Page 18 of Salvation

My office, a tiny storage area, a small bathroom, and the lobby are up in the front and there’s a large set of double doors behind my office that is locked with a keypad. The shelter is actually back there. We have a kitchen, an activities room, a bathroom with individual shower stalls, a dining room, a work room, a supply room/pantry, a day care, bunk rooms, and a storage room. It’s not huge, but it works. We can house twenty women, twelve children, and ten babies in here comfortably.

The “lobby” is where everyone has to enter through. We do have paperwork that needs to be filled out and we don’t allow drugs or alcohol on the premises. The screening process is thorough, but we are here to help women and children in any way we can. Some people stay here overnight, some come for a few hours when they need to feel safe, some come here when they want to leave an abusive relationship and our counselors help them through the process. We can offer them help getting employment, teaching small skills, finding housing, or providing them with a safe place to sleep or eat.

It’s a short-term solution and we don’t typically allow anyone to stay over thirty days, but we also don’t just turn people out onto the street if they still genuinely need help.

In the four years since I’ve taken over the shelter, donations have quadrupled, and it’s meticulously run. I run a tight ship so to speak.

I take my job seriously and I do everything I can to help those I’m able. I’ve also implemented anger management classes for the men in the neighborhood who want to partake in them. One of the local churches, where my dad runs the outreach program, does bi-weekly meetings in the lobby to help the men who need help getting a handle on their anger.

It’s helped and many people in this neighborhood respect me and will offer help to me, and the shelter, when we need it.

That blanket shipment needs to get to the back though and I have no idea where the hell it is. The lobby is quiet, and I see no sign of Maia. I hired her on a couple of months ago to help me part-time as my secretary. She mainly files paperwork and answers the phone. When needed, she helps me with checking in and logging inventory. She also has a bunk in the back. She’s a beautiful girl who’s had a run of bad luck with men. First her father abused her by beating on her in drunken rages as a child. Then, at fourteen, she started dating a twenty-four-year-old gang banger who swore he loved her and would protect her. That lasted a few months and then he started abusing her, too. She got pregnant and the abuse stopped only until she gave birth. Now, she’s nineteen and a single mother to a four-year-old. She found her way through the doors off and on until she finally left her abuser after being beat so badly, he almost killed her. He left her bruised and broken body in the middle of the floor of their home while she basically choked on her own blood in front of her terrified son. Thank God her sister came over and found her when she did. That was a few months back. Her son is in the daycare in the back while she works part-time in the office, and she lives here. She’s an exception to the rule.

She’s a hard worker but is very jumpy around men. Not that I blame her.

Where the hell did she get off to?

I didn’t hear the bell on the door go off, so I don’t think she went outside.

The fact that she’s not at her desk and didn’t tell me she was stepping out has my nerves on high alert. Quickly rounding the desk, I look out the door, calling out, “Maia? Maia, are you in here?”

No answer.

Oh my God… her ex is in jail. I know he is, so what the hell? Did something happen to her, and I missed it?

Where is that girl?

Crossing the room hurriedly, I push the lock bar harshly, flinging the door open. The hot air slaps me in the face and the buzzer goes off. It works, so she didn’t come out here. Just to be sure, I rake my gaze first left, then right, scanning the street for a glimpse of her. A few of the local teenage boys see me as they wash a car in the driveway across the street. One waves and calls out, “Everything okay, Miss Hope?”

Nodding, I call back, “Everything is fine, Anthony. I just misplaced something.”

He jogs to the edge of his yard and yells, “I can come help you look if you need me to.”

Shaking my head, I smile at him and try to calm down. “No, it’s okay. But thank you, Anthony.”

With a nod, he turns, heading back to his task. As he reaches the car, he looks up, “You ever need help with anything, Miss Hope, anything at all, you just let me know. You helped my sister and I really appreciate that.”

Smiling once more at him, I wave. “Thank you, Anthony. I’ll certainly let you know.”

He smiles again and I duck back into the building with a final wave. Heading over to the desk, I reach down and hit the button that locks the door. It’s much like a lock on a bank door. We have to buzz people in, and it helps to keep us, and the women and children here, safe.

During daylight hours, we usually use it anyway to make certain trouble doesn’t come in the doors, but for instances like now, when I need to leave the front, it’s vastly helpful to know that no one can get in at all.

Once it clicks to let me know it’s locked, I press the button turning on the intercom in the back. I can hear it now if someone comes to the door. Sighing, I hurry to the back of the building, past my office. As I reach the keypad, I punch in the code. The door clicks to unlock, and I turn the handle to open it, and step through. I can immediately hear the sounds of the playing children and the chatter of voices. Something great smelling also floats down the pathway. As I reach the kitchen, I pop my head in. The girls look up from their cooking. One of the rules of staying here is you have to help prep, cook, clean-up, and keep up the shelter. Everyone is placed on a rotation, so they know who is helping where on what day.

Sniffing the air, I ask, “Beef stew?”

They nod. “Yes, Ma’am. Do you want a bowl, Miss Hope?”

I nod and say, “I would love one, thank you… Hey, have you see Maia? She’s not up front and she didn’t mention that she was popping back here.”

One of the girls’ nods. “Yes, she just grabbed a bowl of stew and went to check on Michele.”

Ah, she’s checking on Michele, her son, okay.

Nodding at them, I say I’ll be right back and that I’ll grab my stew on my way back up.

They nod and start chattering amongst themselves again and I head to the daycare room. When I get there, I look through the windows that open to the hall. Maia is sitting at one of the tiny tables with her son. She’s eating and he’s chewing on a sandwich. He says something, and she throws her head back and laughs before grabbing him and hugging him to her. She kisses the top of his downy dark brown curls.

---