My Luck (Twisted Luck Book 1) Read online

  "Marisol sent you to get me?" I asked, my heart still feeling like it was about to shred into a million parts.

  "Si. No going by yourself. You should have had me drive you to work," he muttered as we walked back to his truck and I tried to get my breathing to even out.

  "Sanchez," I said. He was being nice so he deserved his real name. "I'm not going to expect you to get up that early and drive me to work."

  He cast me a funny look. "You do remember who my father is, right? I'm up and in the shop by five-thirty. Heck, if I take you to work, I can get good coffee and not that crap he drinks."

  "You have a point there. Fine. Tomorrow I open, then again on Sunday. But then I won't know for sure what my schedule will be. School starts and all it says for my practicals is To Be Determined. Which tells me nothing." I climbed into the truck, a mixture of relief and worry clashing in me. I had kinda wanted to go home and research more. I never had time to do what I needed. How in the world did single parents survive? It increased my lack of desire to get pregnant, not that anyone was even interested in me. No one wanted to get too serious until after about twenty-two. You would want to emerge if you were going to before getting pregnant. Emerging while pregnant meant the death of the infant, if you were lucky.

  "To what do I owe the honor of both of you picking me up? And was I supposed to come over for dinner?" Not that I minded. But still, I didn't want to wear out my welcome. If I did that, it might kill me.

  "No, but you're always welcome. Nah, Papi said he wanted to talk to us," Jo said as she pulled her coat tighter. "Now come on, Stinky. I'm ready for dinner. Mami is making enchilada lasagna, and I'm starving."

  Stinky grunted and started up the truck as I buckled in. The ride was quiet, mainly because Jo was focused on flirting via text with a girl she'd met at the shop. Sanchez didn't talk much, and I was too wrapped up in my own dilemmas. Odds were Jo would date her a few times and then find a reason to not continue. I couldn't figure out if she was waiting for something? Or just not ready to have to decide on anything right now. Maybe both.

  The questions were spiraling and about to drive me crazy. To my relief, we arrived at the Guzman's house before I lost my tentative hold on sanity.

  The cold January air nipped at my cheeks, making me glad I wasn't walking home. I needed to get a better coat, maybe with the extra money. I wanted to probe at that too, but there was only so much I could do in a single day. And not talking to my parents usually was at the top of my list.

  The smells and lively conversation wrapped around me as I stepped inside the house. Shucking our coats, Jo pulled me into the dining room where a rich bubbly pan of enchilada lasagna was being set down.

  "Grab glasses, Josefa. Everyone else sit," Marisol ordered. I followed the orders gladly, my stomach rumbling at the smell. Marco was there flashing a smile at me. I nodded back. He was handsome, and a flirt, and just not anyone I was interested in.

  Jo set the glasses on the table, filled them up with water, then dropped into a chair. Her eyes were locked on the enchiladas too. There was also salad, tortillas, butter, and beans. But they all paled compared to that smell.

  "I really need to learn to cook," I muttered as we all got servings of rich cheesy goodness put on our plates.

  "You can cook just fine, Cori," Marisol reproved. "You just don't pay enough attention and accidents happen."

  I felt slightly wounded. Some of my incidents really were about my not paying attention, such as my tripping last night. "Hey, I didn't cause the microwave to short out." But using salt instead of sugar and setting the oven to 450 instead of 350 I couldn't deny as my fault.

  "Accidents happen to everyone. You just don't pay attention and hence Murphy's Luck follows you like a lost cat."

  I didn't roll my eyes—it would have hurt her feelings—but I did internally. Though I wouldn't have minded a cat. Something to keep me company in the evenings that wouldn't require me to walk it. Maybe after I graduated I could get one.

  That thought worried me. Graduation. How would I stay close to Jo and everyone? But I couldn't stay here. One more semester and I'd graduate with my AAS in Emergency Medical Technologies, Criminal Justice, and Medical Assistant. Which should guarantee me a job and ensure I never had to watch someone die again while I was useless. I hoped. I still needed to pass the tests, but I wasn't worried about them. The college offered practice tests and I'd aced all of them. I just needed the degree and I'd get a job somewhere away from here.

  The dichotomy pulled at me. Away from my parents and the memories was a positive. Away from Jo, the Guzman's, the Grind Down? That registered as a solid negative in my book.

  My thoughts disappeared with the first taste of cheese and spices. The entire table fell silent, everyone focused on food first, conversation later.

  When the first round of inhalation had faded, chatter slowly started up, first with Marisol asking about the girl Jo was flirting with. Jo for her part played it down, but I could tell she rather liked this one. Stinky and I exchanged amused glances. Jo fell hard, burned fast, and then walked away. Someday she'd find the one to stick with forever. I'd search for the person that matched with her if I needed to. I didn't want her to have an empty life like me.

  I didn't need to go down that thought trail and I grabbed some frijoles negros to give myself something to do. Well that and they tasted incredible. I really need to learn to cook, or at least not screw things up in the kitchen.

  "Cori?"

  I jerked my head up at Henri calling my name. My mouth was full, so I just nodded at him instead of saying anything. I'd learned not to eat too fast. I had a tendency to inhale food into my lungs if I did. Lying on the floor gagging from coughing so hard ranked very high on my "Don't Repeat" list.

  "The chief came by the shop today."

  The table went silent. Even the clink of silverware halted. I choked on my beans. Five minutes later, finally able to breathe again and with most of the tears wiped off my face, I looked at Henri.

  "And?"

  "Laurel wanted to know if anyone had been by the shop. Showed me the picture of the man. Harold Court. I looked at it a long time, but I told her I hadn't seen anyone like that."

  "She asked me and Sanchez too," Marco put in, an odd, grave look on his face. "But we didn't remember seeing him, and I can guarantee that we didn't talk to him. I'd remember anyone asking questions about you," he assured me.

  I forced a smile but remained a bit confused. "That doesn't surprise me, and I still want to know why he was looking for me or someone with something like my name. I mean if my name was Mary Williams, maybe it wouldn't be so odd. But Kory? That isn't any more common than Cori is." I drew out the letters in the air as I spoke, to make clear which one I meant.

  "Which is why I think Laurel is following up on it." Henri frowned and my gut curled in on itself a bit more.

  "Right, so while I'm glad you told me, I'm not sure why you told me. I mean, I figured she would, but why make it such a big deal?" I knew that sentence sounded awkward, but how do you explain the complexity without sounding like a babbling idiot? Then again, they knew me inside and out, so I doubt my confusing explanation bothered them.

  Henri took a deep breath and the yummy enchilada threatened to turn into acid in my stomach.

  "We talked for a while, and she mentioned she'd swung by and talked to Estella and Rafael to see if they'd seen or talked to anyone about you." His voice had gotten cold as he said that.

  The names of my parents fell like explosions into the quiet room. Jo and Stinky erupted into yells.

  "Why would she talk to them? They don't even talk to Cori." That was Jo, at least I thought it was. The room seemed to have receded a bit from my awareness.

  "Like they'd care if someone was looking for her. Not that they'd admit to knowing who she was!" Sanchez shouted. He'd even stood up from the table.

  Marisol was muttering in Spanish under her breath and I could catch various words casting aspersions on Laurel's i
ntelligence, but more about my parent's lack of parenting.

  "Shush, shouting doesn't change anything. Laurel mentioned she wanted to make sure they weren't involved in some way. Asking seemed the most direct path." Henri sounded calm and logical, and that made it hurt even more.

  I bolted down the hall to the bathroom and everything came back up. It didn't taste as good the second time. Why would they have been involved? Was talking to me so hard? I lived less than a hundred yards from their house. If they needed to talk to me, to see me, couldn't they walk up the stairs?

  Tears threatened, but I fought them back. Instead I focused on the last time I'd actually spoken to my parents. I had to think about it, but it was my eighteenth birthday. I'd run into them at the grocery store. My mom had looked at me, Kris in the grocery cart. She'd reached into her purse and handed me a prepaid debit card. I still remember her words, "Here. Buy something you want." And she turned and pushed the cart away. Dad had stood there looking at me then he'd said, "I'll send you the paperwork you need now that you're an adult." And with that he'd turned and followed Mom out. I walked out of the store, crying so hard I almost got hit by a car. It was the last time I'd let myself cry for them.

  Which meant I wouldn't cry today.

  I washed my face and walked back out, but this time the food smells assaulted me, threatening what little remained in my stomach.

  "I'm sorry, Cori. I thought you should know." Henri looked so apologetic and worried.

  "Not an issue. Thanks for telling me. Sanchez, could you give me a ride home?" I knew I was running, but this time no one blamed me. Nor tried to stop me.

  "One minute, Cori. Let me send you home with something." Marisol was up and bustling in the kitchen and before I could come up with the words to protest, she handed me an insulated lunch bag. "Here's some left over enchiladas, fresh tortillas, and homemade salsa. I know you have chips. This is for later when you decide you're hungry." I didn't try to refuse—I would be hungry later.

  "Thanks, Marisol." I sounded weepy. I wasn't weepy.

  She pulled me into a tight hug. "You are family, mi hija, just like Josefa. You always have a home here."

  Dammit, I will not start crying here.

  I hugged her back hard, then pulled back. I needed to think about this bombshell.

  "Thanks. Stinky? Ready?"

  "Sure, Cori." We were out the door and driving, Jo recognizing I needed space. I'd text her later or even call, but right now I needed to think.

  The great thing about Stinky, he didn't pry. But as I got out of the truck at my apartment he spoke, surprising me.

  "Hey, Cori?" I turned back to him, curious. "You need anything, you get scared, or you think something's wrong, call. Mom and Dad weren't happy when your parents moved you to this place and Jo told us. For days there were arguments about you moving in with us and rooming with Jo. They almost did. But you act fine, real good, even when you aren't. We should have done more, but you'd been dealing with them for years and you seemed happier there. So they didn't." He cleared his throat, not looking at me, but at the house where my parents and brother lived. "Look, I'm trying to say, I know you're an adult, and I know I was a shit kid to you. But if you need something we're here. Got it?"

  "Better watch it, Stinky. I might start to like you." I smiled to show I was teasing and he flashed a smile at me.

  "Just don't forget. Now get going. I've got a raid later tonight."

  I rolled my eyes. "You and your video games. You ever going to get a real life?"

  "Why? I like my fantasy life just fine."

  With a laugh I headed up my stairs. I heard his truck pulling away as I shut the door. I leaned against it, the choice bouncing in my head. Go talk to my parents or not? Ask them what they know or not?

  I stared at the cup laying shattered on the floor. Closing the door must have jarred it enough to fall off the shelf.

  I had to talk to them. I had to know. I was already upset, why not get it over with now? With a sigh I turned and went back down the stairs and headed towards the house I'd grown up in.

  Chapter 7

  Emergence is what the appearance of magic in any given person is called. It generally has been described as a warm flush, then everything imploding and exploding in you at the same time. An intrinsic understanding of what offerings are and how much is needed to do any amount of magic is embedded, though training and practice are required to make coherent sense of choosing what genetic material to lose. ~ Magic Explained

  They're my parents. They'll let me know if they were involved in this. Right?

  I felt like I was facing my worst fear and steeling myself for war at the same time. It felt wrong to confront my parents. We'd spent the last five years avoiding each other, trying not to admit the other existed, or at least that was what I assumed. They'd never said, they just faded away from me and did everything possible to make sure I didn't need them.

  Was it even worth the effort? Why would they be involved? Everything there was to know about me they either knew or could have found out just by asking. I didn't know if I'd open my heart to them, but maybe.

  No, I have to know. They need to tell me.

  Marching up to the front steps I knocked on the door. My knock rang in my heart and mind like the warning bell at school. Was it warning that my family was about to get the death knell? Or that maybe something would change for the better?

  I heard steps approaching and was suddenly aware of my grimy condition. Between working all day, then getting sick at the Guzman's, I looked and smelled a wreck. Why hadn't I changed first?

  The doorknob turning and the door pulling open shut down my internal flailing. I looked up as my dad's gaze locked with mine. His eyes went wide as his face paled. He took a stance at the door as if I was trying to break in or might charge him.

  "May I help you?"

  The overly polite formal voice wasn't any more than I had expected, yet it still hurt. "I wanted to talk to you and—" I hesitated unsure what to call her anymore. I cleared my throat. "—you and Estella about what the cops asked. I need to know about the private investigator."

  "We didn't know anything and told the chief that." He started to close the door when I heard Estella's voice behind him.

  "Who is it, Rafe?" Even as she spoke, I saw her approach the door and pull it open. Rafael let her, even as his body stiffened even more. She flinched when she saw me. "Why are you here?"

  At this rate the blows to my soul would kill me. "I'd like to talk to you both? Please? Did you know the investigator? Why was he hired to find me? Did you do it? Is there something going on I should know about? Are people looking for you? For us?" The questions spilled out of me like a stream of over-caffeinated coffee and I wanted to sew my mouth shut. I didn't need them, but I needed answers.

  "Hey, Mom! Are we having pizza rolls?" The question was shouted behind my parents and a moment later a head peeked between them. "Hi! You're the student renter? Wanna come in for dinner? Mom made pizza rolls. I seen you around. You're pretty. Mom, you letting her in?" The stream of questions sounded so much like mine I had to smile. Both of my parents flinched, and my smile faded.

  "Kris, she can't come in. Our renter just needed to ask us a question about a report. Go get your homework and what book you want to read." Estella's words, dismissing me as a renter, not even admitting that I was her daughter caused another sharp pain to stab through my chest.

  "Okay, Mom. Bye, lady." His head pulled back, the brown hair ruffling just the way Stevie's had. I closed my eyes for a minute, listening to the pounding of his feet as he sped away.

  "Really? You aren't even going to admit you have a daughter? Are you ever going to tell him that he also had a brother?" My throat choked up. "People will ask when he gets a bit older. They know me. They knew Stevie."

  My parents exchanged an odd look that I couldn't interpret. "We didn't talk to, or see, the man the police showed us. Nor do we know of anyone that could be looking for you. As you know, w
e are both only children. If we knew anything, we would have told the police." Estella said all this not looking at me, though if she turned any paler, I'd start worrying she was bleeding out somewhere.

  "If you need any help with the apartment or if something goes wrong, please use the email address for the apartment. Now if you would excuse us, we need to go to dinner." Rafael stepped back from the door as did Estella, almost as if they had practiced the maneuver. In a smooth motion the door shut in my face, leaving me standing there, none of my questions really answered and even more spiraling through my brain.

  I don't know how long I stood there. Rage and sorrow waged a war in my heart. I raised my hand to pound on the door but froze halfway through the motion. What good would it do? Would it change anything if I threw a fit? Would it hurt Kris?

  I don't need them. I haven't for a while. I need to walk away.

  My arm ached from holding it there. It was that pain that finally let me turn and head back to my apartment, my fingers and arm numb from the cold. The heat inside my apartment came as a welcome relief. Standing inside the door, I stared at the card, the one holding the five hundred. I needed to get it into the bank, but a part of me wanted to tear it into pieces and dump it in front of them.

  The light bulb over the stove fritzed out with a crack. I didn't even bother to sigh, just went over and replaced it with one from my stash. I purchased cheap bulbs in very large packs. That replaced, I put the money in my purse. I'd walk to the bank at lunch.

  The clock glared at me. After eight. I needed to talk to the chief, to find out if there was any progress. I should move, research, do something. Instead, I stood in the middle of my kitchen and let the last few dreams I had of my parents coming back into my life fade away. I gave in and scratched my head, ignoring the white particles that cascaded down as I headed to bed. Nothing else mattered now. School started Monday and then my weeks would be full of work and study. Now was my only chance to find out the answers I craved. I still wanted to be a doctor, but I'd never make it through the course, and didn't have the funding to afford that level of schooling. Besides, the idea of something weird happening during surgery scared the daylights out of me.