Read Online Blessed are the Dead by Kristi Belcamino - Free Book Online Page B

what Jasmine’s favorite food is, what cartoons she likes to watch, her favorite color. I carefully use the present tense: likes, not liked. I diligently take notes, hot dogs . . . Sponge Bob . . . purple. I ask them about the night before Jasmine disappeared.
    â€œRemember we were watching that scary movie?” Baker glances at Silva, who nods. “Then Jasmine fell asleep in front of the TV.”
    Baker tucked Jasmine in before leaving for her night shift at the convenience store.
    â€œWhat about in the morning? Was there anything unusual about it?” I crush my second cigarette butt into their glass ashtray.
    â€œNo, she gets herself ready,” Silva says, taking a long pull off his cigarette. “I was just getting up when it was time for her to leave. I walked her to the front door. She kissed me good-­bye, and said, ‘I love you, Daddy. Have a good day. See you after school.’ ”
    I write, kissed Silva good-­bye, said I love you, Daddy . . . see you after school. I put his quote on its own page and circle it.
    I take a deep breath to ask my next questions. I saved these for last, knowing it might mean the end of our conversation. “I heard that you guys sometimes locked Jasmine out of the apartment, and she played in the halls. Is that true?”
    For the first time, Baker looks angry. “Which nosy neighbor told you that? I bet it was that skank Lizzy across the hall. She’s always been jealous of me. She’s just jealous ’cause I have a husband. She has three kids all with different daddies, and she can’t keep even one of them around.”
    I wait, counting to ten in my head, and ask again.
    â€œIs it true? Did you lock Jasmine out?”
    â€œShe needed to exercise, so I sent her out in the hall to play. Do you know the neighborhood where we live? There aren’t any parks around. There’s really no place for her to go outside and play, so I let her run off her energy out there. Plus, sometimes we need some privacy. We’re newlyweds, you know.”
    This explanation stops me. How can I judge what it is like to try to raise a child in a crappy one-­bedroom apartment in a neighborhood where it really isn’t safe to let your kid play outside? I can’t. It’s something I know nothing about.

 
    Chapter 9
    S UNDAYS ARE MY favorite day of the week. Today’s an especially good one. I read my front-­page story about Jasmine’s parents three times before I get dressed for Mass. I can’t wait to see my family this afternoon, even if it means getting grilled by my mother about my love life.
    Every Sunday morning since I was a little girl, I have awoken anticipating the “Big Sunday Dinner” at my grandmother’s house. As kids, we could barely sit through Mass knowing that afterward we would be joining our cousins for a three-­hour feast. It didn’t matter that about ten of the cousins were in the same pew with us at Mass. We didn’t get to talk and play until after.
    It’s the same now that we’re adults. After attending Masses at churches across the Bay Area, about thirty of us head to my grandmother’s house every Sunday afternoon. Today, I’m a little nervous to see my mother since I’ve been avoiding her calls all week.
    Despite the exhilaration of having a scoop, I dreamed of Jasmine all night last night. Alone in bed at night, I can’t help but think about all the terrible things that might have happened to her. The dark thoughts keep creeping into my head and triggering old memories I’ve tried to erase. It took me years to push back nightmares stemming from Caterina’s abduction and concentrate on the good memories of her, but now the scary ones are seeping through again. For the past week, I’ve awoken several times throughout the night, heart jackhammering in my throat. I lay there in the dark, hugging my pillow, yearning for a