now. And since I already started the year at my old school, I could skip the whole transfer process completely and just keep going to my school.”

Mom ignored her. She grunted and leaned back at her hips, rotating her upper body. “I’m getting too old for this,” she muttered.

“You’re thirty-three. That’s so not old.” They’d had the same discussion before. Mom, still young and pretty, could lose a few pounds, sure, but who couldn’t really? Maybe if she did, maybe if she bought some new clothes and got a trendy haircut, then maybe Dad would want her back and they could all go home.

And makeup. Hopefully Mom’s new Mary Kay venture would add a little color to her own face. Maybe they’d teach her to get rid of those dark circles and bags under her eyes. She’d never be as young and, um, perky, as Tiffany…but she could be a better version of herself without even trying very hard. Mom had better step it up if she wanted Dad back. But how could Carmen convince her without hurting her feelings? Especially when she didn’t seem to want him back.

“Hey guys, what’s up?” A tiny blur of flowing black hair bounded across the room and rolled onto the bottom bunk. Harper rested her elbows on the bare mattress and propped her chin in her hands.

“Get off my bed.” Carmen swatted her little sister down and fitted the bottom sheet onto the bed.

“Um. You might want to know, Kim says she gets the bottom.” Harper shrugged. “Just giving you a fair warning.”

“Hah. I don’t think so. Kimberley’s in for a rude awakening if she thinks I’m climbing to the top bunk every day. Ain’t happening.”

“Well, I’m going to leave you two to battle it out on your own.” Mom plugged her ears as she left the room.

Yeah. Not going to be a battle. Dad always said to choose her fights carefully and select which hills she would die on. Possession of the bottom bunk was a war she’d fight to the death.

Carmen marched into the family room where Kimberley was painting her nails bright blue. “First of all, your nails look moldy. Secondly, I get the bottom bunk.”

Kimberley glanced up. “Fine.”

Did she say fine? Wait. Had the whole thing been a setup? Had Kim sent Harper in there on a reverse-psychology mission?

Harper giggled in the corner.

Carmen’s hands balled into fists. They were lucky Mom was home. Little sisters were so annoying. One day…one day she’d be free of them.

Mom scooted sideways down the hallway, her arms stacked with cardboard and trash from her construction project. She dumped it all into a pile by the front door. “Kim and Harper, I need you two to haul this stuff down to the Dumpster.” She turned to Carmen. “I have a facial party tonight. So you’ll be in charge, of course.”

Thanks for asking. Not like she had a life anyway. Don’t suppose it’s a paid gig? “Okay. Are you going to let them go to the Dumpster by themselves?”