The line, p.1
The Line, page 1
The Line
Copyright © 2017 Amie Knight
All rights reserved. No part of this novel may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted without written permission from the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This Book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. If you would like to share this book with others please purchase a copy for each person. This Book may not be re-sold or given away to other people.
The Line is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and occurrences are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, events, or locations is purely coincidental.
Editor: Mickey Reed
Interior Design and Formatting: Stacey Blake of Champagne Formats
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
About The Author
Some heroes don’t stomp into your life from the romanticized pages of novels. Some heroes don’t wear cowboy boots or even call you babe. No, sometimes he eases into your life with his quiet thoughtfulness and captivating uniqueness. Some heroes are real, and sometimes, he even wears adorable, round Harry Potter–looking glasses and button-down shirts with khaki pants. And, sometimes, his shy smiles light you up, make you feel more than special, and send your young heart all a-damn-flutter.
I’m typing this up on our eleventh anniversary, so it’s only fair that I dedicate this one to you, Tony. My favorite guy. My hero. And even though you’ve ditched the glasses and gotten grey with age and we have a constant gaggle of kids around us, you still make me swoon.
It was eight p.m. when I boarded the train just like I did most nights—quietly, stealthily. I was a ghost. Hardly anyone ever saw me. What I was doing was wrong. I knew it, but even the best people did bad things when faced with unspeakable obstacles. And I wasn’t the best. Not by a long shot.
A light sheen of sweat blanketed my body as equal parts adrenaline and dread filled me up. Dread and adrenaline, they were always there—heavy and cumbersome. I carried them around with me everywhere. It was a small miracle that nobody saw them. Only occasionally did they threaten to bubble to the surface of my skin, but I somehow always managed to push them back down. Down so far that only I knew they were still there—a living, breathing entity within me. I hated them, but I needed them. Dread was my tormentor. Adrenaline my savior.
When they weren’t present, guilt was. And that was the worst of all, because I felt like I’d never be rid of it. I could feel it. See it. Smell it. Taste it. Always. The guilt. It plagued me, and it was never-ending.
It sat so thick and rich in my throat that, sometimes, I felt like I might choke on it.
I swallowed it down and walked up the aisle, my head bowed to the floor. I didn’t need to look around. I knew this train like the back of my hand. I slumped my shoulders forward, curling in on myself—which made me invisible. The long strands of my brown hair fell around me, masking my blue eyes and the gaunt angles of my pale face. I pulled my old, black coat closer to my body, warding the chill off. Wiping my sweaty hands on my jeans, I finally lifted my head, darting my gaze around the familiar surroundings, checking for anything that might have been out of place.
An elderly couple was taking their seats on my left side. Too old. The mother with her two children two seats up and to the right? Too complicated. Two teenagers were chatting all the way in the back of the train car. Too young. I wasn’t a good person, but I did have some standards—a conscience. Some morals—not many, but some. Hunger and cold had stolen most of them.
The train was filling up fast. I needed to get what I’d come for and get off. I scanned the crowd some more. Watching and waiting. Patience was my friend, and she almost always paid off.
“Do you need a place to sit?”
I vaguely heard the low pulse of someone speaking through the boisterous voices of the embarking crowd. It didn’t register that anyone might have been speaking to me. People didn’t speak to a ghost.
“Miss, do you a need a seat?”
When I felt a light touch, I flinched. Touch was something I was unaccustomed to. It was one of those unattainable things. Up there with love, trust, and all the other things most people took for granted.
I found a brown-eyed, brown-haired man in a black Stetson—a beautiful cowboy. After a quick glance around, I realized everyone was getting settled. I was running out of time. Nausea rolled in my stomach. I was always trying to get off this train. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the feeling of hopelessness away.
“You look tired,” the cowboy whispered up at me. The pity in his eyes almost undid me.
He saw me. All of me. The sunken cheeks. The cold, weary, dead look in my eyes. My dirty hair. My old clothes. And I didn’t like it.
I did the only thing I could to protect myself. I’d done it so many times that I’d lost count, but it didn’t ever make it any easier to do.
“See something you like, Cowboy?” My hip popped out, and I threw my hand on it for good measure, giving him a provocative grin.
He stared at me solemnly. That gaze. That stare. I felt naked and not in the usual way that I did when a man glanced me over. I was just a sixteen-year-old girl, but I knew the difference between a lust-filled look and an all-knowing one. And this cowboy saw right through me with just one gaze.
“I do,” he said, bringing me out of my thoughts and surprising me.
I quirked an eyebrow at him. “You do?” I asked. I had no idea what we were talking about anymore. His intense stare had completely thrown me off my game.
“I do see something I like,” he said, smiling sweetly. It wasn’t sexual. It was just kind.
I looked away in shame. It didn’t matter how sweet he was. How he saw me. I still had to do what I needed to do to survive.
Glancing back at the beautiful cowboy, I took in his gentle smile and his kind, brown eyes. He had his hand placed on the seat next to him where he wanted me to take a seat, and self-condemnation and shame swelled in my heart. But I couldn’t afford to feel guilty today. I couldn’t afford anything, really. Not even for this sweet-looking man offering me a place to rest.
I was too cold.
Too hungry.
Too tired.
I couldn’t afford to get off this line, no matter how much I wanted to.
Four Years Later
Sunshine and fresh linens. It was probably my most favorite smell in the world. I breathed in deep, steeling myself for the same conversation I’d been having for a week. I was hanging clothes out to dry on the clothesline while simultaneously trying to talk Momma Lou out of sending me off for the summer. I hardly noticed the scattering of kids running around us—I was so used to them.
“I don’t want to leave, Momma Lou. I’m happy here.” I frowned, hanging a wet towel over the line and enjoying the sun shining on my face. And I was happy here. More than happy. From the outside looking in, one might think I was just content, but this life was a far cry from what my life had been before, and I was over the moon about it. I was damn near ecstatic here after the life I’d had. The past three years had been the happiest of my life.
Momma Lou stood on the other side of the clothesline and helped clip the towel to the line with clothes hangers. Her big hips were swaying back and forth to some song she was humming not so quietly. When she was done, she pulled the line down between us and leaned forward so she could look me in the eye.
“Baby girl, you think for one second that I’m not gonna miss you when you’re gone? If it was up to me, I’d keep you here with me forever, girl. It’s not up to me though.” She smiled her toothy grin that made me feel like the most loved girl in the world.
That same toothy grin had greeted me three years earlier and changed my life. And I was eternally grateful. Momma Lou had saved me that night. I’d shown up at the homeless shelter too late and it was full. So, I’d curled up into a ball under my coat and propped myself against the brick wall of the shelter, praying that they might at least send someone out with food. I was also kicking myself in the ass. I should have gotten there sooner. It was going to be a cold night. But I couldn’t seem to muster the energy to care anymore. I’d been doing this too long. This homeless thing. This starving thing. This barely-living-life thing. It was wearing on me.
I’d seen Momma Lou working in the kitchen at the shelter from time to time, but I hadn’t known her name. I hadn’t cared to. She was just another face in a sea of faces that all had a place to live and food in
She’d stopped on the sidewalk on her way into the building and stared at my seventeen-year-old-self hard. Studying me. She pursed her lips, and I knew what she saw. I was so starved that I was practically skeletal. I barely had the wherewithal to try to survive anymore. I could feel myself finally giving up. I’d been knocking on death’s door. Too many years on the street had taken a terrible toll on my body. Not to mention what it had done to my soul.
And the running. You can only run so long, and I’d been doing it since the beginning. A slew of abusive foster homes always had me running back to the streets. A place where I, strangely, felt safest. The people on the streets ignored me, sure, but they didn’t beat me, try to touch me, or starve me.
“I’m Louise,” she’d stated frankly. “But everyone around here calls me Momma Lou.” Her curvy body swayed as she made her way toward the door to the shelter, and I was confused as to why she’d taken the time to tell me her name until she barked out, “Well, come on, girl. Let’s get you fed, and you can help me in the kitchen tonight.” She smiled.
And she fed me. All the while telling me to slow down before I made myself sick. I got sick anyway. And I helped her in the kitchen that night—and every night since.
Momma Lou had taken me home and saved my life. I’d say that she had been an answer to my prayers, but I had long since given up praying. She was my miracle, though, and I’d been with her ever since. I helped her at the shelter in the kitchen and with the heaps of kids she brought home all the time. We’d have anywhere from ten to fifteen kids at a time, running all over our old three-bedroom ranch, but each had a place to lay their heads at night and a full belly when they went to sleep. The living and dining rooms were covered in framed photos of all of Momma Lou’s children. Hundreds of small feet had pounded around this property, and all of their sweet, little faces graced the small house’s walls. I loved it here. It was safe.
Before Momma Lou, I’d was like I was constantly drowning, like I was at the bottom of a pool, and every time I teetered to the top of the water, I’d be pushed back under once again, gasping for air. Now, I was free. I could finally breathe.
Momma Lou started coming around the clothesline, snapping me out of my thoughts. She took me by the shoulders. “Everly, you know how special you are to me.” Her kind eyes shone in the sunlight.
Tears burned behind my own. My nose stung, but I blinked, sucking those tears back.
Everly Woods did not cry.
Her face was kind but so very serious. “We got you all healed up here, baby,” she said, rubbing her chubby, wrinkled hands up and down my arms and over my shoulders, one lone tear burning a trail over her smooth, dark skin. “And here,” she whispered, placing her palm over my heart. “Now, it’s time for you to fly, Little Bird.”
I placed my hand over hers, rubbing my fingers over her smooth and rough skin, trying to memorize the feel of her, of this moment, so I could replay it later—when I needed it.
My heart hammered behind the heaviness of her hand. The hand that loved me. The hand that fed me. The hand that had helped a young, starving homeless girl when no one else could. That hand meant everything to me.
I grinned at Little Bird.
Momma Lou had nicknames for all the children she took in, and I was her Little Bird. A name that I had to admit fit me a little too well. I was so tiny that I sometimes thought a small breeze might carry me away. It wasn’t just my height, either. I was only five feet. My features were miniature, but my brown hair was big, wild, and untamable. Momma Lou jokingly said that my hair was bigger than my behind.
She might have called me Little Bird, but in no way did I want to fly. I was terrified of leaving this nest, the only place I’d truly ever been able to call home. So scared. I knew all too well what lurked beyond the sanctuary of this house and the shelter and didn’t want to experience it ever again.
“You shouldn’t be hanging out with an old black woman all the time, Everly. You should be out experiencing life. Meeting young men and making friends,” she said, stepping back and wiping her face. “Besides, it’s only for the summer, and it’s good money. You wanted to make some money so you could go to school, right? If you don’t like it there, you can always come back here. Momma Lou is always gonna be here for you, child.”
I did want to go to school. I didn’t want to always be dependent on someone else. Don’t get me wrong. I pulled my weight around there, cooking and cleaning and caring for all the children that came through plus my work at the shelter, but I wanted to give back more. I wanted to help others the way Momma Lou had helped me. I needed an education to help people the way I wanted to though. She was right—I couldn’t stay there forever. I was twenty years old now. It was only for the summer, but for some reason, it felt like so much more. I hadn’t gone a day without Momma Lou in three years.
I glanced at the small, old, white house and took in the acre or so of property around us, thinking that, when people rode by, I bet they thought this place was nothing special. The house wasn’t the best kept in the neighborhood. It definitely needed a paint job, and the lawn was so dry that huge patches of grass were missing, brown, dusty dirt there instead. We only had a washer. No dryer. And, with so many kids here, clothes were always hanging on the line. The kids. There were tons, and I was never guaranteed a minute alone. Pounding on the door almost always ensued when I was in the shower. There were only two bathrooms, after all. And I slept in the same room as a million children every night. But I was never lonely here. Not ever. I was safe and never alone. Yeah, this place may not seem like anything special to others, but to me—it was everything.
I launched myself across the space that separated us and right into Momma Lou’s arms. She let out a big sigh and held me close, and I breathed in the smell of coconuts from the oil she put in her hair every day.
“I’m gonna miss you. You’re my best friend,” I whispered into her neck. “I love you.” My small body shivered with unrestrained emotions. I didn’t usually lay my feelings out so plainly, but in that moment, I had to. I didn’t know what the future held for Momma Lou and her Little Bird. But I knew she meant everything to me right then.
“I’m gonna miss you too, Little Bird, but it’s time. You can’t stay here with me forever. I’m expecting big things from you, you hear?” she choked out, her large, soft body shaking with emotion against my own.
This didn’t feel like a goodbye for the summer. It seemed like so much more, and I pulled back on all the emotions that wanted to pour from me. I could be scared. I could be terrified, even. But I’d never let Momma Lou down. She’d never once let me down.
I spent the rest of the day going through my chores at home and the shelter in a daze, trying my hardest not to think about the bus ride the next day to my new job for the summer. It was only a few hours away, and I was lucky Momma Lou’s friend had needed the help because I needed the money. But, when I lay in bed that night, I couldn’t help the panic gathering in my chest. Would they be nice to me? Would they hurt me? Would they like me? The questions were endless.
I quietly and carefully climbed down from the top bunk of my bed so that I wouldn’t wake the four children sleeping in the same room. I reached over to the small bedside table and removed the picture I’d been carrying around for four years. It was tattered, almost to the point of being trash, the corners bent in no matter how many times I’d tried to smooth them. The smell of smoke was still strong even four years later. But I could still make out the woman’s sweet features. Her soft, blond hair and kind, chocolate-brown eyes. I could even see the small pearls hanging on her neck and the smile full of blindingly perfect teeth. That smile got me every time. It was so familiar, so sweet. I’d see it and the memories of one special day with one handsome cowboy would rush through me like wildfire, warming me to my core. That feeling had kept me cozy and snug on the coldest of nights. That feeling had pulled me through the most difficult of times.
The lady in the picture was wearing a pretty, blue sweater that made her brown eyes pop. She looked like someone I’d like to know. Someone I had known for one night. Someone I’d like to love me. Someone I’d like to protect me. She reminded me. That’s why I’d kept her, after all.
