Read by Christiana Ellis
“It scares me,” she said finally.
“That he’s dying.”
She turned to look at him.
“He’s filthy rich, you know,” Ramon said as he smoked a cigarette. Normally he wore gloves to avoid staining his fingers, but he had foregone such formalities in this remote corner of the state.
“I don’t want to marry him.”
“I said he was rich.”
“Maybe he will not want to marry me.”
“He better, and you better please him. There’s more money here than we’ve ever had.”
“Then you please him.”
Ramon grabbed her by the jaw, fingers digging into her flesh, and pulled her forward.
“I’ve had my share of old, ugly bitches in my bed. Sores and wrinkles and grey hair. All to keep you fed and dressed.”
“To keep us fed and dressed,” she muttered.