Chapter 37

"I have to go."

With that, Clifford turned and walked out.

Yesenia was so angry she nearly jumped up. "Clifford!"

But he didn't even look back. She fumed. She had just come from the hospital, and the bastard hadn't even tried to comfort her.

Clifford drove to the restaurant, but it was dark and deserted. He sat in his car for a moment, staring at the empty building, then pulled out his phone to call Latisha.

The call went straight to voicemail. Her phone was off.

He irritably lit a cigarette, took two drags, then threw it out the window. He spun the wheel and headed back to the villa.

But she wasn't there either. The bed was neatly made, indicating she hadn't come back at all.

It was only then that Clifford remembered he had frozen her cards. She probably didn't even have money for a cab. How could she get home?

He immediately called Ziven as he walked back out the door.

Latisha walked Mrs. Dashiell back to her "home"-a makeshift shelter built on the frame of an old, rusted-out truck near a junkyard. Mrs. Dashiell explained that the owner of the junkyard had taken pity on her and helped her build it.

Latisha's heart was heavy. She placed the groceries she'd bought at a 24-hour convenience store inside the shelter. As she ducked inside, she was hit by an unpleasant smell.

Mrs. Dashiell switched on a small solar-powered lamp, revealing the filthy state of the bedding on the floor.

Latisha looked at Mrs. Dashiell, her eyes filled with pain. This was not the woman she remembered from her childhood-the woman who had taught her to write, fold paper cranes, and told her stories until she fell asleep.

Mrs. Dashiell started to reach for her, but then she saw her own hands-thin, withered, and covered in grime. She quickly pulled her hand back.

But Latisha caught it, holding it tight as she sat down beside her.

"It's so dirty in here. You'll ruin your beautiful clothes," Mrs. Dashiell said, her own eyes tearing up as she thought of her son and his wife.

Latisha bit her lip and signed: *Mrs. Dashiell, I'll take care of you from now on.*

The old woman's eyes shimmered

with unshed tears. She forced a

smile. "No, dear. Your life with the

Lamberts isn't easy either I'm

sn't easy,

an old

Woman Just visiting me when you

car is enough."

Latisha didn't reply. She straightened the bedding as best she could and then

signed: *Can I sleep here with you tonight?*

"It's too dirty, child. Don't do this tox

yourself. Mrs. Dashiell's voice cracked a wave of shame washing over her. She couldnt even offer Latisha a clean place to rest.

Latisha shook her head. *It's not dirty. Not at all. This place is cleaner than anywhere else.*

Mrs. Dashiell chuckled, a sound full of sorrow and weariness.

ет

Latisha took off her shoes and lay down beside the old woman. She had spent all her money on groceries and her phone was dead. Besides, it was too late to try to get a cab by herself. Even if she did go back, she would only be returning to a cold, empty house. She would rather sleep here.

"Such a foolish child," Mrs. Dashiell whispered in the darkness.

Latisha closed her eyes. Despite the smell, she soon fell asleep.

...

Latisha was woken in the morning by the cold. She opened her eyes to see the first rays of dawn painting the sky in brilliant colors.

Mrs. Dashiell was already awake, sitting on a rock outside, boiling something over a small fire.

Latisha went over and knelt beside her. She was boiling the eggs Latisha had bought the night before.

"You're awake? The eggs will be ready in a minute."

Latisha smiled and nodded.