Dead Woman Crossing by J.R. Adler (books on motivation .txt) 📗

Kimberley stood up apprehensively, looking over at Jessica who was devouring everything on her plate and then back at Nicole.

“Don’t worry. I got it,” her mother reaffirmed.

She nodded. “Thanks, Mom.”

Her cautiousness had nothing to do with her mother. It ran deeper than that, threaded through a dysfunctional childhood, ensnared around an alcoholic, abusive father, and tied in a sloppy bow by an ex that abandoned their daughter, leaving her lying on a floor, too inconsiderate to put her back in her crib or wake Kimberley and tell her to her face that he was a fuckwad.

4

Kimberley pushed back the yellow shower curtain, immediately wrapping a towel around her. She carefully stepped out of the puke-green-colored tub onto the peeling linoleum tile. Tousling her hair with her fingers, she walked to the pedestal sink, which matched the puke-green tub and the puke-green toilet. What the hell were people thinking in the 70s? Smearing a section of the steam-fogged mirror with her hand, she revealed her face and studied it for a moment. She didn’t look different, but she felt different. Her wet dark brown hair hung heavily around her heart-shaped face. Tiny droplets of water slid from her long tresses down her bare skin. Her eyes were still as blue as they were back in the city, but outside against the Oklahoma blue skies, they’d probably pale in comparison. Her full lips had started to crack. She’d credit dusty, dry Oklahoma for that. Less than twelve hours in the state, and it had already left its mark on her. Leaning closer to the mirror, she pulled at her porcelain skin that had a pink hue to it thanks to the scalding hot shower. She inspected it closely. It too was dry. Thanks, Oklahoma.

Dressed in a white T-shirt and black pants, Kimberley walked down the rocky path toward the large farmhouse. Her hair was still damp and pulled back in a low ponytail and a pair of black Wayfarers sat on top of her head. She had showered and unpacked and checked on Jessica at least six times before her mother finally shooed her out of the house. The sun was set high in the sky, its rays scorching Kimberley and the land. She pulled her glasses down in front of her eyes, blocking out the light but not the heat. Her mother had told her she was going to burn up in those pants, but it was all she had. She’d never be caught dead in a pair of shorts in NYC. Too many nasty things to get on you, like bodily fluids. It was always best to cover up no matter how blisteringly hot it was.

Walking around the side of the house, she came upon the large white wraparound porch. It looked even better in the daytime, like it was straight out of a movie set. Before she was done admiring the house, the screen door flung open, slamming against the siding.

At first glance, she thought it was David, but the man was much too young to be David. The man was holding a glass of water, dressed in a white T-shirt that appeared damp with what she assumed was sweat. His blue jeans looked brown thanks to the dirt that was plastered to them. He tipped back the glass of water, drinking the whole thing in two large gulps. With his chin raised, she could see a part of his beard that hadn’t grown in thanks to a thick scar about an inch in length. His hair was dark and cut short, almost like a buzz cut. She was sure it hadn’t been professionally done because there were areas that were cut a bit too close. The bags under his eyes were the only thing soft and round. Everything else about him was chiseled with sharp edges, from his jawline to his cracked knuckles.

“You must be Wyatt,” Kimberley said smiling.

He set the glass on the railing of the porch and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Emily, come get this glass,” he called over his shoulder.

His face was a mix of tan, red, and stubble. Although, Kimberley saw a bit of paleness there as well. He was clearly exhausted, evident due to his red-rimmed eyes and the breath he just couldn’t seem to catch no matter how cool and calm he tried to appear. Kimberley assumed he had been up and working for hours… and, perhaps, he hadn’t slept at all.

“Yeah, I’m Wyatt. You must be Kimberley,” he said, walking down the steps.

Kimberley nodded. “Great house you have here.”

She looked up at the large white weather-boarded farmhouse, taking it all in again. It was clearly a source of pride as the outside of the home was well taken care of. No peeling or cracked paint in sight. Yellow and white flowers lined the wraparound porch, planted evenly apart. The outside of the home had both a man and a woman’s touch, and Kimberley wondered if that continued inside of the house.

“Sorry, I don’t really have time for the small talk. I’ve got work to do, but I’ll catch up with you later.” He took a sharp turn at the bottom of the stairs toward the field.

Kimberley watched him walk away. He glanced back once, and she tipped her head at him. It wasn’t exactly the southern hospitality she was expecting.

“I’m sorry about him,” Emily said, picking up the glass Wyatt had left. “He’s overworked and overtired.” Her voice was mousey, and she gave a pleasant smile.

Emily was dressed in a floral-print dress that went down to her knees. Her dirty blond hair fell above her shoulders and was perfectly in place. Her makeup was minimal, if she was wearing any at all. Kimberley couldn’t really tell if the rosiness of her cheeks and lips was natural or not. She was very pretty, but with the way she dressed, she appeared to be muting her own appearance,