James had been firmly set against her going. As I had been. But I’d wavered under Kara’s determination.
We’d flown with her to Sydney and helped set her up in student accommodation at the University of Sydney—a vast, sprawling Victorian structure in the centre of the city.
It’d felt like I’d chopped off my right arm when I’d flown back to Mississippi with James and left my little girl behind. In the six months that followed, I’d found nervous joy in all the photos Kara posted on Instagram and Facebook. But without Kara there at home, suddenly the gulf between James and me was laid bare. Guiltily, I was forced to admit to myself that James was a wonderful man who provided me with a wonderful home and lifestyle, but there was no connection between us.
Kara, on the other hand, had seemed happier after she left home. She’d travelled to all kinds of places with Paige and new friends. She’d even found a casual job in an upmarket women’s footwear store.
News of the footwear job had made me smile. It’d seemed an odd place to work for a girl who found the greatest pleasure in going barefoot. Kara went barefoot whenever she could.
She loved the feel of earth under her bare feet, the touch of rain and sun and snow on her skin.
Of all the five senses, Kara’s strongest was sensory. I used to think that anyone would know just by looking at Kara that she was a girl who loved texture. Because she herself was so textured. Her skin was smooth and sun browned, with raised, pink moles on her outer cheeks. She had waves of kinky blonde hair that were gorgeously frizzy around her hairline, in colours ranging from white to a buttery dark blonde. Her eyes always seemed sleepy, as though she were experiencing more than she could see. She had a body made for running and climbing—long limbed and streamlined. From the time she was small, I couldn’t keep her inside. She needed to be outside, rolling on the grass, playing with leaves, building forts in the sandpit, staring up at the stars at night . . .
Where was my barefoot, sleepy-eyed girl now?
11. Evie
SUDDENLY, WITH KARA RIGHT THERE IN front of me, I didn’t feel as far away from my former life as I had just minutes ago. And that wasn’t what I wanted. I needed to put my past behind me and put on a brand new skin.
“Hi, wow, I never expected you’d be here.” I settled down beside her, an orange koi wriggling past the sudden intrusion of my feet in the stream.
Her blue eyes were cold as she turned to me. “I don’t want to talk. This is a competition, right? I don’t need friends.”
I flinched under the scorch of her words. Not only did she look different, but she sounded totally different. Her formerly sweet, Southern accent had given way to a harsher, almost metallic voice.
“Suit yourself.” Picking myself up again, I stepped away.
Maybe none of us were going to become friends here. Everyone had their eyes on the money. How was this whole program even going to change us? Brother Vito had told me to trust in the process. But I was already having a hard time doing that.
I wound through the olive trees until I found a shady spot.
Sitting, I pushed my back against the smooth bark of a tree, already wishing Kara wasn’t here. She was part of the before, and I just wanted to think about the after.
I wondered how she’d ended up on this program. I’d met Kara in the restroom of a casino. She’d been there with a wealthy man in his sixties—a sugar daddy. I’d just suffered a crushing loss after losing my last five thousand on the roulette wheel.
I’d walked away from the roulette table in stiff-legged defeat and into the ladies’ restroom. In front of the bathroom mirror, I’d stood staring at myself—numb, shocked to my bones and unable to accept the results of the stupid decisions I’d made. My carefully styled hair had been stuck to my sweating brow, my slinky, expensive city dress twisted at the seams.
Gray thought all these trips of mine into the city at night and all the money I’d been bringing home were due to a job in an upmarket restaurant. But here I was, forced to face myself and the lies I’d told.
The sudden squeal of the bathroom door opening had caused me to shrink back from the mirror and turn away. I didn’t want to have to acknowledge anyone.
A girl had burst in, running for a toilet and vomiting, clutching her kinky blonde hair back from her face.
“Are you okay?” My response was automatic. In truth, I didn’t care. She was a stranger who’d probably just had too much to drink. At least that kind of problem was easily solved. She’d feel better now that she’d vomited.