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I stared at the letter until my tears blurred my vision so much that I could no longer see. December 26th at one o’clock p.m. was my report time to begin my term of confinement.
I tightened my hands around the letter until it was a ball and tossed it on the seat next to me. Then I clutched the steering wheel. I was tempted to start the car and drive as far away as I could. But there was nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide. I had to do this time. I couldn’t look over my shoulder for the rest of my life because I was too chicken to give up six months of my life.
Or a year.
That evil voice would not go away. A year was not outside the realm of possibility, but I was praying every day for it not to be longer. If consistent prayers counted with God, I should have tons of credits stored up in heaven by now.
I released the wheel and reached into the glove compartment for tissues, dried my eyes and stared at the entrance to Samaritan House. Two volunteers that I normally worked with were entering. Good people who gave their time because they cared, not because they were required to do something. I was a fraud. I was here because I had to be. Anything good that I had ever done, I did because I had to do it.
“God, is there anything real and pure in me?” I asked.
I wanted to hear from God. I wanted a burning bush to speak to me, but God didn’t operate like that anymore. And if He did, he certainly wouldn’t be speaking to me.
I put my finger on the ignition switch. I wasn’t up to talking to people today. I was going home.
A knock on the window nearly made jump through the sunroof. Abby was standing there waving. I put the window down.
“Why you sitting out here? God’s work is inside.”
I swallowed. “I’m not feeling well. I’m going home today.”
“You look fine to me,” Abby said. “But who wouldn’t in this car?”
I sighed. “Can I help you with something?”
Abby shook her head. “No, but I saw you sitting here and I thought maybe I could help you.”
I cocked my head. “Help me with what. Some more Abby wisdom?”
She laughed. “That’s a good book title, but not really Abby wisdom. I had a dream about you last night.”
I frowned. “Go on.”
“I know you down. Your time is winding up, but I dreamed you did something so powerful and so selfless that God kissed you.”
I frowned again. “God kissed me. What does that even look like in a dream, Abby?”
“It looks like favor.” Abby pulled on the door handle. “Come on out of this car. Those kids in there need you and I know your husband ain’t trying to seeing you crying a river of tears.”
I sighed. She was right on both accounts. I saw the line of school buses behind the building. I watched Krissy and Mary step off with the other children. I’d promised Mary I would help her with her spelling words today. I didn’t like to break my promises. Not to kids, so I grabbed my bag and pushed the car door open.
“God rewards an obedient heart, Samaria. Do what He tells you to do and He will do what he said He would do.”
I closed the door and leaned against the car. “I’m already saved and I’ve read I can’t lose that unless I curse Him, so what else is there for God to do?”
It was Abby who frowned now. “Chile, I can tell you ain’t been saved but a half-hour. You been made righteous by the blood, but salvation is just your first step in the journey. Now you need to learn to be obedient to God’s word. Read Deuteronomy Chapter 28.”
“I tried reading the Old Testament and it put me to sleep.”
Abby’s face became serious. “Don’t try. Do. Get you one of those new Bibles in plain English so you understand. They all translations, so pick one that you like and read it.”
I sucked in long breath. Suddenly this nutty old woman didn’t feel so nutty anymore. She was making me uncomfortable, but not in a bad way. I didn’t know what it was called, but I’d felt it before. Felt it when I thought I was feeling God.
Abby’s expression relaxed and her smile returned. “I’ll see you later.” She walked away. Not in the direction of the shelter, because it was only two o’clock. The line for registration wouldn’t start building for an hour.
I pushed the key fob to lock the car and watched her as she meandered down the street. That old, red coat blazed a trail through the crowd and for a second my eyes betrayed me. Abby’s coat cast an ethereal glow. A burning bush came to mind and I wondered if God had just spoken to me through Abigail Bush.
What Mary struggled to do in math, she made up for in vocabulary and spelling. “You are about to have a hundred percent, Miss Marleigh.” I smiled. “Last word...forever.”
Mary’s arms flailed. “I know this one.”
“You know all of them.” I chuckled.
Missing teeth on display, she kicked her little legs back under the chair the way she did every time she was about to start spelling.
“Forever. F-O-R-E-V-E-R.”
“Good job.” I clapped praise. “Now use it in a sentence.”
Mary paused. “Forever.” Her eyes became sad. “My daddy is gone forever.”
My smile evaporated. I didn’t know what to say. She’d never mentioned her father before. I looked down. Her hands were clenched into fists. “That was a good sentence.”
She nodded.
“I’m sorry about your dad.”
Mary raised sad little eyes to mine. “Today is his birthday.”
I took her hand in mine.
“I sang happy birthday to him this morning. Do you think he heard me?”
“I don’t know,” I answered honestly, instead of pretending to know for sure like grown-ups liked to do. “I hope so. I hope the people we love are watching over us. Wouldn’t that be nice?”
“Do you have anybody in heaven?”
I released a breath. The child’s expression was expectant. I half-smiled. “I do.”
“Who is it?”
I drew another breath. “I have a baby girl in heaven. Her name is Melia.”
Mary frowned again. “A baby?”
“Yes, she died in my belly.”
“Babies die in bellies?”
I realized I had gone too far. This little girl was only seven and her mother was pregnant. What had I been thinking?
Her gaze appraised me, then she spoke. “I know you sad about your baby girl.”
“I am. I’m sad about it a lot.”
“So, you understand why we sad about our daddy?”
“I do understand.”
Mary sighed. “I’m thirsty. Can I get some water?”
I stood. “I’ll get it for you.” I needed a moment out of the room. Talk of her father and Melia had rattled me. I wasn’t prepared to talk about death. I wasn’t sure what her mother had told her about it. Darlene might tell me off for taking it too far.
I walked to the table where Krissy with sitting with a few girls her own age. “Keep an eye on your sister, will you?”
Krissy nodded and resumed her ten-year-old discussion.
I left the room. I didn’t need to have Krissy watch her sister. There was only one way in and out and the volunteers kept a close eye on the kids once they were signed in, but I couldn’t help feeling a little responsible for Darlene’s children.
I went into the restroom and when I came out, registrations had begun. Abby was the first person in the line. For once, I was glad to see her. Although I’d been distracted by Mary and the other children, her words had not left me. Neither had the image of the coat in the distance. But now that she was close up, I realized how old and worn the thing was. How she stayed warm in it was a mystery.
I got a paper cup and filled it with water for Mary and returned to the children’s room.
“Mary, can I ask you a question?”
The child’s eyes got wide. “You want to know something from me?”
I laughed. “Yes, you’re the smartest person I know, so I figured you might know this.”
Mary waited for me to go on.
“You talk to Ms. Abby all the time. I was wondering if you knew if that coat she wears is special to her. I saw her going through the coats we received last week and she didn’t take a new one.”
“No. The coats are too little for her. She has a big belly and she can’t close them.”
“It’s rude to say that, Mary,” Darlene’s voice came from behind us.
I turned and stood. “I asked her.”
“I know you did. I heard you,” Darlene said sharply. “Mary. Go on with your sisters. I need to talk to Ms. Samaria.”
Mary gathered her things. “I’ll see you later, Miss Samaria.” Her voice sounded unsure of that. She left the afterschool room.
I stood and began to straighten the chairs around the tables like the fight wasn’t about to break out. Darlene was breathing hard. Tight fists were on both hips. I was going to get it and she didn’t even know about the stillborn baby conversation.
“I don’t appreciate you teaching my daughter to gossip.”
“Darlene, I just...”
“You just did what I said you did. Teach my daughter to gossip.”
I gripped the back of a chair before pushing it under the table. She was wrong about me. I was tired of people being wrong about my intentions. “I wasn’t gossiping. I was wondering.”
“Wondering about stuff that isn’t your business and discussing it with someone else is gossiping.”
“You’re taking this a little hard. Is there something wrong?”
She rolled her neck and narrowed her gaze. “Something has to be wrong with me to want my child to have good values?”
The fight went out of me. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
She didn’t seem prepared for that. I reasoned she wanted to argue. “Why you looking down on Old Ms. Abby anyway?”
“I’m not looking down on her...look, Darlene. You act like I’ve had money all my life.”
“No, you act like you’ve had money all your life.”
This was frustrating. “I was trying to find out why she didn’t want another coat when the one she has is so old and worn. It couldn’t possibly be keeping her warm.”
“My daughter doesn’t have nothing to do with that. I don’t like gossiping.”
“You think I do? If there’s anyone who can understand your position, it’s me. I’ve been the source of gossip, too.”
Darlene frowned. “What do you mean, too?”
“Well, folks have been talking about me for months, so I know what it looks like when you’ve had enough.”
“Why would anyone be gossiping about me?”
“I don’t know, Darlene. You ask yourself that.”
I turned to leave the room and she grabbed my arm. “You tell me why you said that.”
“No, because I’m not the gossip you think I am.”
I went to move and she put her belly between me and the door. “You are gonna say what you were thinking. Is it about me being here in the shelter?”
“No. That’s not even...I don’t know who knows if you’re here, but you need to stop with the holier-than-though routine.”
“I may not be holier-than-thou, but I’m holier than you. I’m not going to jail.”
“You appear to be in a self-made prison. Four kids by an ex-drug dealer or whatever he was involved in that got him killed. You have no right to judge me or anyone else.”
Darlene shook her head. Disbelief filled her eyes. “Drug dealer. Where did you hear that?”
“Stuff gets around.” I lied for no good reason other than that I was tired of being judged by everyone. Kris had obviously gotten himself into something he had no business being involved in and if he was in it, she knew about it. The wives always did.
Darlene snorted. “Give me your phone.”
I hesitated for a moment, but then realized she was not moving from in front of the door until we were done with this conversation. I reached into my pocket, removed my phone, swiped the screen and handed it to her.
Darlene tapped on the screen with impatient strokes and shoved the phone at me. She gave me one last look before leaving the room, her dark eyes full of revulsion.
I dropped my eyes to the phone. My YouTube app was open. The video was a news report from Channel 32 in Chicago. I pushed play:
“It was a violent weekend in Chicago. At least 82 people were shot during an 84-hour stretch between 3:30 p.m. Thursday and 3:30 a.m. Monday. Among the deceased, a recently discharged veteran visiting our city for his uncle’s funeral.”
The story cut to split screen with a reporter on one side and picture of Kris on the other. She began, “Kris Bolton of Atlanta arrived on Friday to attend his uncle’s funeral. His aunt, Linda Bolton says the family had not seen Kris in over five years because Kris was deployed to Afghanistan.”
The story cut to the aunt who was crying. “He was a good man. He has a pregnant wife and three children. He spent all that time in Afghanistan and came home to be shot while bringing groceries in the house.”
Cut back to the reporter. “It’s a sad day for Chicago when a veteran is gunned down after serving his country just for being in Chicago or Chiraq at the wrong time. There are no suspects in this shooting.”
I closed the app and my eyes to the image that came to mind. Darlene’s pain stricken face before she left the room. Oh my God. What had I done? Poor Darlene. No wonder Krissy was so angry. It wasn’t just shelter life that this child had to endure. Her father was senselessly murdered.
I looked upward and whispered a prayer, “Lord, please help me find the words to apologize to Darlene. Please help this family.”
I climbed the stairs and entered the hallway. There were over twenty doors, all jammed closed to each other along the corridor. These had to be tiny rooms. Once I was there, I realized I had no idea which room was Darlene’s. I knocked on the first door and there was no answer. Then I tried the second. No answer there either. Before I could knock on the third, a woman entered the hall behind me.
“Excuse me. Do you know which room belongs to Darlene?” I asked.
She pulled keys from her pocket and pointed before inserting them in the lock. “I think she’s in eight.”
I thanked her right before she disappeared behind the door. I walked past doors until I found the room and knocked. There was no answer, but I heard Mary being shushed behind the paper thin walls. I knocked again. No answer. The third time I said, “Darlene, please open up. I won’t leave until you do.”
A minute or so went by and then I heard the door knob turn. The door opened and Darlene, tears in her eyes, stepped out. “I don’t want your apology. I want you to leave me alone.”
“I have to say it. I have to tell you how sorry I am that I said such a nasty thing to you. I’m also so sorry such an awful thing happened to Kris and your family.”
Darlene shrugged. “Okay and I still want you to leave me alone.”
“Why, are you so hostile toward me? I want to help. I enjoy working with Mary.”
“Stop it!” she yelled. “Don’t you dare pretend you care about my daughter. You digging around in bad sources to find out about me. I found out why you’re here.”
My mouth went dry. For some reason, I didn’t want people to know I was doing community service. It was some kind of warped vanity. I said nothing.
Her next words came too quickly. “You aren’t the only one with secrets. This is community service for you. You’re just trying to get your time in.”
Figured out. I raised an eyebrow. “Okay, so what if that’s true? I’m here. Mary is a strong student. I’m good with the books. I always was. She needs some one-on-one.”
“I’ll give her the one-on-one. I don’t need anyone else in her life that’s going to leave her.”
So that was it. Not that she hated me or even thought I’d done anything wrong, save for insult the memory of her dead husband. It was the fact that I would disappear too. I nodded. I understood. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think of it that way.”
“Right,” she huffed. “So, if you don’t mind.” She stepped back into the room.
I turned to walk, and then I heard the door creak as it closed on my opportunity to right my wrongs. I turned back and called her name. She stuck her head out of a small opening she’d made. I hesitated for a moment. Good idea or bad idea? I wasn’t sure, but then I figured I had nothing to lose by asking. “Can I take your family out tomorrow?”
She rolled her eyes. “What did I just say?”
“I know, but I owe you for what I said about Kris.”
She stepped out the door again. She was so bothered. I feared Darlene was going to go into labor if she kept talking to me. “What do you mean out?”
“Dave and Buster’s. We could have pizza and the girls could play games. It would give them a Saturday out of here.”
Darlene’s eyes cut away from me and back. I could tell she was tempted.
I pushed. “Of course, it would be my treat. I mean you’d have to put up with me, but the kids would have fun.”
Again, Darlene peeked back into the room at the girls and turned to me. She didn’t look me in the eye. I suspect she was trying to hate me, but was having trouble with it. She bit her lip. “My kids deserve some fun.”
“Then let me do this. I’ve hurt you. I owe you.”
I wasn’t sure she would agree to it, but right before I pegged her as the stubbornest creature on the earth, she nodded.
“I’ll pick you up at noon in the parking lot.”
She nodded again and more tears filled her eyes. She said “thank you” before she closed the door, but I barely heard it. The frog in her throat was so big that it blocked the sound, but I felt the intensity of her gratitude.