Read No Sunshine When She's Gone for Free Online

brothers. He’d attended the University of Miami, and, at the end of his senior year, had been drafted in the third round. He’d played twelve years for the Colonels. He brought veteran experience and stability to the Rogues. The team hadn’t won a World Series in six years. They were due. Let this be their year, Jill thought, crossing her fingers.
    The cement was hot beneath her bare feet when she stepped from the boardwalk onto the parking lot. She jogged to a plot of grass close to where she’d parked her restored black 1955 Triumph TR2. The convertible sports car was her most prized possession. She stood beneath a Queen palm in the cooling shade. Caught her breath.
    Jill was jarred from her musings by “Cheap Seats,” the ringtone on her iPhone She scrunched her nose as Alabama sang about minor-league games where fans didn’t know the players’ names or how the team was doing, but crowded into the bleachers despite that fact.
    Her crazy-ass brother had programmed the music; anytime she set down her shoulder bag and he was close by, he’d lift her iPhone and switch songs. Their taste in music differed greatly. He liked country western while she listened to the oldies. Her ringtone prior to “Cheap Seats” had been Bob Seger’s “Old Time Rock and Roll.”
    She shook her bag and her iPhone surfaced. She checked the display. Carrie Waters’s name and number now flashed. She touched her thumb to the screen to take the call.
    “’Lo,” Jill said.
    “Jillie Mac, where are you?” asked Carrie, her voice sounding rushed. “What are you doing? Why aren’t you at the farmers’ market? How long before you get here? I’m at the main gate waiting for you.” She ran out of breath.
    Jill couldn’t help but smile. Carrie’s questions rolled over each other when she was excited. “I got sidetracked,” she confessed.
    “That’s the story of your life.”
    Carrie knew Jill well. They’d been best friends since they were both in diapers. Growing up, Carrie was always on the go, proficient and prompt. Jill was the opposite. She never wore a watch, and instead listened to her biorhythms. She often ran five to ten minutes late.
    Jill so often jumped into life feet first and Carrie made sure she landed on solid ground. Carrie settled in easily wherever they lived; she was a nester. Jill, on the other hand, kept the back door cracked and a window open.
    Carrie was one of the few who still called her by her childhood nickname, Jillie Mac. Jill didn’t mind. The two women complemented each other, in an odd sort of way.
    They’d both been raised in households by single parents on the poorest side of Philadelphia. Thugs and drugs and never leaving the house after dark had been commonplace. The girls had missed meals and outgrown their clothes. Jill had protected Carrie on more than one occasion. She’d learned from her brother that a baseball bat could be swung not only on the sandlot but to scare away bullies.
    Jill had a lot of tomboy in her and lived in jeans, whereas Carrie was feminine and favored pastels. People were drawn to Carrie. She saw the good in everyone. She never doubted, and always trusted. She forgave.
    Jill was pleasant, but cautious. She had a stubborn streak, and made sure no one took advantage of Carrie. She’d been known to hold a grudge, when it was justified.
    Jill’s older brother had helped them escape their neighborhood. He was street smart, and his successful career allowed him to buy their mother and his five other siblings a new house in a safer district. Her friend Carrie was an only child; her mother had deserted her family when Carrie was six. Her dad spent more time at the corner bar than with his daughter. He’d called Carrie ugly and a burden and had cuffed her on the side of the head, often and hard.
    Carrie had lost the hearing in her right ear. She would tilt her head when listening to people, so she could fully hear what they were saying. She often asked to have a sentence