My Peace (Beautifully Broken 5)

“Yes, actually. If you could get my hairbrush from the bathroom, I’d really appreciate it.”

“Of course.” She scampers in to get it, and I try to pretend to myself that I didn’t send her in there to see Pax’s note which is still taped on the mirror. It takes her a couple of minutes, and I’m sure she’s reading it.

I don’t know what’s come over me, but I’m satisfied by that. I’ve never been jealous before.

When she re-emerges with my hairbrush, she is nonplussed, and on her way out the door, I call after her.

“Could you grab a sketch pad on your way back? I’m dying of boredom.”

“Of course,” she nods, and she’s gone.

Her perfume lingers though, and it’s sweet, floral. I try to put my finger on what it is. Jasmine? No.

Rose? No.

It’s not until he comes back with my breakfast that I decide.

It’s honeysuckle.

13

Chapter Twelve

Pax

Work is uneventful, even the dreaded meeting with Peter first thing in the morning.

By afternoon, I’m tired again. The lack of sleep thing is taking its toll.

At three o’clock, Sasha buzzes me.

“Mr. Tate, you have a phone call.”

“From?”

She hesitates. “From the Marion Correctional Facility.”

My heart thuds dully in my chest, because Leroy Ellison is there.

The son-of-a bitch who killed my mother.

“Put him through,” I tell her, and my voice is like wood, and what the hell is that fucker calling me?

“Hello?”

An elderly man is in my ear, and I haven’t heard this voice in a long, long time.

“What do you want?”

There’s a laugh now, and it sounds wet, like he needs to cough.

“Well, now, son. Is that any way to greet your long lost Uncle Leroy?”

“Shut the fuck up,” I tell him. “Why are you calling me?”

“Do you still have your X, kid? His voice is so craggy and I look at the base of my thumb, where it meets my hand. A jagged scar in the shape on an X is there, carved by Leroy’s knife so long ago, right after he killed my mother.

X marks the spot.