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  Warning: Please note this novel contains explicit sexual content and crude language and is intended for mature audiences. Parental/reader discretion is advised.

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  Cover designed by Letitia Hasser

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  Editing provided by Missy Borucki

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  Book formatting provided by Stacey Blake of Champagne Book Design

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  Proofreading provided by K Donald and Michelle Vize

  Publication Date: April 30, 2019

  Beautiful March

  Copyright © Christy Pastore 2019

  All rights reserved

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Playlist

  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

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Epilogue

  Author Note to the Reader

  Books by Christy Pastore

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  For my hometown girls—Alicia, Patti, Cori, Jenny H., Karly, Cortney, Megan S. and Jenni M.

  Small towns, am I right?

  And in loving memory of my dear friend, Sarah. You are missed every day.

  Playlist

  Bourbon In Kentucky by Dierks Bentley

  Sunshine & Whiskey by Frankie Ballard

  Stay A Little Longer by Brothers Osborne

  Break Up with Him by Old Dominion

  Whiskey’d Up by Jason Aldean

  Pour Some Sugar On Me by Def Leppard

  Move by Castlecomer

  God is a woman by Ariana Grande

  Your Song by Elton John

  Trampoline by SHAED

  Bette Davis Eyes by Kim Carnes

  Out of Sight by Midland

  Nothing On But The Stars by Dierks Bentley

  Maneater by Daryl Hall & John Oates

  Loud and Heavy by Cody Jinks

  Thunder in the Rain by Kane Brown

  Make Me Lose Control by Eric Carmen

  My Girl by Dylan Scott

  October 31st

  “Look, Winston,” Capri says, wiping the grime from the window with her sleeve. “The kids are in costumes on the playground today. They must be havin’ some kinda play.”

  I trot over to the window where my little sister is standing and peer through the narrow part Capri wiped off. It’s one of two windows in the house that isn’t completely covered by boards. The smell from downstairs is terrible today, so we came up to the attic where it’s warm and the smell is nearly non-existent. Plus, Momma is asleep, and she hates when Capri and I interrupt her naps.

  I breathe in the crisp air from a hole in the broken glass. It burns my lungs and throat, but I like the feeling. The smell from outside reminds me of apples and hay. Capri says Grandpa John always smells like hay, and when he came home one day, I noticed the scent too. Grandpa John and Grandma Mary have a farm, but their house burned down and that’s why they live with us.

  My stomach rumbles at the thought of biting into a red apple. I had an apple just this past summer, it was so juicy. Uncle Don had brought me and Capri some fruit, chocolate, lime soda pop and coloring books from the store. He told us it was our lucky day.

  “Nah, silly,” I answer, pulling on her ponytail. “Today is Halloween. They’re just dressed up to go out and get candy from all the neighbors.”

  “What’s Halloween?”

  “A day you get to wear a costume and be anything you wanna be, and you get buckets of candy just for sayin’ trick or treat.”

  She turns to face me, crossing her arms over her chest. “How do you know what Halloween is?”

  “I know because I’m your big brother. Big brothers are smarter,” I tease. “Billy told me that he was a pirate one time, and Uncle Don used to play pranks around town, stupid stuff like, putting toilet paper in trees, and smashing pumpkins on the road.”

  While I’m talking, I brush the dust off her sleeve. I’m just making it worse though, because it leaves brown colored streaks across the arm. Momma is gonna be mad at Capri, and probably give her a whooping because her shirt is dirty. Our shirts are always dirty. I don’t understand why it makes her so angry.

  “What else did they say about Halloween?”

  “Billy told me when he was younger his momma took him around their neighborhood and then they’d have a big fire. Uncle Don said that Billy didn’t have to dress up anymore because he was a freak show every day.” My voice drops to a whisper. “On the count of him . . . he ain’t right in the head.”

  The bell rings for the kids to go back inside. The kids come outside at least ten times a day. Not the same kids all the time. I watch as they all run and line up by the doors. There are a few kids still swinging and one girl is at the top of the slide.

  “They always look like they are havin’ so much fun,” Capri says.

  I wish I could go outside and toss the basketball around. The last time we were outside it was the Fourth of July. I re
member that night because the sky was all lit up with sparkles in different colors. Capri listened to me as I told her all about the history of America or at least as much as I remembered from school.

  My last year of school was eighth grade. I miss school and my friends. I use the days here to teach Capri how to read and write, especially her name. Capri is a good little sister. Every day we climb the stairs up here to the attic. I have a bag in the closet with pens, pencils, and papers that I found lying around the house.

  I walk back to the corner of the room and sit with Capri by her pile of magazines. She pulls one from the stack and starts reading out loud. Her tiny finger moves under each word as she reads.

  “People Weekly,” she begins. “Nineteen ninety. He has the kind of smile that . . . what’s nineteen ninety mean?”

  I blow out a breath as I walk over to the old trunk and yank it open. Capri pushes off the floor and tramps toward me.

  “Okay, see this?”

  Capri squints her eyes trying to read the tiny letters and numbers. “This is called a calendar. It tells you the days of the week, the months of the year, and what year it is. The four numbers here.” I run my index finger beneath the black numbers. “That number is the year. Remember, we talked about this?”

  She shakes her head and points to the picture of a lake and rocks above the numbers. “This place looks real pretty, I wish you and me could go there, Winston. We’d jump off the rocks and into the water. I bet the water is warm.”

  “Someday we’ll go, squirt.” I pat her head and try to explain the year and how old the world is. She needs to go to school, we both do. Every time I bring it up, Momma tells me that she doesn’t want people to know that we’re here. “You don’t need an education. The school of Hard Knocks will teach ya both all youns need know.”

  “Winston, I have to pee again,” she announces.

  I groan. “Capri, you know that none of the toilets are workin’ right. We need to get some cloth and you’ll have to use the pee bucket in the other room.”

  “No.” She shakes her head in protest. “Please, I don’t want to go in that room, it smells really terrible and I almost threw up last time. ‘Sides I think there’s poop on the wall.”

  My nose wrinkles up at the thought. Capri bounces back and forth on her heels.

  “Okay,” I say. “I’ll fetch a clean bucket, but you’ll need to get the cloth, because there is no toilet paper. Don’t pee on the floor in here, we’ll never get the smell out.”

  “I promise I won’t pee on the floor. Don’t forget to check on the cats.”

  “I won’t. I’ll make sure they have some water at least.”

  As we hike down the back stairs to the second floor, Capri runs to our secret hiding spot and pulls out a bag of cloth. We have several bags of cloth hiding all over the house. When Momma’s asleep, or when no one’s home, Capri and I rip up old sheets, and t-shirts anything we can find that will work as toilet paper. I tell Capri that normal people don’t live like this. She doesn’t know what I mean by that, but I’m always talking about the real world and how I can’t wait for us to leave this damn place.

  “Okay, get back to the attic,” I whisper, when she presents the cloth.

  She gives me a thumbs up. “You got it.”

  Tiptoeing down the stairs, I pull out the piece of paper that I keep in the secret pocket of my pants. I only have three pair of pants and I sewed a secret pocket into all of them and I did the same for Capri. Momma doesn’t know it is there because she never does our laundry. I explained to Capri that it is a good idea to have our name, address and a special message for the police in case of emergency like a fire or an accident.

  Winston Donald Woodward

  8837 Galena Street

  911 Please help me. I’m living in a hell hole.

  Capri has one just like it and she knows to ask for help if she ever is able to escape. I shove the note back into my pocket.

  My feet hit the bottom step and I press down on the hardwood. The smell of burnt grease, ammonia and sewage hangs heavy in the air, I use my t-shirt to cover my nose and mouth. Checking the rooms, I see no one around. I try to open the back door again. Then, I try to climb up to the hole in the cold room wall.

  As I enter the kitchen, Samuel, our black cat, greets me. Seconds later, Oreo and Fisher appear and jump onto the counter. “Meow, meow.”

  “Are you guys hungry?” I ask, scanning the kitchen for their bowls. “I’m really sorry y’all have to live here. If I could, I’d open the back door and tell you to run free.” I fill up the water dish and then grab the bag of food from the counter.

  After feeding the cats, I find a bucket and rinse it out in the sink. God, this is fucking gross. Sickness swirls inside me. I can’t think about what’s inside, I just keep going and try to think about playing basketball or riding a bike. Even that lake from the calendar comes to mind. There’s a bar of soap on the kitchen table and I scrub my hands as best I can. It probably doesn’t do much good.

  As I walk back into the attic, I find Capri sitting by her stack of magazines.

  “Oh, look here, Winston,” Capri says, holding up a picture of a woman with dark colored skin and a striped shirt, holding a cigarette. In orange lettering across the page is her name—Capri. “That’s my name.”

  Inwardly I roll my eyes. Who names their kids after cigarette brands? “Yes, it is. Good job.”

  My stomach rumbles. The pain in my gut only increases my own need to pee. At least the cats are getting food. It has been three days since we had soup and crackers. If I try hard enough, I can still taste the potatoes in my mouth. I haven’t brushed my teeth today. But we can’t anyway since we’re out of toothpaste—Capri and I ate it last week.

  After I set up the bucket for Capri, I leave the room. Since I have to pee too, I hurry back to the second-floor bathroom. I unzip my pants and piss down the shower drain. I breathe a heavy sigh and whisper, “I hate this fucking place. I hate it all.” When I finish, I stare at my reflection in the cracked mirror. I don’t look like a teenager. I look older—my skin is grey and acne spots decorate my forehead. My teeth are crooked, and my lips are red and split. When I can’t stand the sight of myself any longer, I trek back up to the attic.

  “You can come back in, I am done,” Capri calls out.

  When I enter the room, she hands me the plastic bag with her dirty cloths. “I’ll be right back, after I dispose of this.”

  “Thank you,” she says, giving me a hug. “I love you, Winston.”

  “Hey, what are big brothers for?”

  The door closes, and I walk down the stairs to the bathroom on the second floor. I toss the bag into the giant bag we’d been using as a trash can. This is becoming a workout.

  Back up to the attic I go.

  Capri busies herself with the magazines and I walk toward the window. The playground is empty. There’s no laughter or yelling, only the sound of the wind blowing. I watch the leaves dance around the sidewalk below. My eyes grow heavy, and I slide down the wall and lay on my back looking up at the ceiling. The yellow paint on the walls has brown stains, and there are cracks in the corners and one went all the way down the wall.

  “Hey, Winston.”

  “Yeah.” I roll up onto my elbows.

  “If today is Halloween, and I could dress up to be anything I want, I think I’d be someone who makes ugly places pretty.”

  “Is that so?”

  “I’d paint this room with black and white stripes, just like the lady’s top in the magazine picture.”

  My stomach rumbles again. Capri giggles as she shoots up to stand. Her little feet skip over the wood. She flings open one of the dresser drawers and shakes a jar of peanut butter at me.

  I jump up, throwing my hands in the air. “Where did you find peanut butter?”

  She opens the lid and the smell of roasted peanuts whirls up my nose. My stomach must know, too, because it makes a rumbling noise again. Someday, I’ll have a big garden an
d enough food to feed Capri and me five times over.

  Look out, because every day will be Thanksgiving.

  “Yum, this is so good,” I say, and lick the back of the spoon. “Someday, I’ll show you how to make peanut butter cookies.”

  Her eyes pop wide. “You can make cookies out of peanut butter?”

  “You sure can.”

  The school bell rings again, but the kids don’t come outside.

  “That’s strange,” I say before walking back to the window. “The school buses are lined up now, and the cars are leaving the parking lot.”

  “Must be the end of the school day.”

  “No, it’s too early, and it can’t be a half day because the bell has only rung twice, and according to my calculations it’s somewhere between nine and ten in the morning.”

  Capri shrugs and continues to dive into the jar of peanut butter until sound of sirens in the distance has her up on her feet. Several police cars stop on our street. Once the regular cars pass by, a tall policeman turns his car sideways across the street.

  There’s banging on the front door and the siren wails become louder. “This is the Clinton Park Police, open up.”

  “Oh shit. Come on, let’s go, Capri. Today really is our lucky day,” I say.

  “What’s going on?” she asks, following closely behind me.

  “We’re getting out of here, Capri. Somewhere safe, with working bathrooms and real food.”

  When we get to the bottom of the stairs, Capri pulls on my shirt. “I’m scared, Winston.” I turn and look at her, her blue eyes are wet with tears.

  My hands grip her shoulders as I bend to look at her. “Maybe not tonight, but definitely next year, you and I are going trick or treating. I promise, squirt.”

  Tyler

  Present Day

  This day has finally come, and I wanted to be here to witness it all. I wanted . . . needed to be here as this rundown piece of shit house in Clinton Park is bulldozed to the ground. For a moment, I consider taking a piss all over the ashes. But there are tons of people around, so not a classy move.