Burn Girl Read Online Free

done years before in the apartment complex in Albuquerque, Dora stepped in when Mom disappeared into a meth binge and forgot she had a daughter.
    â€œYou can call her,” Mo said.
    â€œI owe Dora more than that. Please understand.”
    There was no reasoning with Mo where Dora was concerned. I’d stopped mentioning her after Mo blew up when I gave Dora the Subaru. Mo thought I should keep it and get my driver’s license, but I didn’t want it. The car reeked of cigarettes and memories I’d rather forget. It was the car we’d used to escape from our life with Lloyd, and I wanted nothing to tie me to him. Plus, Dora would never be able to afford a car. It made me feel good to thank her for what she’d done for me and Mom.
    Mo reached across and opened my door. Cold air rushed into the car. “I can’t stop you.”
    â€œDon’t be mad.”
    â€œHere, take my coat,” she said. “You’ll freeze in just your hoodie.”
    Mo had been mad at me plenty of times. She just rarely allowed herself to express it for fear it might upset the balance in my precarious world. I shoved my arms into her down coat and kissed her quickly before running across the street toward the motel’s entrance.
    Dora wasn’t in her room so I sat on the cement walkway, my back against her door, until she arrived from her shift at the Manna Soup Kitchen. By the time she found me, it was growing dark. I’d lost feeling in my hands and feet.
    â€œArlene! My sweet girl!” Dora helped me up and I leaned into her bear hug. She brought a hand up to my unscarred cheek. “Saints in heaven! You’re ice cold. Come in right this minute.”
    I made a beeline to the heating unit beneath the window. I turned it on high and sat on the vent, grateful for its instant warmth through my jeans.
    â€œI’m sorry I haven’t called,” I said. “Things got crazy after …”
    â€œI know, girl. I know. I figured you needed time to adjust to your foster family.”
    â€œWon’t be with them much longer,” I said. “Turns out I have an uncle in Texas. He’s coming to Durango.”
    Dora retrieved a Tupperware container from her large tote bag and poured the contents into a small pot. She set the pot on a hot plate and turned back to me. “You’re staying for supper. Tell me about this uncle.”
    She sat on the edge of the bed closest to the heater. Her graying hair was wound in two braids twisted into a single bun at the nape of her neck. She’d look grandmotherly except that her skin was satiny with only a few lines around her eyes.
    Although Dora must have been exhausted after her shift, she gave me her complete attention, as she always had when we talked. It didn’t matter if I was eleven or sixteen. She made me feel that everything coming out of my mouth had to be important.
    â€œNothing to tell. Haven’t met him yet,” I said. “I’m here because I wanted to tell you about Mom’s funeral. It’s Monday.”
    â€œI figured she was buried by now.” Dora leaned toward me and pushed my hair behind my ears. “There, I can see your beautiful face.”
    I blushed even though Dora had always encouraged me to wear my hair off my face. “Why hide your scar? It says you’re a survivor,” she’d said. And in her presence, I could allow myself to feel that.
    Her room always made me feel safe, like I didn’t have to be on guard. Dora didn’t use the motel for temporary housing as Mom and I had. She’d been in the same room for years. The manager allowed her to hang pictures and use her own bedding. Her sewing machine occupied the table.
    At first, she’d chosen the motel because it made economic sense. There was no way she’d have enough money for first and last months’ rent at an apartment, or for utility deposits. She ended up staying, solidifying her role as