4
Amara
A fter I saw my first bruise heal, I started to go outside.
The battered women’s shelter’s address wasn’t posted anywhere; only residents and workers knew where it was. I was safe here for once in several years.
I was still tightly coiled around survival mode, so I couldn’t relax just yet. I needed to heal and start planning for the near future. I was newly separated, homeless, and jobless. What should I do next?
I opened my phone, scrolling through the dozens of missed calls from Mark. I knew it was time for me to change my phone number. I didn’t want him to be able to reach me again.
I dialed my phone company’s phone number, putting in a request to change my phone number due to harassment. Luckily, this was done for free. The agent checked my call log and saw that indeed, I was being harassed, and he granted me a phone number change. I restarted my phone, and I felt a huge sense of relief.
Just for good measure, I blocked his number, too.
A knock sounded on the door to my room. “Come in,” I called out.
A woman entered, and I noticed it was the social worker assigned to me here. “Hey Amara, how are you feeling today?”
I sighed. “I’m sorry, I totally forgot we had an appointment today. I overslept and—”
The social worker waved her hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about that. I’m here now.”
I smiled awkwardly as I smoothed out my jeans, a second-hand pair given to me when I came in. I never liked jeans, but they were in my size. My birth control shot just made me bloated.
“Okay,” I muttered, shifting on my unmade bed as I sat down.
“Let’s go over your reintegration plan,” she began, opening a binder. “I see you were a lawyer before you became a housewife?”
“Yes,” I replied.
“Good, it should be easy to get a job then. Would any former employer hire you back?”
I cringed. “That’s the first place Mark would look. I’d rather find employment somewhere else.”
“Could you go back home to your family?” the social worker questioned, skimming over my file.
I sighed. “No, I don’t have a way to get there, and my family and I haven’t spoken in years due to Mark isolating me.”
“Okay, let’s get you a job somewhere nearby then, for the time being. You can get your divorce finalized, save some money, then move away if you want to,” the social worker beamed.
“That works,” I shrugged. “I’d like to save up enough for my own place once I start working.”
She nodded, flipping through my file. “Would your former employers give you good references?”
“I don’t see why not. I left on good terms,” I began. “Though I only have one former employer.”
“Okay. We’ll work on your resume together. I brought my laptop, so we can start it now, then browse some job websites and apply online. Sound good?”
“Yeah.”
She smiled and scooted over, and I sat beside her on the couch. She placed her laptop on the coffee table, opened it to a resume template, and began typing in my name and information.
She turned the laptop over to me, and I typed in my education and former workplace. I added in some internships and volunteer work I did, and I paused where I should list my address.
“Don’t worry about that,” the social worker commented, typing in a P.O. box number for the shelter. “They won’t know the difference.”
She clicked the save button and opened a browser on CareerHunt, a local job search website. “Let’s see, there’s a few lawyer postings in Ashwood and several in the next town over in Lockwood.”
“I’ll apply to them all,” I nodded, steering the laptop toward me. I began typing a cover letter for all the postings, and I read over the descriptions before sending off my applications.
“Good! You should hear back from them soon. Keep an eye on your email,” the social worker exclaimed. She stood, shuffled her papers together, grabbed her laptop, and headed out. “Have a good day, Amara, I’ll see you at our next appointment.”
She closed my bedroom door, and I was left alone again.
A million thoughts rushed through my head as I collapsed on the couch, staring at the ceiling. Will anyone hire a lawyer barely out of university with only five cases under her belt? Will I have to work a minimum wage job and save for years just to afford to be someone’s roommate or basement dweller? I had no savings to fall back on, and Mark always kept his money in his bank account. I had nothing.
Even the clothes on my back were borrowed, cast-offs from the lost and found in the shelter. The food in my fridge came from the food bank, my toiletries donations. I felt a new kind of despair crash over me. All these years, and all I had to show for it were possessions that could fit in a child’s school bag.
Tears flowed from my eyes, and I winced at the pain crying caused me now. My concussion wasn’t fully healed yet, and it was always a reminder of what Mark did to me.
I closed my eyes, hoping sleep would take me, as it was my only escape from my depressing reality. Only when I finally felt myself drift off did I hear the ping of my phone.
I groaned, grabbing it and opening my bleary eyes to browse notifications. All the sleep left me immediately when I realized it was an email from CareerHunt.
“Congratulations! You were accepted by Lockwood Law for an interview…”
I couldn’t believe it. By the end of the week, I could have a job.
Things were finally starting to look up.
~*~
“Mrs. Amara Branson? Right this way, please.”
I looked up from the magazine I was reading in Lockwood Law’s waiting area, immediately dropping it back on the pile on the coffee table. I stood and followed the woman into her office, looking around and taking everything in.
From what I could tell, Lockwood Law was a woman-owned business with only women as lawyers. There was one lawyer for every area; federal, civil, and defense. I wondered why they had a job opening since every role seemed filled.
The woman gestured to the chair opposite her desk, and I sat, admiring her multiple degrees plastered on the wall. She sat behind her mahogany desk on a comfy leather chair and held my resume .
“Hello, Mrs. Branson, I’m Marta Gonzales, the defense lawyer and owner of this place. So, Mrs. Branson, I see a large gap between your last employer and now. Why did you stop working so soon after your graduation?”
Wow, get right to the point, why don’t you. “My ex-husband preferred I stayed home and be his little housewife,” I began. “But I found that that life isn’t for me. I’m ready to go back to work.”
Marta nodded, seeming satisfied with that answer as she skimmed over my resume. “Dunn & Dunn had great things to say about you. The cases you took were all defense cases. Did you want to be a defense lawyer?”
“I’ll take whatever position you can offer me,” I blurted out. “But yes, defense is where I’m most experienced.”
“Good,” Marta smiled. “We need a second defense lawyer. Our caseload has nearly doubled, so we must hire new lawyers.”
“I can do that.”
“I did a background check on you. You have no priors, and you seem well put together to me. Out of all the applicants I received, you’re the most qualified. The other two are law students, but I need someone who’s already passed the bar and is ready to work,” Marta asserted. “Can I count on you?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I replied.
“Good! You can start now if you’re ready. I know just which case to start you out with.”
I smiled as she handed me a file as thick as my thigh, and my eyes widened.
“He’s one of our regulars. His name’s Lorenzo Ricci, and he’s been in prison since he was a teenager. He first got in for killing his sister’s coach, and then he caught some assault charges before he murdered a fellow inmate a few months ago. He’s difficult to work with, and he fired many lawyers before, including me,” she scoffs. “But his last lawyer retired, so his case now falls to you. He just got put back in with the other high-risk offenders, so you can visit him.”
I didn’t blink as I stared at her.
She beamed at me innocently. “Any questions?”
Where should I begin?