Chapter 183: Katrina VI

Chapter 183: Katrina VI—Not Meant to Be

 

           

                                    Atlanta, Georgia—1995

 

            “Win’s Momma gonn’come home?”

            Katrina cringed inwardly at the sound of the little girl’s voice. She spoke like a native, the whiny twang, the draaaawl that grated on her ears. They all spoke like that here and Katrina could barely remember a world before this one, but she knew for damn sure that the place she used to belong to didn’t have people talking like this. When she turned around to look at the little girl, she gave her a full out glare.

            “Why can’t you speak correctly!” she snapped. “Dammit I’m sick of your voice Chloe.”

            The little girl blinked, wrinkled her nose, sniffled, but not because she was sad. The girl chronically had a running nose that she would wipe on her sleeves, or a tissue if Mom gave her one. She seemed incapable of ever getting her own tissues. “Ah’m not talkin’different’n anyone else Kat, an ah don’t evah see you yellin’ at anyone else you’re always jes pickin on me.”

            Katrina narrowed her eyes. “Cause I’m trying to hurt your feelings, that’s why.” She said in French. It was the language she grew up speaking first, and she would never let it die within her heart. Most of the people here had French names but none of them could speak it. She liked having something to keep superior with.

            Chloe narrowed her eyes, but there was nothing malicious in them. They were bright, shining green eyes and whenever her little sister narrowed them Katrina would finally see what it meant to have eyes like a cat. “You talkin’ Frinch agin?” Chloe asked.

            “Yup,” Katrina said and she reached into her pocket, pulling out some money. She handed a five to Chloe, the little girl smiled as she took it and put it in her pocket.

            “I have to keep speaking it so I won’t forget it,” Katrina replied in English. “If I forgot it, then I wouldn’t have any money so you can have candy.”

            Chloe smiled. “Thanks,” she said and the little girl smoothed her red fingered, bony hands over her shining black hair and she dashed out of the room.

            Katrina pulled out the rest of the money, it was a fat wad and one she tended to religiously. She wasn’t going to stay here and she needed means before she tried to attain an end. She counted it, flashing each bill, almost five hundred dollars.

            She had come across the idea innocently enough. The lonely middle aged seamstress down the street, Annie Willoughby, had asked Katrina for French lessons, of course she would pay for them. Annie offered twenty dollars a lesson, Katrina countered with twenty five. Annie had agreed.

            Katrina didn’t care too much to be in the company of other people but it did keep her out of the house an extra hour over the weekend and that was the important thing. After a few weeks, Annie had been so pleased with her progress and with Katrina’s company that she began to tell everyone within her church group about the pretty young lady who gave French lessons. Now it was all the rage, and Katrina was amused to find herself a la mode and her weekends taken up with sitting in housewives’ kitchens, reeling out French phrases and half listening as they butchered the language with their insufferable accents. Thank you ma’am, slips twenty five in the pocket.

            You bin doin whu-at?

            I have been teaching French to the ladies in the church.

            You bin fuckin around thass what you bin doin.

            Clinton please! Don’t! Leave her alone.

            Shut-up bitch. Bite that tongue before I tear it outta yer goddamn mouth!

            It was a ritual every weekend. Clinton, her step father would sleep in late so Katrina would leave early on Saturday and Sunday morning, she would make her appointments and as soon as she would come home…         

            You bin out all day agin, where the fuck?

            I was at Mrs. DeLacroix’s, teaching her French.

            You bin Frinchin boys you dirty litl’slut, you bin spreadin’em.

            Katrina wouldn’t answer she would glare at the man, she would glare at her mother as she trembled watching her husband and her daughter. She hated her mother more. She didn’t answer Clinton but she did throw the money onto his lap.

            Keep it, go on. Keep it.

            How much ya’chargin?

            Ten dollars an hour.

            I want half of all that missy, y’hear me. I want half yer slut money you whore.

            Katrina had then raised her prices to thirty dollars an hour and the ladies who loved her so much readily agreed. She gave Clinton his share, she bought small things for Chloe, she gave none of it to her mother who didn’t even ask her what she was doing. If she wasn’t going to ask she wasn’t going to get any. The rest of it she hid in a drawer in her dresser, she then layered the rest of the drawer with tampons, maxi pads and bottles of Midol. Those were three things that Clinton Parfet was deathly afraid of and she knew he wouldn’t dream of digging any deeper into that drawer.

            Almost five hundred dollars. It could be more.

            Katrina frowned and leaned her chin on her hand. The house was quiet she could hear Chloe singing from another end of the house:

            Count to three

            Jump the tree

            Can it be you’re meant for me?

            I don’t care

            What I wear

            Momma she said not to swear.

            The crickets were loud, the birds were loud, it was noisy outside. Katrina hated it here. She hated the heavy wet heat and the blooming plants that made her nose run and her eyes itch. She remembered vaguely a world with snow and it was cold. But the fear there had been the same.

            Almost five hundred dollars… it could be more. She had a new pupil. He was the grown nephew of Annie Willoughby, James Huxton was his name. And he was the State District Attorney, he rarely lost a case. He wore expensive suits, double breasted, sometimes he wore hats that looked nice on his slender frame, he had soft skin, pink cheeks. He had a pocket watch and the drawl in his voice was not unpleasant.

            Come on and sit in my lap honey.

            Katrina had been barely into the lesson with him when he asked her that.

            I’m not a little girl, I don’t do that anymore.

            But you sure are pretty darling, I want a better look at you.

            At the same time he had held up a one hundred dollar bill. Katrina felt her mouth water and her pulse race. She vaguely remembered her lips on a man’s nice smelling cheek, the crisp of the ten dollars in her sock. He had done that because she was pretty and he had told her that it would happen again.

            You’re smiling darling.

            And he patted his thigh, inviting her.

            Katrina could feel the smile, hurting her cheeks. She knew she was pretty, often she thought she was downright gorgeous, she didn’t waste modesty on herself. Why should she?

            Why don’t you sit in my lap.

            And Katrina smoothed her hands over her thigh.

            Huxton’s eyes widened, he lifted his eyebrows, and his grin showed gleaming, white teeth. She could feel her chest tighten, her pulse deepen as he took her up in that offer. She couldn’t look at his face, only notice how soft and pretty his hands were as he pressed them down on either side of her, on the arms of the recliner she was sitting on. She saw a golden wedding band twinkling innocent and unaware on his hand. He smelled nice and almost spicy, his lips were on hers, and those were soft as well.

            Katrina tightened immediately, feeling her body stiffen. She had never been kissed like this before, she had never had a boyfriend, had never allowed herself to be touched. For a moment she was disappointed at the pressure of his lips, was that all there was to it?

            Goodness…

            Then his tongue slid in her mouth tickling, this was more interesting. Katrina felt her blood race and she sighed, relaxed and she lifted her arms, felt almost shy as she slid them around his warm neck. And then his hand, she felt it on her knee and then it began to slide up her thigh, up higher, and higher…

            Katrina widened her eyes and burst out laughing when he touched her there and he stepped away from her but before he did she snatched that hundred dollar bill. She could see a sheepish hurt in his eyes, he wasn’t expecting her to laugh was he? She laughed harder and took a moment to calm. She sighed and looked at him, flushed and pretty. He was as pretty as a girl. “You, dear sir,” Katrina said quietly mocking the native accent, “Are gonna get in so much trouble.”

            There was a gleam of fear in his face.

            “That’s up to you I suspect,” he said.

            Katrina smiled and slid the money into her pocket. “Mmhmm.”

            “And whatta you gonna do honey?” he asked.

            “I’ll think about it…”

            Katrina yawned and looked out the window. It was dark. Mom and Clinton had left somewhere to someone’s party. Chloe was still singing somewhere in the house. The girl was always singing. When Clinton yelled, hit mom, kicked her, dragged her by the hair Chloe would sing louder and louder until he would drop Mom and slap the little girl. It always ended the same. Chloe would grab his wrist and stare at him, not crying, and he would stare back at her and then he would let go of her and sit on the couch, and stare at the television.

            Chloe to be honest, creeped the hell out of Katrina. Of course she was her sister and she loved her, one would have to. Still, it was that unnatural casual, serene attitude the little girl took towards anything in the house. She never cried, she always stared and she had a brain that worked on a level far above the rest of the children in her class. Katrina always thought of Chloe in terms of someone who was not meant to be born. Someone who shouldn’t have been. She had far too much of a mind for a five year old. Katrina’s English teacher told her she had far too much of a mind for a fourteen year old. It was something genetic, Katrina supposed, so why the hell wasn’t Mom that smart?

            “AAAAAAAH! NOOOO! NOOO!”

            Katrina jumped to her feet, feeling fear. Chloe was screaming, she could hear the girl sobbing. Chloe never cried! It was hard to breathe as she ran from her room and followed the little girl’s screams

            She found Chloe in the kitchen, the little girl was hunched on the tile floor. Had she hurt herself somehow?

            “Chloe?” Katrina asked.

            “He’s hurt,” Chloe moaned. And the little girl turned around and in her hands she was holding a crumpled, soft, dead mouse. “He walk innit, he walk innit the trap!”

            Katrina cringed. “Chloe that’s dirty and gross put it down. It’s dead.”

            Clinton had been putting the snap traps all around the house trying to catch the mice that had found their way in.

            Chloe shook her head, tears rolling down her face. “He didn’t want to die.”

            Katrina rolled her eyes feeling irritated and she grabbed a sandwich bag from the drawer. She heard Chloe giggle and she frowned. What a weird girl.

            “Nevermind he’s OK.”

            “What?” Katrina asked. “Chloe stop…”

            Katrina felt the plastic bag fall from her fingers and she felt a cold fear dart through her when she looked at her little sister. Her hands were empty.

            “Where’s the mouse?” she asked.

            Chloe grinned. “He ran away, he’s Ok now.”

            Katrina narrowed her eyes. “Don’t lie, where did you put it?”

            Chloe didn’t stop smiling. “He ran away, an’ah tole him not ta come back cuz the snap traps’ll get ‘im.”

            Katrina shook her head and she saw the rodent sitting on the tile… it couldn’t be the same mouse, it was a different one. It sat up on its haunches and then skittered across the floor and under the space that led into the garage.

            Chloe smiled and began to sing again. Katrina backed out of the room feeling herself tremble. That girl shouldn’t have been born, she was not meant to be.