Read Online Nothing Stays In Vegas by Elena Aitken - Free Book Online

was. Grandma tried everything to get her clean, but she just didn't want to be helped. She spent her days turning tricks in alleys and occasionally showed up to steal money from my grandma. She was a good woman, my grandmother. She didn't deserve the way people talked about her. It wasn't her fault that my mother turned out the way she did. 
    "Up until the day she died, she had two jobs. During the day she worked at a restaurant. When I was little she was a waitress and that's where I'd spend my evenings. But when she got older, the arthritis in her elbows got to be too much. She stayed in the back, doing dishes mostly. Her boss, he was a good guy. He could've fired her, but he didn't."
    "What was her other job?"
    Leo smiled a little. "The second job she took when I was a teenager. She wanted me to go to the good high school, the one where kids actually graduated. But we didn't live in the right district so Grandma made a deal with the principal. If she cleaned the school at night, he'd let me attend classes there. I'd help her sometimes, but she wouldn't let me lift a finger until all my homework was done. And then when I graduated, she stayed on because the principal started paying her and she wanted me to go to college. The kids at school made fun of me, and her, but I'd never met anyone who worked as hard as she did and as soon as I was old enough, I got a job and tried to help out. She saved for years, putting everything she could spare into a jam jar because she didn't trust banks. So I went to school, and got a degree in management hospitality."
    I thought I should congratulate him, but somehow it didn't seem right, so I kept quiet and let him continue.  
    "I thought it would change, the way people looked at me in the streets, the way people treated my grandma, like we weren't any good. But it didn't. I couldn't get a job in my town so I moved to Phoenix, and worked night shifts at hotels, learning everything I could. I sent every spare penny I could home to her, but she kept working. She never spent a cent of it. After she died, I found it. It was folded up with the notes I'd sent her, in the jam jar." 
    His hands stilled again. This time, I reached back, putting my hand over his on my shoulder and turned so we were facing each other. Around us, tourists were snapping pictures of the statues and the magnificent hotel in the background. "Leo," I said, "that's so sad."
    He shrugged and leaned back against the marble statue."It is what it is. You can't change people. After the funeral, I packed up the few things of hers I wanted to keep and never looked back. I guess my mother's still there somewhere. But I doubt she even remembers that she has a son." 
    He looked over my head at something I don't think was there. After a second his eyes cleared and he said, "So that's how I ended up here. That's my story." He looked down at me, the smile had returned to his face and his eyes glittered with the lights off the strip.  
    "That's quite the story."
    "It's true," he said. "I can't believe I told you all that." 
    "I'm glad you did."
    "It's easy to talk to you," he said and sat up so we were once again facing each other. "Now that you know my history. Tell me yours."
    "It's boring. Trust me."
    "I can't imagine that anything about you is boring." He laced his fingers into mine. "I know you're a teacher. Your parents must be very proud of you."
    I winced. Even after such a long time, it still stung.
    "What did I say?" Leo grabbed my hand and squeezed. "Don't you have a good relationship with your parents?"
    "My parents are dead." Once the words were out, I felt like I could breathe again. It was always like that when I told someone. The pain didn't seem to lessen. "They died in a car accident when I was twelve."
    "Lexi, I'm so sorry." 
    "It's okay," I said and I meant it. "My Uncle Ray, he's my dad's younger brother, he raised me and he was great. I couldn't have asked for better. I guess we have that in common, don't we?