Total pages in book: 187
Estimated words: 174623 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 873(@200wpm)___ 698(@250wpm)___ 582(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 174623 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 873(@200wpm)___ 698(@250wpm)___ 582(@300wpm)
The alternate route takes me twice as long to get there, but eventually I pull into the parking lot, making sure to look around and get a better understanding of my surroundings.
These places are never in the best neighborhoods, but that makes sense. People who need the items from the clothing closet aren't exactly swimming in money. The alternate reason, that many people don't realize, is that people in nice neighborhoods don't want those who need these things so close to home. It's the same with women's shelters, homeless shelters, and any facility offering help to those down on their luck.
The shop seems mostly empty, unsurprising in the middle of a workday, and that can make this interaction go in different directions. The employee inside might be chatty and pay too much attention to me, or they might just as easily be annoyed that someone interrupted their downtime.
I climb out of my car, making sure to lock it before heading into the store.
I don't immediately approach the front counter, instead opting to head to the household items. The apartment came furnished with a small couch, TV stand, and recliner in the living room, limited kitchen items, and a queen bed with a small bedside table. It doesn't have curtains, and I know I'd never be able to sleep soundly if I didn't have that extra layer of protection over the windows, not that I ever sleep soundly.
I find several curtains, unconcerned that they don't match, because no one will ever be in my apartment other than me.
"Finding everything okay?" a woman asks.
I'm not startled by her approach, but I jump and dart my eyes all around anyway.
I hate acting like this, but I've found that the more in need you seem, the more willing people are to help in places like this.
"I have these," I say, holding the armful of curtains out.
"Those are all pink sticker items," she says with a soft smile, her eyes roaming over me as if she's looking for injuries. "Half price today."
I nod, letting my eyes look around the store once again.
"Need anything else?" she asks.
I shake my head, following her when she heads to the register.
"Are you sure this is all you need?" she asks after ringing me up and telling me the total.
"Yes," I whisper.
"If you need more help," she says.
I glance up from the handful of dollar bills in my hand and lock eyes with her.
"Is there a..." I begin, looking around once more before continuing, "a women's shelter nearby?"
She gives me a weak smile as if I had just confirmed some preconceived notion she had about me.
"Not one close here, but there are a few scattered around town," she says, pulling a small book and pen out from under the counter. "I'm going to give you Victoria Erwin's number. If there's a bed available anywhere in town, she'll know."
"Thank you," I tell her, offering her my money.
"Don't worry about that," she says. "Here you go."
I take the slip of paper and drop my dollar bills into the donation jar on the counter.
It's bad enough that I'm acting like a recent victim of some sort of domestic abuse to get this information. I'd sleep worse at night knowing I got free items out of it as well.
"Thank you," I say when she hands me the bagged curtains.
"If you need anything else, just swing on by," she says, her smile small and full of pity.
I leave the store with that feeling of regret swimming around inside me.
I've tried going to places and asking outright where a women's shelter is, but there's a lot of anonymity surrounding those places. People are suspicious of people just walking in and asking. After working in the first shelter, I found it appalling to discover that men would manipulate women into going into those types of help centers in an attempt to find their escaped partners. They're cautious because they have to be.
I wait until I leave the parking lot and find a small park before using the number I've been given, all the while trying to convince myself that the employee didn't call this Victoria woman to give her a heads-up about a woman in need of help. People who abuse these types of situations are also frowned upon in the victim community.
With shaking hands because this never gets easier, I dial the number, making sure it matches exactly the number provided before hitting the button to connect the call.
"Victoria," the woman says after the third ring.
"Hi, Victoria. My name is Juliet Mercer. I'm new to town, and I was hoping you were hiring at one of the women's shelters in town."
Silence fills the line for a beat, and I’m tempted to end the call, but necessity keeps me on the line.
"Is this a cell phone?" she asks when she finally speaks.