Free Nora & Kettle by Lauren Nicolle Taylor Page A

or at least, matter one day. “When you’re financially independent, you can petition for custody. And if you choose to do that, I will help you file the necessary motions.”
    Oh, I’ll do it…
    “Three years,” I whisper to my lap. My fingers count, one, two, three, tapping a silent prayer against an empty window. It’s so long.
    He stands, reaching into his pocket and handing me a black card embossed with white writing. “Three years. Then you call me.”
    I hold the card in my fingers, folding it over once so it looks like a tiny tent I want to shelter under. “Or marry…” I whisper to my hand.
    Mr. Inkham stops midstride, light cutting across his tailored pants so they look faded and old. He turns toward me, his eyes full of warning. “It is an option but, please, don’t rush into anything. You don’t want to end up in a more… er…” he searches for words that don’t exist and comes up with, “ compromising situation than you already are.”
    Got it. All men are dangerous.
    I stand, straighten like a rod, and almost stamp my foot as I say, “My priority is my sister’s welfare. I’m no fool, and I will not make any decision lightly. What happens to me affects her too. I will do whatever necessary to keep her safe.”
    “Fair words,” he concedes and then he pauses, rapping his fingers lightly on the surface of his worn leather case. “There is one thing you should try to remember, something you can hold onto, look forward to.”
    I eye him warily, leaning back on my heels. “What’s that, Mr. Inkham?”
    “Happiness,” he states with neither a smile nor a frown on his face. He is neutral, flat, like he’s offered me a cup of tea.
    The word is a slap in the face. It’s too much to hope for. Too far-fetched.
    I laugh sourly. “Any chance of happiness tumbled down the stairs and shattered to pieces with my mother.”
    His eyes widen in shock, but he quickly composes himself, allowing me to pass through and walk him to the exit in silence.
    “Good luck, Miss Deere,” he says grimly as he waits at the front door. He places his hat loosely on his head and steps outside, leaving me with a promise, a future three years forward, and a thousand days out of my reach.
     
    Survive…
    Happiness…
     
    The two words are oceans apart.
    An impossible couple.

 
    12. ORDINARY LIFE
    KETTLE
     
    I sigh dramatically, and Kin jabs at me with his spare hand. “Do we have to eat here every day?” I complain as I throw my sandwich in the air and catch it. Down by the water, the sad shadows of a ghost ship hovering over us . I would have thought this kind of reminder was enough to put him off hanging around here.
    Kin rolls his eyes. “You should be thankful we’ve managed to get in this many days in a row. Not that I like working this hard, but the money makes it almost worth it.” He shoves some food in his mouth, chewing carefully and swallowing before he continues. “I am starting to miss home though. How long has it been this time?” He flicks crumbs from his mouth.
    I press my toe into the sludgy, tiger-striped sand, and flick a piece at one of the steel uprights still fighting gravity and the sea. It lands with a plop, slipping down and back into the water. “Four days…” I say, turning and pointing at him accusingly with my rust-colored finger. “Hey! You said home .”
    Kin shrugs and mutters, “Shut up.”
    I smirk and wade to the other side of the ship and up onto the dock, sitting down with my back against a stack of sleepers. Kin gallops over, slapping water toward me on purpose as he jumps up to join me. I shield my face but end up drenched in briny water anyway. He collapses at my side and opens another sandwich, fishy smells releasing from their packaging. I screw up my nose and make a gagging noise.
    “Enough with the tuna!” I say, waving my hand in front of my face. “You’re starting to smell like a can of week-old cat food.”
    “Our people do love seafood,” he says