by A. K. Evans
With no other options and unable to ignore the rumbling in my stomach, I pulled the can of soup out of my backpack. I opened the front pouch that I put a plastic spoon in yesterday at school and lifted the tab on the soup can to remove the lid.
Cold soup.
It was better than nothing.
I sat in the middle of the mattress, struggling to eat slowly. It was difficult to control the urge to satisfy the hunger quickly. I forced myself not to hurry through it, though, realizing that if I could feel full on just half the can, I could save the rest for tomorrow.
As I sat there eating, my thoughts drifted to Ms. Grace. It was on nights like this when I missed her the most. Ms. Grace used to be our neighbor at the apartment building where we lived. She was an elderly, black woman who wore pretty dresses, gave incredible hugs, and treated me better than my own mother did. She didn’t spend her days drunk or high on drugs. She was the kindest, most gentle soul I’d ever known. Sometimes, when my mother had one of her men over, I’d sneak out and knock on Ms. Grace’s door.
“Oh, dear child,” she said when she opened the door and saw me standing there for the first time. “Come inside.”
I suspected she knew what was happening inside my own apartment, but she never made me feel bad about my situation. I was only seven years old the first time I knocked on her door. She allowed me to come inside, where we watched television together. We watched Jeopardy and Wheel of Fortune regularly from that point forward. And every night I managed to sneak out, she’d make sure I was fed. The first night, with me being an unexpected visitor, she made me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Every night after that, there was always a warm meal waiting to fill me up.
But she died six months ago.
And now I was eating cold soup, alone and in the dark.
I think she knew it was coming because two months before she passed away, she started giving me extra food to take with me.
“A snack for later,” she’d insist, watching me intently until I put the food in my backpack.
Given that I was older, I didn’t need to sneak out like I did when I was little. As the years went on, my mother became more and more dependent on her alcohol and drugs. She spent more time passed out than awake, so it was easy for me to make daily visits to Ms. Grace. I knew that she was the kind of person I aspired to be. She taught me what a real mother does, and it saddened me that she never had the opportunity to have children of her own.
“Wallace and I tried to have children, but it just wasn’t in the cards for us,” she admitted to me two years ago. “But we had each other and that was enough for us.”
“Was he nice?” I asked.
She smiled, and it lit up her whole face. “He was the best man I’d ever known. In the fifty-five years we were married, there was never a single negative exchange. At least, not on his part. I had moments where I was moody as does happen to us women sometimes, and he always saw me through those times with love and tenderness. We had the occasional debate about things, but even in those discussions, he never denied me the right to my feelings. And he always made me laugh. That was the most important thing for me because what’s life about if you can’t laugh and be happy?”
I sighed, “I hope I can meet a man like Mr. Wallace one day.”
“You will, my child. You just keep yourself focused on finishing up school and taking care of yourself. Don’t get distracted by the things surrounding you. If you do what you’ve got to do to become the woman you want to be, he’ll find you.”
From that day forward, I knew I’d never forget the many lessons she imparted on me or the way she made me feel.
Now, as I sat here alone with the last can of soup I had from her, I fought the urge to break down. I missed her.
I missed her hugs.
Her kindness.
Her words.
Her company.
As much as I wanted to give in to that sadness, I didn’t. I needed to stay strong and focused on what I had to do because I made a vow to myself and to her. The day I turned eighteen, I would walk away and never look back.
I wouldn’t become my mother. I wouldn’t choose drugs and alcohol and men over my child.
I was only a month away from turning sixteen. Then, I’d be able to get a job at the library and start saving. I’d only use what I had to just to feed myself and the rest of it would be saved. I had my plan. I only needed to wait a month to put it into action.
On that thought, halfway through my can of soup, I put the resealable top back on and laid down to sleep.
Three days later, my plan was blown to smithereens.
The police barged in and arrested my mother along with her guy of the week.
I was put into foster care.
Want the rest? Order here.
With every book I publish, I become more aware of who is in my corner. And it never fails. My husband and my two beautiful boys. Thank you for supporting me in this journey. There are never enough words to tell you all how much you mean to me. I love you.
To Megan—I appreciate all that you do. Your input on the story was invaluable. And thank you for sneaking into buildings just to send me your thoughts on the story! I can’t wait to see what’s next.
To N, KP, JC, and the rest of the Inkslinger team—Thank you for allowing me to be part of such a wonderful family of authors. I’m truly honored to be in such good company. The appreciation I feel regarding your loyalty, hard work, and dedication to your clients goes beyond what words could ever express. Thank you.
To my ARC Team Members—You are rock stars! Thank you for believing in me and my work enough to want to be part of my team. I appreciate all of you.
To the book bloggers—There are too many to list, but I see each and every one of you. Thank you for taking your valuable time to recommend and share my work. It does not go unnoticed.
And to my loyal readers—Thank you for continuing to support me in my dream. It means everything to me.
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The Everything Series
Everything I Need
Everything I Have
Everything I Want
Everything I Love
The Cunningham Security Series
Obsessed
Overcome
Desperate
Solitude
Burned
Unworthy (Coming September 2019)
A.K. Evans is a married mother of two boys residing in a small town in northeastern Pennsylvania. After graduating from Lafayette College in 2004 with two degrees (one in English and one in Economics & Business), she pursued a career in the insurance and financial services industry. Not long after, Evans realized the career was not for her. She went on to manage her husband’s performance automotive business and drive the shop race cars for the next thirteen years. While the business afforded her freedoms she wouldn’t necessarily have had in a typical 9-5 job, after eleven years she was no longer receiving personal fulfillment from her chosen career path. Following many discussions, lots of thought, and tons of encouragement, Andrea decided to pursue her dream of becoming a writer.
Between her day job, writing, and homeschooling her two boys, Evans is left with very little free time. When she finds scraps of spare time, Evans enjoys reading, doing yoga, watching NY Rangers hockey, dancing, and vacationing with her family. Andrea, her husband, and her children are currently working on taking road trips to visit all
50 states (though, Alaska and Hawaii might require flights).