Confessions. Sasha Campbell

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ do you have?”

      She hesitated. “I’m driving a 2000 Honda Civic. It’s paid for.”

      I entered the information in the computer. “Let me go make copies of your documents. I’ll be back.” I rose and went to the copy machine, then came back to find Cimon sending a text message. That girl was really pushing her luck with me. As soon as she spotted me, she put the phone away. She better have. “All right. According to the information you provided me, we’ll be increasing your stamps to four twenty. They’ll be available in two weeks.”

      “Thanks.” Cimon grinned like she suddenly thought of something funny.

      “Is something wrong?” I couldn’t keep the attitude from my voice.

      She gave it right back to me. “Nope. Nothing at all.” She stuffed her documents back in her purse, then rose.

      Oh, I wasn’t done with her. “While you’re here, I need you to go to the career center next door and apply for some jobs.”

      Cimon looked at me as if I told her ass to rob a bank. “Why I need to do that?”

      “Don’t you wanna do something with your life other than receiving food stamps and living on Section 8?”

      “Fo’ what? It cost me more to get a job and pay for a babysitter.” Another chick trying to get over on the system. Women like her made me sick.

      “You got three kids, which means you are entitled to full education benefits. You can get a free ride. I wish I could have gotten a degree for free. Did you know you are eligible for child care?”

      “Fo’ real?” She gave me a greedy look.

      “Yeah, as long as you’re working or going to school.”

      Cimon sucked her teeth and quickly lost interest. Ha! She really thought we were going to pay for daycare while her lazy ass lay around at home with some thug.

      I pointed down at the sheet of paper on the counter. “I need you to sign here and here.”

      I stared at her pinch braids while she signed. They looked like she had just gotten them done. It would have cost her at least one fifty, but she didn’t have money to feed her kids. Did I tell you women like her made me sick?

      After she left, I went and took a bathroom break and checked my makeup on the way out, making sure I was still looking good. I was. Before going into the office, I went outside to get a newspaper from the rack out front. It was the week before the Martin Luther King holiday and cold as hell. I dug a quarter out of my pocket and was shivering as I reached for my paper. I was moving back into the building when I spotted Cimon climbing into a bad-ass midnight blue Lincoln Navigator. Before she could pull out of the parking lot, I memorized the license plate, which was easy. CIMON. That bitch thought she was slick. Just wait until she tries to swipe her EBT card and comes up short. You got to get up very early in the morning to fool me.

      5

      Nikki

      I removed the last magazine from the rack and took a seat on the floor. Running a bookstore was hard work. But I wouldn’t have had it any other way. Book Ends was open seven days a week with a different event scheduled almost every evening. That night was open mic night, which meant I wouldn’t close the store until after nine. Not that I was complaining.

      I looked across the store at Karen, my assistant, as she rang up another customer’s order. It was buy two, get one free day, and as usual the store had been busy. I was grateful business had been good. As much as I wanted a black bookstore, the only thing black about it is the owner. I learned that catering to just my people was not a smart business move. No offense, but you know good and well we like to borrow each other’s books instead of trying to support black bookstores, which is why so many have gone out of business. I’ll admit, I can’t compete with the prices at Walmart and some of the other online stores, but that’s why I offer specials. I also make sure I have books for everyone. White, black, Chinese, religious, you name it, I try to have it in my store.

      “Nikki, the mail’s here,” Karen cried from the front counter. As soon as the last customers left, I rose from the floor and grabbed the mail from behind the counter.

      “I’m running to Popeyes. You want me to get you something?”

      I looked up at her gold-toothed smile. At first glance, Karen wasn’t what one would consider front desk material with her blond weave and long fake nails. But she was fresh out of business school with exceptional customer service skills. After two bad seeds, especially a thieving bitch by the name of Tiara, who I fired in November after discovering she was stealing books and selling them to her friends for a third of the price, Karen was a godsend. Trust and believe, I have a business to run, and if and when I need Karen to tone down the hair and clothes, I’ll tell her. I know she’s a single parent with four kids, so I don’t have a problem paying for her to get her hair done if needed.

      I took a moment to consider Karen’s offer. I had planned to have a bag of popcorn and a diet drink, but I was sure by late afternoon I’d be hungry for some food. “Go ahead and take enough outta petty cash to cover both our lunches and grab me a two-piece white.”

      “Thanks, Nikki.”

      “No problem.” I waited until after Karen left before I headed to the back. I had a camera up front, and the bell over the door was so loud, it could be heard from the Dumpster in the alley. I popped a bag of butter popcorn, grabbed a Coke from the refrigerator, and when the timer went off, I carried my food back to my desk and took a seat. While I chewed on popcorn I thumbed through the mail, leaving greasy fingerprints. Bills and magazines, and then my heart practically stopped as I stared down at an envelope that was handwritten. Oh, my goodness! I knew that writing anywhere.

      Donovan.

      My hands were shaking as I reached for the letter opener. I ripped the seal, then I removed the sheet of notebook paper.

      I hope all is well with you. Nikki, you know I love you and would never do anything to intentionally hurt you, but I’ve got to be honest. Being here is giving me a lot of time to think and I feel it’s time for us to move on. It appears over the last four years we stopped growing as a couple. Talking hasn’t done us any good, neither has distance, and I can’t keep living like this. It’s time I start trying to figure out what is going on with my life. That does not mean I do not love you. I know you will continue to be successful, and I wish you all the luck in the world. Twelve years of marriage, you don’t just wipe away. I want you to know if you need something you can always contact me. Love, Donovan.

      My stomach dropped. I had waited months for a letter from him and finally it had come, only it wasn’t at all what I had expected. Donovan had just ripped my heart out. It’s time for us to move on. Those words floated around the store like a heavy cloud only seconds away from raining down on me. Damn him! The last thing I wanted to do was cry, because I’d known our marriage was in trouble long before Donovan left for Iraq. Yet that didn’t stop the tears. I couldn’t help it. I started bawling like a baby. Thank goodness Karen was gone and no one was in the store so I could sit there and feel sorry for myself. I failed at my marriage. Part of me thought, hoped, distance and time would bring us back together; instead it had done the exact opposite. What had gone wrong? As far as I was concerned, our life together should have been perfect.

      Donovan and I both grew up in Englewood Park housing projects, where crack was the drug of choice. СКАЧАТЬ