The Last Piece of His Heart (Lost Boys 3)

Why have me at all?

No one would tell me. But for all the mystery surrounding my father, one thing was crystal clear: Mama saw him when she looked at me and she didn’t like what she saw.

Her smile flickered like a dying bulb as I held out her giftbag. She took it slowly and hesitantly put her hand inside. “What have we here?”

“It’s nothing. Just…something.”

Mama pulled out the hammered copper cuff bracelet with a turquoise patina and held it up to the light.

“I wanted it to resemble something pulled from a sunken ship,” I said, my normally strong voice wavering. “I know those have always fascinated you.”

I watched her, breath held, as she turned it over and over. Tears filled her brown eyes—eyes like mine—and she really looked at me for the first time since the start of my visit. Then she dropped the cuff back in the bag as if it’d burned her.

“It’s very lovely. Thank you.”

Blinking her eyes dry, she gave me a brief, stiff hug. I wanted to sink into her arms, into her scents of cigarettes and jasmine perfume. But no sooner than I felt her arms around me, they were slipping away.

“Be good. Work hard. Give Bibi our love.”

What about me?

I inhaled sharply, as if I could suck the thought back. Being weak and asking for what I wasn’t given would never get me anywhere. I knew better than to even think it; I was stronger than that.

“Goodbye, Mama,” I said.

But she had already retreated to the table, into her crossword puzzle and the haze of cigarette smoke. She set the giftbag on the floor at her feet, where it looked small and already forgotten.

“Let me drive you, sweetheart,” Uncle Rudolph said gently into the stony quiet Mama left behind.

“Thanks, Uncle Rudy,” I said, mustering a sarcastic grin. “But I can’t possibly pull you away from this very important yet meaningless preseason Saints game. I’ll take an Uber.”

Uncle Rudy grinned back. “Smart aleck, ain’t ya?”

Aunt Bertie snorted. “An Uber? You going to get in a stranger’s car? Pretty girl like you?”

In the kitchen, my mother flinched. Or maybe it was just a shiver from the air conditioning.

“Thanks, Aunt B, but I’ll be fine.”

“Nonsense. Rudy will drive you and that’s the end of that.”

My uncle shot me a wink, beaming perfect white teeth against rich dark skin. “You heard the boss.”

“What would anyone want with her skinny ass, anyway?” Letitia laughed and helped pull my luggage to the door. She arched her eyebrows and leaned in close with a knowing grin. “You say goodbye to Jalen already?”

I shot her a keep your voice down glare. “Last night.”

She smirked. “I’ll bet. You’re going to break that boy’s heart.”

“Not possible. He and I have an agreement,” I said, my voice low and my cheeks heating. I hated anything resembling gossip, while my cousin lived on it. “No strings. No attachments.”

“Your motto.”

I glanced at Mama. I learned from the best.

“Going to miss you.” Letitia ran her fingers over a handful of the hundreds of microbraids that fell softly down my shoulders. “You got someone in California who can duplicate my artistry?”

Letitia, not even thirty years old, was owner of her own beauty salon—The Studio—on Canal Street. She was my idol and an inspiration for my own ambitions.