Excerpt
Who tried to kill me? Did they do it themselves? Send someone else with dirty hands?
The steady beep from the next curtained area grabbed Bet’s wandering attention, and she held onto it like a lifeline as her suppositions spiraled out over the next half hour. Two years she’d worked as a criminal defense attorney now, two years’ worth of “innocent until proven guilty.” The “proven” part haunted her sometimes. She’d won the freedom of numerous accused who she believed fairly strongly had deserved their anticipated punishment.
Those ones you never asked the question: Did you do it? It was better not to know.
Someone unhappy with their representation? Maybe.
Someone unhappy because her representation got someone off? Maybe.
Someone from the Metro-Dade police department, where a client of Bet’s had testified against two officers and had them fired for misconduct. At my urging. And I’m sure they know it. And they don’t forget things like that.
And whose was that charred body?
The curtain was shoved back and a Black woman in blue blazer and slacks came in, clipboard in hand. She stared at Bet first, dark eyes piercing over the top of her cheaters, then she sniffed, cleared her throat, and looked at her paperwork.
“I’m Tasha, from Social Services, here to make sure your care proceeds smoothly, Miss…ah, March.” Her eyes narrowed. “Jo March? Really?”
Bet tried like hell to keep a straight face. “My mother was a reader.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Said in that snarkily judgmental way that only a Black woman can. She paused, obviously waiting for something more. Bet didn’t give it.
“Well then. Our records show you haven’t been at this hospital before, so I’ll need to go over the demographics. You also declared no insurance. Who will be covering the bill for this treatment?”
“I’ll handle it.”
“I can offer financial assistance through the hospital if… You’ll have to qualify through our income scales.”
“Not necessary.” Bet squirmed, the pain solidifying. “What I need… Is there a doctor in our near future? Or at least some water?”
Tasha tapped a pen on her clipboard. “Let me see if you’re allowed to have water.” She pursed her lips and stepped out.
Bet took a deep breath. Tasha’s once-over look had reminded her she’d been lying in a swamp half the night. She slid off the bed, kicked off her remaining shoe, and went to the small sink. Taking a handful of paper towels, she soaked them in warm water and painfully washed the smears of mud off her legs and arms. A tear ran down her cheek, and it burned.
“My face, too?” she muttered. A mirrored medicine cabinet hung opposite. She steeled herself, then took a peek. Her right cheek was pocked with red blisters. “Damn it to hell.” Even her hair hung with a ragged, blackened edge where it must have come in contact with the flames. The rest was a tangled red-gold rats’ nest.
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It's always a pleasure hosting authors, and I am so grateful to be able to share your work, Alana. Wishing the very best. Lynn