Absinthe Of The Heart (Sins Of The Heart Book 1) Read online

  Copyrighted Material

  ABSINTHE OF THE HEART

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead, is coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners and are used only for reference.

  Copyright © 2018 by Monica James

  All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any printed or electronic form without the express, written consent of the author.

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  Editing by Toni Rakestraw of Rakestraw Book Design & Editing 4 Indies

  Interior design and formatting by

  www.emtippettsbookdesigns.com

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  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Notice

  Books By Monica James

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Connect with Monica James

  THE I SURRENDER SERIES

  I Surrender

  Surrender to Me

  Surrendered

  White

  SOMETHING LIKE NORMAL SERIES

  Something Like Normal

  Something Like Redemption

  Something Like Love

  A HARD LOVE ROMANCE

  Dirty Dix

  Wicked Dix

  The Hunt

  MEMORIES FROM YESTERDAY

  Forgetting You, Forgetting Me

  Forgetting You, Remembering Me

  SINS OF THE HEART

  Absinthe of the Heart

  For my sister.

  1977

  “Mommy, this sweater itches,” griped Delores Brooks as she tugged at the collar of her prickly pullover.

  “I know, baby. Mommy is sorry, but it’s part of the uniform.” Elsa tightened the blue ribbons in her daughter’s pigtails one more time. She had to look perfect.

  Delores chewed at the corner of her mouth as best she could because her missing two front teeth prohibited her habit, making it almost impossible to do. She was nervous, but she didn’t let it show. She knew how much this meant to her mother.

  Crouching to level her daughter with her emerald gaze, she brushed away any imperfections that might reveal just who Delores really was. “Do you remember what I told you?”

  Delores’s hooded eyes widened as she peered around, watching with interest as her fellow pupils were walked to the white gates by their parents. They looked so different from Delores’s mom. They wore designer suits and expensive furs, their gold jewelry and different color diamonds illustrating to the world just who they were. In their social circles, they ate people like Delores and Elsa for breakfast. They looked down their nose jobs at people like them, who didn’t have fifty dollars to their name.

  They didn’t belong here, and the rich folk knew it. They only had to take one look at Elsa’s thrift store outfit to know where the Brooks stood in the greater scheme of things. But with Elsa’s mother passing and leaving her only daughter a small fortune, Delores now had the opportunity to attend one of the most elite, private elementary schools in California. This institute was a feeder to Harvard-Westlake, where Delores would be attending after she finished the sixth grade. God rest her soul, if it wasn’t for Alene’s passing, then Delores would be attending her first day of kindergarten at the public school close to home. Elsa had no problems with that reality. It was good enough for her.

  However, it was Alene’s dying wish that her only granddaughter got the best education she couldn’t provide for her daughter. Alene and her husband, Bram, were Dutch immigrants who came to America to better their life. And they did, for the most part, until Bram ran off with a waitress and left his family to fend for themselves. Alene did the best she could. She worked three jobs to look after her daughter, but times were tough.

  Elsa was that kid in school. No one wanted to play with her because she wore hand-me-down clothes and lived off food stamps, but she never cared. She got pregnant when she was nineteen and married her high school sweetheart six months later. Life wasn’t easy, but she and Tyler made it work. Life was good back then, but things…they change.

  “Mommy, why are you crying?”

  Elsa quickly wiped away her tears, not wanting her nostalgia to ruin her daughter’s first day at school. “I’m just so happy. Look at you in your uniform. You’re such a big girl.”

  Delores smiled, peering down at her white shirt and navy pinafore dress. She’d never owned such shiny shoes before. She was certain she could see her reflection in the gleam. The sweater still itched, but she resisted the urge to scratch.

  “Delores—” Elsa turned serious, lowering her voice “—what did Mommy tell you?”

  They’d practiced this speech a thousand times before, so Delores knew it by heart. “My name is Delores Brooks, and I live in Bel Air.” Elsa nodded, relieved her daughter could recite the lie with ease.

  The truth would eventually unravel, but all Elsa wanted was for Delores to be on equal ground with her peers as long as she could before they judged and ostracized her for being different—for being poor.

  “Why do I have to lie?” Delores’s innocence broke Elsa’s heart. Her sweet, naïve daughter would soon figure out why.

  “It’s to protect you, baby,” she replied, brushing the silken hair from Delores’s brow. “I love you so much. You’re my little angel. Never forget it.”

  “I love you too, Mommy. Is Daddy coming to pick me up?”

  Elsa’s heart didn’t just break; it shattered into a million unrepairable pieces. She barely held it together, knowing one mishap would taint her daughter’s future forever. “No, I told you…Daddy is with Grandma Alene.”

  “In heaven?” Delores asked, not fully grasping the concept. Delores saw the casket, but how could Elsa explain to a five-year-old her father died of leukemia? He was the healthiest man Elsa knew. His life insurance would take care of them for a little while, but if Elsa had her way, she’d give back every penny if it meant he would still be alive.

  “Yes, baby, in heaven. That’s right. It’s just you and me.”

  Delores could see the tears in her mother’s eyes, but she still didn’t understand why her mother cried herself to sleep at night. She learned, however, that whenever she mentioned her father, her mother went to bed early, taking a bottle of pills with her.

  She didn’t want her mother to be sad, so she adjusted her backpack and smiled. “I can walk myself inside. I’ll be okay. I’m a big girl now.”

  When tears welled in her mother’s eyes, Delores feared she’d said the wrong thing. But Elsa nodded, wiping both hands down her exhausted face. She felt so much older than twenty-four. One could be excused for thinking Elsa was dropping off her younger sister at school. Life certainly hadn’t turned out the way Elsa thought it would. And that was the reason she was here. She wanted a better life for her daughter. And if lying was the sacrifice she had to make, then so be it.

  �
�I’ll be here at three o’clock.”

  Delores nodded, ignoring the butterflies in her belly because like her mother said, it’s only them now and she had to be strong for her mom. Elsa placed a gentle kiss on her cheek, lingering and savoring the sweetness her daughter emanated. She knew she was destined for great things.

  Observing the daunting gates, Delores took a big breath. “Don’t cry, Mommy.” Her tiny fingers reached out to brush the fallen tears from her cheeks. “Daddy is watching over me. So is Grandma Alene.”

  Elsa sniffled, standing before she broke down. “Have a-a good day, baby.”

  “You too.” Delores turned, an excitement suddenly bubbling within. She’d never had many friends. Living in East L.A., in a neighborhood which was commonly known as the “hood” because it literally was a hood, her mom rarely let her play outside unsupervised.

  Her home was a small, two-bedroom house which had seen better days. After a while, Delores got used to the sirens and gunshots. They became background noise which helped her fall asleep.

  But she pushed those thoughts far from her mind because the noises she heard right now were sounds she didn’t hear too often—kids’ jubilant laughter, the gentle hum of expensive cars’ motors idling by the curb, and people talking in hushed tones, not a hint of vulgarity slipping into their conversations. She could get used to those sounds.

  Climbing the three steps, she chewed on her lip, wondering which way to go. A pretty lady holding a brown clipboard to her chest made eye contact with Delores. Her gentle smile and bright pink earrings instantly made her feel at ease.

  “Hello there. Is this your first day?”

  Delores knew her mother was watching, poised and ready to run to her daughter’s aid if there was a hint of trouble. She didn’t want to be the cause of any more tears, so she pulled back her small shoulders and nodded.

  “Y-yes.” She cleared her throat. “My name is Delores Brooks, and I live in Bel Air.” It rolled off her tongue so freely, she almost believed the lie herself.

  “Hello, Delores. My name is Miss Jackson. I’m your teacher.” She bent at the waist, clutching the clipboard to her chest. “I’ll show you where to put your bag.” Delores smiled. She was extremely proud of herself.

  Miss Jackson gestured for Delores to follow, signaling with her hand. She didn’t look back, only forward as she marched behind, taking in the sights and sounds. St. Martin’s Elementary was everything and more. The high buildings were painted a pristine white, far whiter than anything Delores had ever seen before. There were no cracks in the exterior. No uneven surfaces for one to trip over and break an arm. The yard was clean. The football field was a lush green. The playground was outfitted with equipment which looked brand new. Delores’s feet itched as she was desperate to take off in a dead sprint and see how high that swing could take her.

  But she followed, absorbing and cataloguing everything, knowing there was plenty of time to play later.

  Miss Jackson turned over her shoulder, ensuring Delores was keeping up. She liked her already. “Our room is just up on the left.” She nodded, gripping the straps of her backpack, her tiny fingers trembling in anticipation.

  When they turned the corner, Delores stopped in her tracks, unable to process what she was seeing fast enough. Children her age ran and laughed with their peers, playing tag or maneuvering a silver spring down a set of stairs. Delores watched in awe, as she’d never seen anything like it before.

  “That’s a Slinky,” Miss Jackson gently explained.

  Although she was being kind, Delores remembered her mother’s warning to act as if she belongs. She shouldn’t draw attention to the fact she’s in a secondhand uniform, or that she’s only here because two people she loved dearly died and left their money to better her life.

  “I know, Miss Jackson. I have three,” she said, accenting her claim with a slight scoff. Miss Jackson didn’t say anything, but it was clear she could see through Delores’s lies.

  Miss Jackson led the way into a small room where a dozen or so wooden hooks were attached to the wall. Some hooks had blue schoolbags dangling off the ends, their zippers undone, revealing different colored lunchboxes and drink bottles inside.

  “You can hang your bag here.” Miss Jackson pointed at a hook at the end and smiled. Just as she was about to say something else, a loud bang was followed by an ear-piercing shrill. There was no mistaking the sound of someone falling over. Miss Jackson’s lovely face turned troubled, and she quickly brushed past Delores to see what the commotion was all about.

  Delores exhaled, thankful to be alone. All this pretending was exhausting. She didn’t understand why she couldn’t just tell everyone the truth. Surely, they wouldn’t judge her because her mother didn’t drive a fancy car, or she didn’t live in a mansion in the hills.

  She placed her bag on the hook and decided to take off her prickly sweater. Once she’d hung up her things, she straightened out her dress, and satisfied she looked just like everybody else, she exited the coatroom with a rush of confidence. To fit in, she needed to make friends, and she couldn’t wait to find her first best friend. They would be inseparable, just like Bert and Ernie.

  The thought was too exciting for words; however, Delores was stopped dead in her tracks when she saw a group of girls form a tight circle around something. At first, she had no idea what they were doing, but when she heard them giggling and noticed them pointing, she realized a blonde little girl was the center of their mockery.

  The scrawny girl was crying, her large blue eyes streaming with tears. Delores had no idea why she was so sad but wondered why the group of girls wasn’t asking if she was okay. If anything, they appeared to be making her cry harder.

  “Crybaby! Crybaby!” one of the taller girls chanted, egging her two other followers on. This only made the blonde girl sob louder.

  Delores hated bullies. She’d seen enough of them in her neighborhood, riding their bikes around as if they owned the place. Her mother had taught her to stick up for what was right, and what she was seeing this minute was anything but right.

  She didn’t think twice before she marched over, tapping the taller girl on the arm. “Excuse me?”

  “What do you want?” the girl said, turning around and glaring at her.

  Delores gulped. She was suddenly frightened that she’d bitten off more than she could chew. But remembering her mother’s words and her father’s strength each time he went to the hospital, she swallowed down her fears. “Stop being so mean to that girl.” She pointed at the little girl who was shaking, tears still cascading down her cheeks. She saw her backpack lying on the ground, opened, the contents spilling onto the cement.

  “Why? She deserves it. Her mom is a gold digger; my mommy said so,” the taller girl said, as if that warranted her cruel behavior. None of them even understood what a gold digger was, but sadly, hate bred hate.

  “Well, whatever her mom is doesn’t give you the right to be so mean to her. Leave her alone.”

  The blonde girl’s snivels stopped swiftly, and she stared wide-eyed, mouth slightly parted. She looked as surprised as Delores felt. This surge of confidence had come out of nowhere, and she suddenly felt like her hero, Wonder Woman.

  The tall girl, who seemed to be the leader of the mean girls, narrowed her eyes. She was already a little brat with training wheels on. “What are you going to do about it?”

  Delores wasn’t intimated by her. “I’ll tell Miss Jackson.”

  “Who’s Miss Jackson?” the girl smugly countered.

  “Our teacher,” Delores replied, not missing a beat. “I don’t think she’ll be happy to know she has a bunch of bullies in her class.”

  The girls’ faces paled, as they didn’t want to get into trouble on the first day of school. Delores stood her ground, waiting for them to reply. This could go either way. She held her breath, waiting. She exhaled when the girls looked at one another and decided to pick on somebody else.

  They shoved past her, almost knoc
king her to the floor. “Nice dress, by the way,” the tall girl mocked. Delores didn’t understand until she noticed the logo on her uniform was different from everyone else’s. “That was the logo from a hundred years ago. Where did you buy your dress? From the Salvation Army?”

  Delores’s cheeks burst into flames. Her mom was going to be so angry with her. She just wanted her to fit in, but Delores had brought unnecessary attention to herself and her secondhand clothes. The girls thankfully left, bored by the schoolyard antics already.

  Delores felt sick to her stomach. She had no doubt the word would spread about her, and by lunchtime, everyone would know she was the poor kid who didn’t belong.

  A small voice made her remember why she was standing out here in the first place. “Th-thank you.” She turned to see the blonde girl tugging at her plaited pigtail. “I’m Kayla Sinclair. I live in Beverly Hills.”

  Delores waved, ignoring the knot in her belly. “I’m Delores Brooks, and I live in…” But she abruptly paused, unable to bear another lie. Kayla waited for her to continue. There was something about her. Delores felt a kinship with her and lying to her suddenly felt like the worst thing she could do.

  Hoping her mother forgave her, she started again. “I’m Delores Brooks, and I live in the hood.” She couldn’t pronounce her suburb, but she knew all the kids referred to their neighborhood this way.

  She waited for disgust, maybe even a scream, but she got neither. Kayla pursed her rosy lips and nodded. “Groovy. Do you wanna be my best friend?”

  Delores gasped, a breath whooshing from her lungs. Did she just have a lapse in hearing? But when Kayla smiled a matching toothless grin, Delores knew she’d found the Bert to her Ernie.

  She nodded happily, squealing when Kayla threw her arms around her and hugged her tightly.

  Delores never imagined having a best friend would feel that extraordinary. She had visions of them drinking soda by the beach and playing with their dolls. They would be best friends forever.