Page 51 of Rules of Association

Chapter Twelve

CECI

“Selena!”

I didn’t even bat an eyelash at the use of that name anymore. It was the name I had given to the shelter as an alias years ago. Now it was like Selena was actually Ceci.

“Oh thank God you’re here. We need your help!” This was Christine, the on-site director here at Seaside Waterways Woman Shelter. She was an amazing social worker, and I swear she kept this place going with every atom that she was made up with. But God, she was loud.

“Why, what happened?” I asked.

Walking into the front of the shelter, I dropped my jacket behind the seafoam green check-in desk that paralleled the front of the entryway. I always kept my bag and wallet in my car when I came here and tied my hair up in a bun or braid. While I trusted most of the women here, the honest truth was, not all humans—especially humans who were as desperate and afraid as a lot of the women in this shelter—reacted the same way to stress. Being a part of someone’s recovery in any capacity made you a part of their healing journey. It was best to leave my credit cards and hair out of that journey.

“We have a new Temporary. She was displaced with her daughter in the middle of the night. Domestic disturbance case. Apparently she was fine overnight, because she takes sleeping pills for the arthritis, but since she woke up this morning she’s been inconsolable and wants her daughter I think she’s saying, but her daughter is in the hospitalandwe haven’t heard word back so we don’t know what to sayandshe won’t eat anythingandwe think she’s on diabetes medication but we can’t tell which ones or if there’s insulinandwe’re afraid she’s going to pass outand—”

“Chris!” I turned and grabbed her shoulders, halting us both and looking straight into her eyes. “Shut up and tell me what you need.”

Winded from not taking a single goddamn breath, Christine took a shaggy inhale, her dark features looking like they needed more than one. “She only speaks Spanish!”

“Okay,” I said and continued toward the bunk rooms. “Lead with that next time.”

“ThankGodyou’re here!” She squeaked again as she followed at my heels.

“Where’s Nina?”

“She’s not in yet, you’re early, and thank—”

“—God. Yeah, I got it,” I finished for her.

Stopping at the door of the “A-Bunk” where older women were housed, I peeked in just past the door frame. Everything looked in order. The A-C bunks were all floor-bed rooms, meaning there were no bunked beds located here. Generally, they were reserved for elderly or women with disabilities. Every bed in the room was painted a different color from the rainbow and they tried to space out the rows enough to allow for just enough room for solitude and personal space.As much personal space as you could get living in a room with ten or more other women you didn’t know.

Having been coming to the shelter weekly for over a year, this room was familiar to me. But somehow the energy always seemed to change with the turn of the tide. The air was so transient here. Sometimes sad, sometimes hopeful, always heartbreaking in one way or another. I hated it in the sense that I knew there was always going to be a need for it. But if there was one thing I appreciated was action. Things happening. And something about this place forced things to never remain the same for long. Which meant I had to adapt with it if I was going to stay useful.

The air today was thick with melancholy. A quiet sense of despair coating the walls and making it tougher to breathe normally.

Toward the back of the room, sitting on a wire bed painted a bright blue, there was a little woman wrapped up in several blankets in what looked to be her night gown. My heart gave a pang as I watched her watching the window and from here I could hear her repeating a prayer in Spanish.

Leaning back out the room, I chewed my cheek and looked up at Christine. “What can I tell her?”

“Well, first we just need you to let her know where she is. What the date is. And who we are,” Christine started. “If she takes that well, then we can tell her the rest.”

I chewed even more. “And we can’t wait for Nina?”

Nina was the only bilingual social worker on staff. She spoke like seven different languages and was nicer than nice. In the back of my mind I wondered if Connor’s new girlfriend was anything like her. Nice, sweet, special.

Thankfully my bitter thoughts were interrupted by Christine almost as soon as they began. “Nin won’t be here for another three hours. Don’t worry, I’ll be telling you exactly what to say, you just get her attention first. Show her you understand.”

“Okay,” I said, aware that I probably sounded much more in control than I felt.

Even though I’d been coming around for quite some time, this kind of stuff didn’t happen often. Of course they knew I spoke Spanish because I had jumped in to help one time or another when they clearly needed it. But most of the time I showed my support for the women by showing my support for the staff.

I ran out and got supplies, hopped behind the desk sometimes, helped with clean up or flipping bunks when someone left and so on. I talked with the women, especially the women who I saw week after week. I played with the kids, or held babies when their moms needed to pee, but I almost never did anythingofficial. Truthfully, there had only been one other time and it went poorly.

Christine was looking at me like she could somehow read my mind. Leaning in, she gave my arm a squeeze. “Don’t think about before, think of now. It’ll be fine. C’mon.”

“Okay,” I said again and followed her into the rainbow room. I wished so badly that they had a bigger place. That there was room to move around, spread out. That so many women didn’t have to stay in one cramped area. But the truth of it all was, Seaside only had one shelter, so they fit as many women as they could in the little space they had.

Approaching the bed where the woman was seated, I watched Christine’s body language as she eased up to her and leaned down close, lowering her voice and speaking as if we were in a library. “Señora—”

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