Sins That Haunt by Lucy Farago Page A

poor woman alone.
    Occasionally, Shannon tried to make her understand JJ was poison, but either because of the medication or something else, she wouldn’t or couldn’t see it. And getting upset served no purpose. Besides not being able to see her daughter, her mom saw life through a rose-colored kaleidoscope. Calling only served to agitate her. Except for paying the bills, Shannon cut ties.
    As a kid, she’d seen her mother off her medication more than once. Shannon hadn’t realized the severity of her mother’s disease until the first time she’d gone off them. The doctors believed drug use in her teens played a part; there was no history of mental illness in the family. But whatever the reason, the woman had to stay medicated or risk another psychotic episode. And JJ understood only too well that prescription drugs required money. Now, with the man dead, Shannon guessed she could finally visit. It was an odd feeling, like a prison term at last over and done with.
    The three trailers to her right she didn’t recognize. Either her neighbors had moved on or passed on. Mrs. Miller was eighty when she lived here, and Mr. Sicero well into his seventies. He used to give her caramels. Shannon always had her suspicions about those two. Had they found happiness with each other? She hoped so.
    At the end of the long path and to the left was the dump where she’d grown up. Someone had given it a fresh coat of paint and it looked as if an attempt at landscaping was on its way. She assumed her mother’d had the common sense to sell their trailer. It had been the one detail of their life together Shannon wanted no part of. Next to it was old man Bench’s place. Did he still live here? To a kid, he’d been a crazy fart who never bathed but was always there to make her smile.
    On an old milk crate a few feet from the front door sat a little blond kid with curls bigger than her head. In her hands was a dirty rag doll, by her feet a carriage that had seen better days. On hearing footsteps, big brown eyes shot up. She visibly relaxed when she saw Shannon, then returned to playing with her doll. Who had she been expecting?
    â€œHi,” Shannon said.
    The child didn’t answer but instead began to quietly hum . . . as if purposely shutting her out. Struck by an odd sense of déjà vu, Shannon shivered. The kid couldn’t be more than seven, eight tops. Perhaps she should go back before she freaked the tyke out.
    She really had no interest in seeing the trailer. The memories she had of it weren’t worth reminiscing about. And maybe the little girl and the stupid song reminded her of when she’d sat out here, alone, playing with whatever new toy JJ had bribed her with. Honestly, it might have been the echoes of the countless unheard wishes, whispered by a girl who desperately wanted to escape, but whatever it was, Shannon found herself knocking on the front door.
    When she got no answer, she knocked again, not surprised but still disappointed no one was home. Not for herself, but for the little girl, sitting alone. She turned to find the kid staring at her. “Hey, is your mom home? Maybe she’s sleeping?” It was Sunday, although she doubted whoever lived here was a nine-to-five, weekends-off kind of person.
    The little girl shook her head, exactly as expected. You didn’t leave children this young alone, but if you couldn’t afford a sitter or there was none, you didn’t have much of a choice if you wanted to feed them. Hopefully that would be the worst of it. She grabbed the second milk crate and sat near but not close enough to frighten her. “I’m Shannon. I used to live here.”
    She didn’t appear skittish, which meant she was used to being left alone and probably had a strong independent streak. She’d need one.
    â€œI’m Leah and I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.”
    â€œTrue enough. But I bet you’re not