The Weight of Shadows (7 page)

“Adam—the guy Rick works with? Why would he be concerned?”

“I don’t know. He mentioned something about Rick’s last girlfriend, and how things got pretty crazy at the end, or something like that.”

Kim huffed. “His ex was a drama queen.”

“You met her?”

“No, Rick told me about her and their relationship. She dumped him.”

Corrie nodded. “Ah.”

This conversation was not going at all like she’d hoped it would. “I don’t think Rick and Adam are very close friends. I wouldn’t trust his view of things.” She stood a little straighter. “Besides, Rick and I have a lot more in common than he did with his old girlfriend. We understand each other a lot better.”

Corrie seemed to consider this, then shrugged. “Well, good luck then. Why don’t you give me rent for next month and we’ll call it even.”

“Sounds fair. Thanks for letting me out of the lease early.”

“No problem. When do you think you’ll move?”

“Probably Sunday, since the salon is closed.”

“Okay. Hand me that towel, would you?” Kim pulled the towel from the drawer’s handle and held it out to Corrie, who frowned as she looked at Kim’s arm. “There’s something on your sleeve. A stain or something.” She leaned over and pointed to the long white sleeve where a small dark red spot had formed.

Kim gasped, covering the spot with her hand. “I had a—a bandage on, it must have come off.” Trying not to look panicked, she pushed away from the counter and headed for her room.

“What did you do?” Corrie called. “That’s a weird place to get hurt.”

Kim pulled up her sleeve in the safety of her room. “Yeah, it was…at work today. Collided with the receptionist. She had a—a box cutter, after opening a shipment of product.” The lie coalesced from her racing thoughts and she tried to pass her demeanor off as irritated rather than alarmed. She muttered—loudly, so Corrie would hear her—about hoping she hadn’t ruined her work shirt, then shut the door and stripped off the shirt to examine the wound where she’d cut herself an hour earlier.

The bandage hadn’t come off—it was just too small. Blood had oozed from beyond the gauze. She grabbed another bandage from the box she’d bought and put it in place of the first, though it didn’t appear to be bleeding anymore.

More guilt and shame compounded the guilt and shame she lived with all the time. What if Corrie had caught her? What if it had been Rick who had seen it? But she knew she couldn’t stop. Not yet. For now, the relief she gained from each slice outweighed the risks.

She just had to be more careful.

SEVEN

Joshua stepped into the kitchen just in time to hear the phone ring. It was his realtor, Scott, with news of an offer on the house. Joshua knew he had to jump on the opportunity but wasn’t ready to pack up and leave the house so soon. He hadn’t found another place for he and Maddie to live yet, and with temp positions as his only income now, he was loathe to take time from his job hunting to start house hunting.

After hanging up with Scott, Joshua logged into the websites where he’d posted his resume and searched for half an hour for new job postings, but as usual there was nothing.

I don’t remember praying for patience or faith, Lord. What’s up?

The classifieds from Sunday’s paper were still on the corner of his desk, so he read through them again, this time allowing himself to consider anything that made more than minimum wage and didn’t sound like something college kids did on their summer vacations.
It doesn’t even have to be a new career. Just a job that will pay the bills. C’mon, God, throw me a rope, here.
But even as he scanned the listings he knew there weren’t any for him there.

The temp jobs weren’t coming as often as he needed. He couldn’t afford many more days like this—days spent at home, staring at the computer, begging God to put his resume in front of the right person. He was doing everything he could, but with unemployment so high, he knew the only way he’d find a job was by God making the connection.

“This is nuts.” He stood, running his hands through his hair and staring out the window. He had an hour before he needed to pick up Maddie. As much as it hurt his pride, it was time to start going after any full-time job that would get him a paycheck. Who cared if it was minimum wage? A little money was better than none.

He opened the classifieds once more and started at the top. He skipped the first three ads, which asked for experience in their field, then called the next six. Each one ended the same way—“Thanks, but you’re overqualified.” He didn’t care if their jobs were “beneath” him—but they did.

He called a few more before leaving to pick up Maddie but only got more of the same. When he arrived at the preschool, a woman he’d never seen before was waiting near the front door, talking on her cell phone. He didn’t recognize her as one of the usual moms, and he couldn’t help overhearing her phone conversation.

“But I’m leaving Wednesday for New York. I can’t do it! Are you
sure
none of the others could be trained for it? Not even Tammy?…Alright, well, post an ad, then.”

Joshua was dying to break in and ask what kind of ad they were going to post, but gave the woman a brief smile instead and passed her to enter the building.

He was tying Maddie’s shoes when the woman appeared be hind him. One of the girls came running from the dress-up corner, shouting, “Aunt Lori! Where’s Mom?”

“Hey kiddo! She got stuck in traffic coming back from Detroit and asked me to come get you. Go get your things and I’ll talk to your teacher.”

“Who is that?” Maddie asked the girl.

“She’s my aunt. She owns a store that makes sandwiches that are
so good
. I go there sometimes with my mom and we get to eat for free!” The girls ran off together to their cubbies to retrieve their backpacks, and Joshua felt a prick of hope. A sandwich shop? He could do that.

When the woman came back to the door, Joshua smiled at her. “Your niece says you own a sandwich place?”

“Oh, yes—Zelman’s Deli on Detroit Avenue.”

“Really! I’ve eaten there before, and your niece is right, that was a good sandwich.”

She laughed. “Well thank you.”

“I couldn’t help but hear you on the phone when I came in—it sounds like you’ve lost an employee?”

She sighed. “Yeah—one of our managers quit without giving us any notice. Usually I’d just step in, but I’m going out of town for two weeks, and my business partner is already covering for another employee that just had surgery. It’s been messy. The joys of owning your own business, right?”

An idea began to form in Joshua’s mind.
But she’ll think I’m a lunatic.
He waffled as she gathered her niece and ushered her out the door, praying for guidance.
What have I got to lose?

Joshua pulled Maddie down the hall to the door, and caught Lori as she was settling her niece into the car. “I’ve got an idea for you. This is probably going to sound bizarre, but I’m going to take a chance here, just hear me out.” He took a deep breath. “I just lost my job, I’ve been looking for weeks for another one, and not only do I like sandwiches, but I’m pretty good at making them. And I’m a very, very quick learner. Oh—and I have managed a café before, though it’s been ten years, but I’m at least somewhat familiar with the position. You sound swamped and short on time to find someone, so if nothing else I can fill the position until you’re able to find someone else.”

She stared at him open-mouthed, then laughed. “Well, um…” She studied him for a moment, eyes narrowed. “Do you have a resume? References? Just so I can check up on you, make sure you’re not crazy?” She grinned.

Just being taken seriously made him want to hug her. “Yes, I do—tell me where to email it and you’ll have it in half an hour.”

She nodded, then dug a business card out of her wallet. “Send it along, and then why don’t you stop over in the morning. Say, around nine?”

He held out his hand and they shook on it. “I’ll be there.”

D
EBBIE NEEDED A SHOULDER TO CRY ON.

It was one of those days when she was
this close
to throwing in the towel. From the minute she’d stepped through the door she’d had nothing but stress and bad news. It was only noon on Wednesday, but she felt like it was five o’clock on a Friday at the end of a really awful week.

It had started with the ledger she’d found on her desk when she’d arrived that morning. She’d placed an ad in the paper the day after Harold told her he’d be leaving, confident the position would be filled before the retired volunteer actually left. But the ad was still being run, Harold was officially gone, and the ledger was there, taunting both her math phobia and her faith. Three open positions now—how long could they operate like this?

Seeing the giant black book on top of her already cluttered desk had sent her into a frenzy. She’d scrapped her morning plans and hauled out the folder of resumes she’d been meaning to go through. She had previously organized them into job categories, but sadly there weren’t many in the accountant pile. She called them all—but they’d all balked at either the background check required by the shelter or the lack of benefits that came with the position. Not to be deterred, she swallowed back her mistrust of online job sites and tried to browse resumes on the first site that came into her head. But when she saw the price of membership required to look at job seekers, she groaned and promptly closed the browser window. If she’d had any idea what column to look at inside the ledger, she might be able to justify the expense, but deciphering their finances was like trying to read morse code without a key.

She continued to stare blankly at the stack of resumes until a knock came softly on her door. Shawnee poked her head in with a look of concern. “There’s someone here to see you. Maria Guerrero—ring a bell? She said her sister Marisol had stayed here about six months ago?”

Debbie thought for a second, then nodded. “I remember her.” Frowning, she stood and followed Shawnee to reception. Her gut told her she already knew why Maria was here. She wasn’t the first family member to come to Debbie for an intervention, and it always strained Debbie’s ability to keep a professional distance when it happened. It was hard knowing that a woman who was so close to physical and emotional freedom had walked right back into abuse.

Maria told the story Debbie had expected to hear. Marisol had fallen for the sweet talk, the promises, the blatant lies that were the hallmark of the manipulative abuser. The honeymoon period that ensued led her to believe he had truly changed. But as soon as she let her guard down, life returned to the horror that was their normal.

“Last night it was worse than it has ever been,” Maria said as she twisted the tissue Debbie had given her. “
Agradezca a dios
, her neighbor heard Eduardo yelling and Marisol crying, and then not crying, and he called the police. Eduardo, he ran away before they came, and now she is in the hospital.” Her tears ran unchecked. “She was happy here. I know she will listen to you. Please, will you talk to her?”

“Where is she now, Maria?”

Maria’s eyes brightened at the question. “University Hospital. Room 412.”

“Give me ten minutes and we’ll go together, okay?”

Maria clasped her hands and let out a burst of enthusiastic Spanish. “Oh
gracias
, Ms. Truman!
Si, si,
I will wait here for you.”

Debbie left Maria and went back to her office to get her purse, then tracked down Shawnee. “Pray for me,” she said to her as she handed her the to-do list she hadn’t gotten to. “And for Marisol. I’ll have my cell but you know how they are about cell phones in hospitals. I’ll put it on vibrate, and if I don’t answer I’ll check voicemail ASAP.”

Her last stop was Stacia’s room. Her sister’s look-alike sat on her bed, folding clothes. “Hey Stacia, how’s the packing going?”

Stacia flashed a rueful smile. “Oh, is that what I’m supposed to be doing?”

“Nervous?”

“Um, yeah.”

Debbie sat beside her. “That’s understandable. It can be tough leaving a place where you feel safe, even when you’re equipped with new skills you didn’t have before.”

“I keep telling myself I’m not the same person I was before I came here. I’ve learned so much—but I guess I’m just worried the new me isn’t going to be any stronger than the old me was.” She bowed her head, concentrating on the T-shirt in her hands, but Debbie knew there were tears threatening to spill.

“Listen, I need to go out for a bit, but when I get back you and I can debrief a bit if you want, go over your plan of attack, pray together—whatever you need, okay?”

Stacia swiped at her cheek with the T-shirt. “Thanks Debbie.”

“No problem. See you in a bit.”

Debbie said a prayer for her as she walked back to the green room, knowing Stacia would be one of those women Debbie would not be able to stop thinking about, worrying about, praying about. She ached for all the women that came through the shelter, but some of them got to her more than others, their stories or personalities seared into her memory like a brand. She felt good about Stacia’s progress, despite the reservations the young woman had. She doubted a sister or mother or friend would be coming to the shelter in a few months’ time, asking for an intervention as Maria had. Her thoughts turned back to Marisol as Debbie reached the green room, where Maria was murmuring in Spanish, eyes closed as she fingered a rosary of amber beads. Debbie gently knocked on the door frame to announce herself. “I’m ready when you are, Maria.”

“Ah,
gracias
.” She stood from her chair and kissed her rosary before slipping it into a black velvet bag and tucking it into her purse. Debbie watched the motions with a twinge of jealousy. Sometimes she wished her Protestantism provided her with something like a rosary for days like today, when she felt like her faith was slipping through her hands and she was just so tired. Maybe being able to hold onto something, to weave her fingers through the string of beads and clutch them like a lifeline, would help her feel more grounded in her faith.

As Debbie and Maria approached Marisol’s room at the hospital, they heard voices arguing in rapid-fire Spanish. Debbie got a gnawing feeling in the pit of her stomach, and Maria confirmed her fears when she hissed, “Eduardo.” Debbie ran to the nurses’ station, jabbing a finger towards Marisol’s room. “That’s Marisol’s abuser in there. Call security, and the police.”

Debbie remained outside while the shouting continued, now with Maria’s contribution ringing through the halls. Debbie didn’t understand a word, but she was confident she knew the gist of the conversation. Threats sound threatening in any language.

A nurse and a security guard soon appeared and led a steaming but compliant Eduardo out the door. Debbie dragged a chair beside the bed and was finally able to get a good look at Marisol, who was weeping quietly, eyes squeezed shut. A large bandage was taped above her eyes. Bruises mottled her face, and two on her throat made Debbie particularly sick. Her right arm was in a cast. Debbie didn’t want to imagine what other injuries were hidden beneath her hospital sheet.

“Marisol? It’s Debbie Truman, from Safe in His Arms Shelter. Do you remember me?”

Marisol’s eyes flew open. She gasped, then began to cry even more as she reached out with her uninjured hand to grasp Debbie’s sleeve. She took the tissue Debbie offered her, and dabbing her eyes, she spoke. “Maria told you what happened?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“She’s hoping I can convince you to leave Eduardo.”

Marisol closed her eyes and sighed. “Oh Debbie. I wanted to. I tried to! But…”

Debbie waited for an explanation that never came. “But what, Marisol? He nearly killed you. I can see the bruises from him choking you. What’s keeping you with him?”

She began again to weep, and Debbie sat back in her seat, intent on not letting her frustration show.
Show me what to do, God. Tell me what to say.

They sat in silence for a few minutes before Debbie’s phone shimmied in her pocket. She slipped it out and saw the number of the shelter on the display. “Marisol, I need to check my voicemail. I’ll be right back.”

“That is okay, Debbie. You do not need to come back up.
Gracias
for coming to see me. You are an angel.”

“You’re sure you don’t want to talk some more?”

“Si
, I am sure.”

Debbie nodded. “Okay then. I’ll be praying for you, Marisol. You’re welcome to come back to the shelter if you need to.”

“Gracias
.”

There was nothing else for her to say or do. It was not Debbie’s battle to fight, but the look on Maria’s face gave Debbie some hope. She stood and gave the woman a ginger hug, then left.