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“Samaria Jacobs.” Darlene Bolton took pained steps on swollen feet toward me. I stood and met her half the way. “I haven’t seen you in ten years.”
I nodded. “Graduation.”
“Gawd.” Darlene laughed. “Has it been ten years since high school?”
“Hard to believe.” I peered at her. Black didn’t crack. She still looked like she had in high school. Tired and a little puffy, but as pretty as ever.
She began to rub her belly. “How have you been?”
I knew she probably knew my business because everyone did, but still I answered, “I’m fine.”
“What you doing working here?”
“I’m volunteering,” I said, but thought. What are you doing living here?
“Volunteer work,” Darlene said. “I guess that’s what people do when they marry rich record producers.”
I smiled and shrugged. “Can’t shop all the time.”
Sadness swept over her face before she asked, “And how is Mekhi?”
“He’s great. Enjoying his work and all that comes with it.”
Darlene looked like she was getting more tired by the minute. “Ya’ll got married right?”
“A few months back.”
“I always thought you two would get together or something. You were inseparable in school.” More sadness filled her eyes. She continued to rub her belly.
“We were, and speaking of which, you and Kris.” I left the question hanging. I knew Darlene had married her high school sweetheart, Kristopher Bolton right after graduation because at the time she was pregnant. That had to be Krissy. Then he left for the army. I hadn’t kept up with her story. I hadn’t kept up with anyone’s story, so I had no idea what was going on with them, but it was obvious it wasn’t good or she wouldn’t be here at Samaritan House with three kids and one on the way.
Darlene’s smile faded and her lip quivered. “Mary, can you go ask for a glass of water for me.”
Mary disappeared behind the door.
“I didn’t want to mention it in front of Mary.” She stuttered over her words. “I mean she knows her dad is gone, but she cries when you say it.”
I nodded. “I understand.”
“The girls have hardly had time to get used to it. I haven’t even had time.”
“Break-ups can be hard on children,” I said, remembering my own father’s leaving.
“Breakup?” Darlene shook her head. “Kris wasn’t that kind of man. He’d never leave me. He’d never leave his family.”
Trying to find a comfortable space after my carelessness words, I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. “I’m sorry, I assumed.”
“Wrong,” Darlene said quickly. “Kris was shot this past summer.”
I was shocked and now even more embarrassed. I threw a hand over my heart and clutched her arm with the other. “I’m so sorry, Darlene, I hadn’t heard. Was it overseas?”
Darlene shook her head. “He got out of the army this time last year.”
I could see heartache leaking from her pores. She didn’t say more. I guess she didn’t want to tell me how he got shot, so I offered, “I don’t know what to say.”
Darlene shrugged. “Nothing to say. You got enough problems of your own anyway. We all got problems, right?”
Mary returned with the water and Darlene drank the entire glass down in one long gulp and returned it to her daughter. “It was nice catching up with you, Samaria. I need to get off my feet for a while before dinner. I guess I’ll see you around.”
She and Mary left the room.
My heart was locked in my chest and I dropped into a nearby chair. Kris Bolton was dead and he left a widow with three children and a fourth on the way. That was horrible. The most horrible thing I’d heard in a long time.
The door opened and a volunteer’s head shot from around it. “Sam, right?” he paused. “Colleen wants to train you on registration sign-ins.”
I nodded, stood, shook off my shock and left the empty room. I found Colleen at a desk near the backdoor. I could see there was a line of women with children in front of her. I joined her.
“This is the daily sign-in table. At four p.m., we start letting women and children in for the open sleeping area. We have a volunteer at the door who checks their bag. They can only bring in one per person. We don’t allow any male children over thirteen in the facility. She showed me a log. We take down their name, the children’s names, date of birth and ask for I.D. if they have it and log that. Most people have something and have no problem giving it to you. The only women we have trouble with sometimes are the domestic violence situations. They don’t always want to give their names. We don’t press for any of that. After you sign them in, they sign the log and we assign a bed.”
Colleen continued to show me the procedure for determining which bed to give who based on the beds that had adjoining cots and such. After my quick orientation, she waved at the two men at the door and the women flooded in out of the cold.
We worked fast and within an hour, many of the women who had signed in were now in the dinner line with their children.
“There are so many more people in line,” I said. “I only have three beds left.”
“That’s always the way,” Colleen said taking a license from a hand and logging the person in. “A bed for one.”
I reached into the box and handed the wooden card with the number 97 to an oddly familiar, gloved hand and raised my eyes to look at the person attached to it.
“Hi, Samaria.”
It was Abigail with the perfect teeth. I had forgotten about her.
“Abigail, is it?” I pressed the card into her hand.
“Call me Abby,” she teased. “I had a feeling we’d see each other again.”
“That you did,” I said, remembering her strange goodbye.
She walked away and went through the door with her one tote bag that I surmised must have everything she owned to claim her cot.
We checked in the last two beds. I was thirty minutes past the time I said I would stay and I had had all I could stand of this place. It was draining. Emotionally exhausting.
“Thanks for helping out,” Colleen said. “I know it was probably a lot to take in.”
I folded my arms over my chest. “I never expected to see someone I knew.”
“You mean Abby?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know Abby.” I paused for a moment, thinking of Kris again. “Darlene Bolton. I went to high school with her.”
“Oh yes, Darlene. Lovely woman. Wonderful children.”
“She has a permanent room.”
“She does for now,” Colleen said. The smile dropped and her lips became tight.
“Maybe after she has the baby she can get back on her feet.”
Colleen’s face reddened. “That’s her plan,” she said, but something bothered her about Darlene. “You remember how to get your coat?”
I nodded.
“We prefer volunteers exit through the front. The parking lot is closer and it keeps you away from the backdoor. We get some stragglers there and occasionally some men that don’t realize we only serve women.”
I nodded again.
“You can sign out and I’ll look for you tomorrow at two.”
I confirmed that and stood to go to the locker room for my things. I came out just in time to see Darlene and her three children coming down the stairs, greeting other residents and getting in the long line for their dinner. I thought that Darlene might be served separately as she was pregnant, but she wasn’t the only one. There were several pregnant women in the line. Women and their children living in this place. The lucky ones like Darlene had a permanent assignment, but there were several pregnant women that I’d signed in for overnight.
I was feeling some kind of way about this. What I assumed would just be a quick in and out kind of drudgery was already tugging at my heartstrings. It was one thing to be on the street on your own, but living on the street with your children? I couldn’t imagine that.
I signed out at the front desk and hurried out the door. The area was well-lit and my car was right up front in the lot. I climbed into my new E-Class Mercedes-Benz and was suddenly struck that my car was worth more than all those women in that place probably had combined. I started it and caught the glimpse of The Castle across the street with its shoppers heading out with bags busting with overpriced finds. I had a fleeting thought of all the merchandise I had purchased in that place over the years and I’d never known women were living in squalor across the street. I had no idea why that bothered me so much, perhaps it was mere proximity, but it did. I shook it off and pushed the button for the radio. I needed something else in my head and I needed it now.
I looked up and noted a woman clutching the hand of a child as they walked in front of my car. I recognized her as one of the women in the line that we’d turned away. Tears wet her eyes and her little girl looked confused and cold. Where would they go now? Rahab House? Were there other places?
The Afternoon Turnup with D.J. JayTek was in full gag with laughter and jokes filling my vehicle. Suddenly annoyed by them, I pushed the button to cut the noise while I trained my vision on the woman and her daughter. I pulled out of the parking lot into the traffic. It was slow, inching forward at the same pace as pedestrians were walking. I could still see the tiny family to the right of me. They were making rapid steps in an effort to get to their next destination. The child was clutching a book bag in one hand and a stuffed animal of some kind in the other. Traffic moved a bit and I pulled ahead. An urge came over me. I found myself pulling my car out of traffic and into a parking space. I put my window down and called out, “Hey, ma’am.”
The women stopped and looked. Then she grabbed her child’s hand tighter and kept walking. I removed my seat belt, keys and handbag and raced onto the sidewalk.
I repeated my call. “Ma’am.”
She turned. Confusion flashed across her face. “Are you talking to me?”
“I’m a new volunteer at Samaritan House. I saw you in line.”
The woman’s mouth dropped open. “Is there a bed? Is that what you want to tell me?” She covered her hand with her mouth and looked down at her child. “Oh thank you, Jesus.”
I shook my head. “No, I’m sorry. No bed, but I was wondering if I could give you a ride somewhere?”
The women’s lip trembled. She looked down at her daughter again. “We’re fine.” She tugged the child’s hand and started walking.
And then for no reason that I understood, I was walking along side of them. “Please, I know this is strange, but I...I feel like I should help you.”
She stopped again, but this time she looked annoyed. I couldn’t let them go. I opened my handbag and reached in for my wallet. I removed a hundred-dollar bill and two twenties. It was all I had.
The woman stared at the money like she dare not touch it. I pushed it toward her. A confused daze fell over her face. “What are you doing?”
I pressed the bills into her hand. “Helping you in case wherever you’re going doesn’t work out.”
More tears welled in her eyes. Her lips trembled again. “Thank you.” Her voice was hoarse with emotion. “I don’t know what we would do if there are no rooms at the Saint Ann’s.”
I backed up and away from them. Backed away from her pulsating gratitude.
“God bless you,” I heard her yell behind me.
I climbed back into my car. My heart thundered against my chest. “God bless me,” I whispered, watching as she picked up her daughter and squeezed the girl tighter than I’d seen anyone squeeze a child in a long time. “No, God bless you.” I swallowed against intense emotion and Abigail-but-people-call-me-Abby’s words came back to me. You more blessed than you know.
I sat cross-legged on my bed, wearing a well-worn, Albany State sweatshirt, yoga pants, and glasses. I flipped through the pages of my high school yearbook until I came to the entry for Darlene Barnes, now Bolton. I read her senior statement out loud: The best of times with friends Linda H, Pam K, and Tamela R. Loving and learning with Kristopher Bolton, pepperoni pizza and charms. The things we loved as teenagers. She and Linda, Pam and Tamela were thick as thieves. I wondered where they were now when Darlene obviously needed them.
I looked on the opposite page where I found Kristopher Bolton’s photo. They’d even been close in proximity in the year book. Inseparable – that’s what they’d been since ninth grade. I read his statement. He, of course, mentioned her as well. I sighed with the heaviness of the situation. Kristopher dead. I wondered how. I reached for my iPad and pulled up a search window to Google him, but didn’t find anything other than a short obit that indicated he had been shot in a rough neighborhood in Chicago.
I heard the garage door open and was glad for the familiar sound. Mekhi was home. I’d missed him today. There was something about his presence that centered me and made every awful thing in the world disappear. Seeing Darlene and those other women and their kids had knocked me off my axis. I needed to hear him say something that would right the world again. Something that made sense and didn’t make me feel like I had too much because I wasn’t in a shelter.
A few minutes later, Mekhi entered the bedroom. He had his jacket in one hand and his phone in the other. He raised his phone and the flash went off.
“Why are you taking pictures of me when I look a haute disaster?” I asked, fully conscious of my messy bun and the unsexy eyewear. Mekhi approached the bed, leaned in to kiss me, and then stretched out next to me.
“Because. You look hot in those glasses. Makes me feel like I’m hooked up with some sexually repressed English teacher.”
I reached for his tie and loosened the knot, then I undid the buttons of his dress shirt and pushed my hand inside to rub his chest. “Oh yeah, which of your English teachers did you have a crush on?”
His white teeth gleamed. I could tell a memory had surfaced, but then he said, “I don’t know.”
“Lies. Give it up.” I pinched him.
He chuckled. “Dang, girl, that’s spouse abuse.”
I took another hunk of his flesh in my hands and held it. “I want to know about all your little crushes.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Okay, okay...maybe it was Mrs. Harper.”
I snatched back my head and released my grip on his skin. “With the fat calves?”
Mekhi’s lip turned up and he nodded like she brought back pleasant memories. “She had a big ‘ole booty and a little waist.”
I chuckled. “Uh, the original stripper pole body.”
Mekhi continued to smile as he turned to me. He stroked my cheek. “That’s it. My ten year-old self had a crush on Mrs. Harper from the back.”
I arched an eyebrow. “Definitely not from the front, because I remember big teeth or something off with her grill.” I pushed him on his back and straddled him.
Mekhi placed his large hands on my knees. “Don’t be jealous. She was too old for me then and she’s too old for me now.”
I raised my chin a fraction. “You sure I don’t have to worry about you running into her in the supermarket and living out your fantasy?”
“No, babe. I don’t want anybody but you.” He stroked me with his eyes and I felt the passion in his words come down on me.
I undid the remainder of his shirt buttons, and pushed up his t-shirt to reveal his belly and upper chest. I loved his body. Every dark chocolate inch of it. I took the time to admire him and trace the lines of the six pack that revealed itself as his chest rose and fell. A moment of sadness enveloped me as I thought about how I’d soon be leaving my man, this man that I loved and craved every day. Tears dampened my eyes.
Mekhi pulled me down for a kiss and whispered, “Everything is going to be okay between us.”
I closed my eyes, pressing the tears away as I opened my heart to his words and then he flipped me. I was on my back falling in love with him for the thousandth time.