Page 82 of Maxim

Amanda: @Nat meet you at 7 PM.

Me: I might be late, make it 8.

Amanda sends me a thumbs up and I shove my phone back in the drawer. Kinda surprised she wants to talk. It’s not like her to need advice. She’s usually got her shit together pretty well, with the possible exception of dating disasters, which are a regular occurrence. So this must be man-related.

I sigh. Hopefully, she hasn’t hooked up with the douchey lifeguard again.

Chapter fifty-eight

Nat

The women’s shelter is in an unassuming building down a side street. From the outside, it looks like any other old apartment building. The walls are covered in graffiti and the lower-level windows have bars across them.

This isn’t a great neighborhood. It’s rundown and deprived, despite the mayor’s promises to funnel more money into revitalization schemes that create jobs and better housing.

I’m not sure where the money has gone, but it sure as shit isn’t evident around here.

James hefts his camera bag and scans the area nervously. “If my car gets stolen, I’m blaming you,” he mutters.

“Unlikely, your car is a pile of shit,” I point out. He bristles but doesn’t disagree.

Just as I’m about to bang on the heavy, steel-plated door again, a camera fixed to the wall a couple of feet above swivels in our direction. Wow. The security is something else here.

I guess it makes sense given some of the women living here have probably escaped abusive relationships. A shiver runs down my spine at the thought of how close I came to being one of them.

If Max hadn’t…

The door opens and a tall woman with gray hair scraped back into a bun smiles at me. She’s dressed in a loose-fitting cotton dress and her hands are smeared with yellow paint.

“Come in! You must be Natalya. Grace warned me to expect you. I’m in the middle of decorating one of the bedrooms, but I’ll give you a guided tour. My name’s Jenny, by the way.”

She holds out her hand and I quickly shake it, hoping the yellow paint is dry.

“Is Grace not here?” I assumed that’s who I’d be meeting with, so to be told she’s out is a surprise. We walk inside and the door clicks shut behind us. Jenny engages the various locks before turning back to me.

“Sorry, no. She went to pick up a woman who called the emergency line. Last minute thing.”

“Oh, right.” I offer a small smile. While Grace is aware of why I’m here, I’m sure she’s briefed Jenny too. At least I hope so or this visit will be a tad awkward.

“Come. Let me show you what we have here.”

James and I follow Jenny like little sheep. The shelter is far more spacious inside than it appears from the outside. There’s a massive kitchen and dining area with stainless steel counters, huge catering appliances, and a mix of tables and bench seats.

Several women are busy preparing food while a few younger kids sit at the tables drawing and playing games. None of them look at James or me. It’s as if we don’t exist.

We pass a room with a television and gaming console that’s in use and go outside into an inner courtyard. The walls are covered in greenery and splashes of color, a mix of painted murals and actual plants. There are plastic chairs, stone benches, jute rugs on the floor with colorful cushions, and bright sail clothes that provide shelter from the sun.

“Wow!” My jaw drops in surprise. “It’s lovely out here. Like a mini oasis.” In the far corner, I spot some raised beds with neat rows of greenery.

“Vegetables?” James asks, pointing his camera and taking a few shots.

“Yes, we like to encourage the women to have a go at growing vegetables. It’s a useful skill as well as being therapeutic.”

Once we're back inside, Jenny leads us upstairs. “The bedrooms and bathrooms are up here. We’re very full so most people have to share a room.” At the far end of the corridor, there’s another communal room with mismatched sofas and floor cushions. A tall bookcase lines one wall and there’s a table with an old desktop computer and a monitor.

“There are controls on what the residents can access online,” Jenny says when she sees me looking at the computer. “Social media is blocked.”

“Why?” It seems a bit draconian to stop the women from accessing social media.”

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