12. Nothing To Give
NOTHING TO GIVE
FAITH
“ F aith?”
My heart sinks when I see a woman in a sheriff’s uniform. She is framed by sunlight like an avenging angel in a leather jacket and mirrored sunglasses.
She finds me in the back of Nectar, carrying two bags of garbage.
I’m now working two shifts, one in the morning and one in the evening, because Nectar needs a lot of work. The place is huge and it has way too many nooks and crannies.
I talked to Ricky and he agreed. In fact, he was grateful.
Now, my shift is from two to four when the club is closed between lunch and dinner. I take a break, and am back from eight to closing, which is around four in the morning.
This means that I’m getting enough sleep every day; and I have time to take care of things like doing laundry, which I do in the motel. The washer and dryer use quarters and make a racket, but they do the job.
I have time to go to the supermarket nearby and buy essentials.
I have time to walk by Let’s Read, a bookstore, and check out books on display. I even bought a Marlon James book, A Brief History of Seven Killings, because it was on sale.
I don’t have the courage to go to the library—too many painful memories attached.
The policewoman waits until I finish dragging a garbage bag to the dumpster before she speaks.
She holds out a hand. “Sheriff Lorraine Zada.”
I look at my hands and brush them down my jeans in an effort to clean them. She doesn’t seem to care I was just handling trash; she doesn’t retract her hand. I shake it.
She takes off her sunglasses. Her eyes are swarming with pity for me.
That hurts more than if she’d come at me with a baton.
“Can we sit somewhere?” she requests.
I lick my lips. It’s early December and it’s cold, but now I have my coat so I’m doing better when outside, but I don’t have it on now.
I don’t want to take her into Nectar.
First, it’s a strip club, and Ricky might get pissed off that I’m bringing in law enforcement. Second, it’s my place of work.
I lead her to the motel instead, thinking we can talk in my room.
It’s a simple space.
One full-size bed, one plastic chair, one trash can, one closet, one bathroom.
She sits on the chair and I on the bed. I leave the door slightly ajar. I have no idea why I do that.
Am I attempting to protect myself from a cop in the shadiest part of Silverton by leaving the freaking door open?
“You wanted to talk?” I prompt.
She smiles. I feel that this woman doesn’t do that often because she’s not comfortable with it.
“I wanted to tell you in person. You’re cleared. There’s no evidence against you.”
That’s good news, right? Then why do I feel nothing?
“Okay.”
She regards me thoughtfully. “I’m sorry that you were inconvenienced. It sucks…but, these things happen.”
“Okay,” I repeat. Since this was my first arrest, I’m not sure how these things happen. “Ah…so, I don’t have to stay in Silverton any longer?”
Her eyes glimmer with anger. “Who said that you had to stay here?”
I shrug. “Some deputy sheriff when I was being released from jail.”
“Do you remember his name?”
I shake my head. It’s the truth, I can’t remember much of those days, hell I can’t remember much of yesterday.
I work long hours and I’m mostly tired. I’m still not completely well since I didn’t rest when I was sick, so even now I have bouts of coughing and a headache. But now I can afford over the counter painkillers, so I’m able to work.
“How are you doin’, Faith?” she asks conversationally, like we know one another. We don’t.
“Okay?”
She huffs out a laugh. “You don’t know?”
I gave a slow, careless shrug. “I can’t feel much of anything these days.”
Her expression turns sympathetic. “I can only imagine. I…checked in on what happened to you in Seattle.”
This penetrates the solid fog I’m always in. One I joke to myself is made of Lysol and Pine-Sol, a delectable combination.
“I know what Jamie Da Silva did to you,” she continues. “I spoke to some cops there and talked to the EMTs who brought you in that night.”
The night I almost died.
The irony of it is that Cain not believing in me hurt more. I knew Jamie was a piece of shit. But Cain made me feel like I was the piece of shit.
“You didn’t deserve what happened to you. I’m so sorry you had to go through that, Faith.”
I feel nothing. Or maybe everything all at once, sealed behind a wall I built brick by brick in that freezing jail cell, and before that in an emergency room, and before that in a foster home, and before that…
“Ah…is there more?” I get up. “I have to get back to work. My boss will…ah…wonder.”
Ricky won’t wonder or give a shit. He trusts me now. These past weeks I’ve been working for him, he says have been the cleanest Nectar has been and he’s made me promise that I won’t leave before I train a successor.
The Sheriff rises as well. “Do you need any help?”
This surprises me. “Huh?”
She smiles sadly. “Can I help you in any way?”
I frown and give a slight shake of my head.
I feel like I have all the help I need, the help I’m allowing myself to accept, to be grateful for.
Georgia, Ricky, Onyx, who works the bar, and Misty one of the strippers, help me by treating me with respect. Well, Ricky tries but he’s gonna always look at a woman’s tits before he’ll see her face. That’s who he is.
“Faith, don’t take this the wrong way, but you don’t look well.”
You should’ve seen me a few weeks ago. Death warmed over looked better than me.
“I’m getting over a cold.”
She steps closer. “Don’t you want to know who stole the money?”
I raised a shoulder in response. “Uh…does it matter?”
“Someone framed you, Faith,” she reveals gently.
“Sheriff, I…don’t know what you want from me.” I’m feeling tired again. It happens a lot lately when I talk to people. I prefer to be alone. I prefer to not use my voice.
She hesitates, then says, “Georgia mentioned you want to leave Silverton. If you want, I can give you some money. To help you get there. You shouldn’t be stuck here.”
My eyes snap to hers.
“No, thank you,” I say. “I can take care of myself. And…honestly, not sure why you’re offering. Are you testing me?”
That must be it. She’s doing all this to trap me somehow.
She looks horrified. “I’m not, Faith. This is a genuine offer of help.”
Oh, yeah, I’ve never heard that before!
“I’m fine. Thank you.” I use my prim voice, the one I use instead of saying fuck you .
Her face falls, just a little. She nods, like she understands. “Trust is luxury, isn’t it, Faith?”
Air stalls in my throat at her words. “Yes,” I reply softly, once I get my bearings. “It’s an expensive commodity. And I’m flat broke.”