Page 34 of On the Rocks
Her embrace back to me is soft yet genuine. The cool exterior from earlier disarming a bit. “Good. I hope you figure out what it means to you.”
"Me too."
The snap of latex cracks in the small space from her pulling off her gloves. Cleaning up her tray of tools. But she doesn't look at me. "Do you think maybe you should go to the police or something?"
I don't know what I don't know. Maybe I'm wanted. Maybe I'll end up in jail. "I'm too scared to take the chance."
A half-hearted shrug that I take to mean she doesn't agree. "Well, if you need help, I'm always here."
"Thank you."
I trudge back to my hiding place. A much better trek in sneakers than sandals. For my feet anyway. My conscience isn't as agreeable. Well aware how wrong it is to stay there again. One more night, and I’ll go to a hotel. Figure out how to get a job without any identification or phone number or address. How to start a new life from nothing.
No one glances my way as I enter, and I walk straight to one of the available computers. Just another patron accessing the free internet. Searching the local career sites. Trying not to get daunted by the requirements for skills. Degrees. References.
My spirits raise for an ad touting sandwich board walkers. Pays cash. Ten dollars an hour. No experience required. Perfect.
Murmurs of uncertainty bubble around me from the other visitors. Two sheriffs deep in conversation with a woman whose name tag readsMrs. Fontaine. Heat flames through me when she points in my direction. The fire explodes to an inferno when they stride toward me.
The short one with a buzz cut steps closest. “What’s your name, miss?”
Same question as before. Same answer as always. “I don’t know.”
His head tilts, and he exchanges glances with his partner. Skeptical. Thinks I’m running some kind of game on him.
“I’m going to need to see your ID.”
“I don’t have any.”
“We received a report of a woman spending the night in the library last night matching your description." Stubby fingers brush over his smooth head. "Well, the new version of you after your long hair was found in the trashcan."
I keep my hands in my lap. Resisting the urge to stroke my own bare neck. Fighting the urge to weep with all the other customers witnessing my shame.
A nod from the other officer. His messy bangs flopping over his forehead. "You know trespassing, criminal mischief, and theft are serious offenses."
"I didn't hurt anything." No sense denying my crimes. At least I can make amends. I gesture to my backpack. "I bought food to replace what I ate."
"Can I look inside?"
Not sure if I really have any choice, so I nod. "Yes."
He rifles through my meager belongings. Lifting out the pint of milk and a pink bra before stuffing them back inside. Unbuckles the front pocket and slides out my remaining money. My stomach churns from him clutching my only hope.
"Where'd you get the cash?"
"I found it in my dress pocket. I don't know where it came from."
Taller deputy squats down. Studying my battered face. His gaze drifting over my ravished arm. "Did someone hurt you?"
The sympathy in his voice sounds sincere. They've both been direct but not unkind. Maybe Monica is right. Maybe I should trust them. "Yes."
"Okay. Then I think it's time for us to get you some help."
Uncertain whathelpactually means, my heart pounds harder. "Am I going to jail?"
He gives me an encouraging smile. "No we're going to take you to the hospital. Get you checked out and see what they can do for you."
"Okay."
