4. Clara
CLARA
“It stinks like feet in here.” Billie pinches her nose as we walk into the motel room.
I wince because she’s not wrong. This place really does smell like feet.
And stale cigarette smoke, and wet… something.
As if on instinct alone, I glance up to the ceiling, noting the tinge of black smudges in the corner of the room.
I paid for three nights—it was all I could afford—but that’s it.
No more. I can’t risk my kids’ health. Hell, we’d be safer in the car.
Aside from the stench, and the mold festering in the corner, we’re greeted by a nauseating pattern in the faded carpet, two twin beds covered in typically cheap motel duvets, a small table with two chairs set up in front of the window that looks out onto the gravel parking lot, and a dresser with a television sitting on top that looks older than Tom.
“Want me to bring in the rest of the stuff?” Tom asks, dumping his backpack onto the foot of one of the beds.
I shake my head. “No. Let’s… leave everything in the car. Just bring in what we need as we need it.” I don’t add so that we can make a quick escape if we have to, but that is a constant thought, or fear, that lingers in the back of my mind.
Billie takes a seat in one of the chairs, hugging her doggy—Curly.
I can’t help but smile. This sweet, innocent five-year-old just learned, three days ago, that we’ve effectively run away from home, that she’s never going to see any of her little friends, none of her toys, her daddy ever again, and yet she’s smiling down at that damn dog like she doesn’t have a single care in the world.
I rub at the sudden ache in my chest, turning away to start unloading the groceries onto the small table for easy access.
If this is home for the next few days, better at least try and make the most of it I suppose.
After a terribly broken sleep, being woken up by a domestic dispute in one of the neighboring motel rooms at two a.m., I’m a woman on a mission, running on empty, pounding the pavement in town in search of a job, with two children in tow.
I’m having no luck, of course. The whole country is in the middle of an economic downturn.
No one’s hiring. The cook at the diner, Pip’s, told me they recently had to let go of three people.
The ice cream parlor, Scoops, just hired a high school kid for their afternoon shift and aren’t looking for anyone else.
The Saddlery, the only bar in town, I presume judging by the beer signs in the windows, isn’t open yet, and the only other place on Main Street that looks like it might welcome walk-in applicants is a hair salon, Blondie’s, but I’m not qualified.
I haven’t worked a proper job in more than ten years. I never went to college, so I don’t have a degree. God, I was lucky to finish high school. Even now, I still don’t know how I managed to graduate senior year.
I worked a few jobs after high school, finally landing a full-time gig as a receptionist at a car dealership, which is where I met Tom’s father.
He was the principal of the dealership. A lot older.
Divorced. Charming. Now, with the added benefit of hindsight, I can say with confidence that he was also a manipulative, narcissistic professional gas lighter.
When I fell pregnant, he didn’t want me to continue working, so I quit and he took care of me financially.
It should have been a bright, waving red flag when he didn’t want to commit quite enough to moving in together.
But I was young, dumb and full of naivety, and that hopeless romantic kind of wistfulness we tend to lose over the years.
I didn’t see the signs until it was too late.
When Tom turned two, I found out his father was sleeping with my replacement at the dealership and had been for more than six months.
So, it was just me and Tommy. When Tom started kindergarten, I was able to get a part-time job, working as a server at a café, which is where I met Billie’s father.
I knew he was bad news. Immediately. But there was just something about him.
Something dangerous and, dare I say, exciting.
I’d never felt that rush before. Two weeks after meeting, we were living together.
Two months later, I was pregnant. Again.
And, when Billie was born, I really thought we were going to be okay.
But then things changed. And I was stupid enough to put up with it for far longer than I should have.
So, now, here I am a single mother to two beautiful children I would die for, with fuck all work experience, and less than fifty bucks to my name.
As I follow the road out of town, I glance down at the gas tank, trying to calculate how long a quarter tank might last.
“Where are we going now, Mommy?” Billie asks from her booster seat, looking out the window, all eager and excited.
“Stop and Shop, baby,” I say, turning to Tom. “They’re a massive corporation. And everyone needs to eat. Surely they’re hiring, right?”
He nods in response, shrugging one of his shoulders. I flash him a smile I hope is reassuring, despite the way I feel it waver the closer we get to the grocery superstore.
The gust of air conditioning that hits me as I walk through the sliding doors to the Stop and Shop is a welcome reprieve from the stubborn Texas heat.
I turn to Tom and Billie, smoothing a hand down the front of my buttoned floral dress.
It’s wrinkled as all hell, and one of the buttons is missing, the polyester cinched together with the help of a safety pin, but it was the most professional item of clothing that I packed in my haste to leave West Virginia.
“You look real pretty, Mommy.” Billie beams up at me.
“Aw, thank you, baby.” I crouch down, cupping her warm, rosy cheek as I glance at Tom. “Why don’t you guys go and pick out an icy treat.”
“Are… are you sure?” Tom’s brow furrows in a way no ten-year-old’s brow should from the doubt over whether his mom can afford to spend a few measly bucks on a couple of damn popsicles.
Swallowing around the lump of my own self-doubt wedged in the back of my throat, I offer him a wink. “I’ve got a good feeling about this place.”
“Okay, Mom.” Tom’s smile is tight, uncertain, and it’s like a kick to my gut. But I squeeze his shoulder and watch as he takes Billie’s hand and walks her off in the direction of the freezer aisles in the back of the massive store.
With a deep, fortifying breath, I tuck a wayward lock of my hair behind my ear, lifting my chin a little higher as I walk toward the front courtesy desk, where a balding man dressed in a white button-down and an official green and black striped Stop and Shop tie is talking on a phone.
Waiting patiently, I take a look around, anticipation swirling in my belly.
“Can I help you?
I startle from the gruff tone, turning to find the man looking at me, his gaze scrupulous as he trails me slowly, one of his thick eyebrows arching.
“Oh, hi. Yes,” I stammer, my smile faltering a touch at just how hard and unwelcoming his dark stare feels burning my skin. “I’m wondering if you might have any positions vacant?”
The man huffs a sigh, like he’s never been more inconvenienced in his life. Instead of saying anything, he simply rolls his eyes, grabs something from a tray on the counter, and slides it across to me.
application for employment.
My eyes light up, because surely this means they’re hiring.
Reaching into my purse, I pull out the pen I carry with me at all times, ignoring the way my hands tremble with desperation, looking around like someone might possibly swoop in and take whatever job they have left before I can fill out the form in time.
But then, as I read the questionnaire, my stomach knots.
cell phone number.
residential address.
two references.
Chewing on my bottom lip, I tap the pen against the paper, considering myself a moment.
I’m thirty-three years old and I can’t even fill out a simple application for a grocery store job.
I left my cell phone back in West Virginia, not wanting any way for him to track me.
And I can’t very well give the address of the Sleepy Nights Motel, especially since after tomorrow night we won’t even be there anymore. And references? I don’t know anybody.
“Everythin’ alright?”
I snap my head up, finding the man watching me, one eye narrowing dubiously as he looks from me to my blank application and back again.
“Um, I-I—” I glance down at the questions glaring back at me, the ones I can’t answer, and with an apologetic smile, I shake my head, sliding the paper back across the counter. “I’m sorry to waste your time.”
With another huff, the man snatches the application and turns his back on me, and it’s suddenly like I’m non-existent.
I release a shuddering breath, trying so hard to ignore the dread that sits like stone in the pit of my gut. Tucking my pen back into my purse with a trembling hand, I turn and walk away from the desk, tears stinging my eyes as I stare down at the floor.
This place was my last hope.
Forty-nine bucks and a few dimes sitting loose in the bottom of my purse. It’s all I have left. I don’t even have anything of value to sell. If I did, I would. In a heartbeat. But I’ve got nothing. The earrings in my ears are gold plated; they turn my skin green if I wear them too long.
How am I supposed to keep my kids fed with less than fifty bucks? After tomorrow night, we don’t even have a place to sleep.
Maybe I should’ve just stayed. Sucked it up and stuck it out.
Maybe this was a mistake. A selfish one.
I mean, sure, he hurt me, but he never laid a finger on the kids.
At least we had a roof over our heads. Food on the table.
But I can’t go back. Not now. Can I? Maybe if I explain to him why I did it, and why I won’t ever do it again, he might let me off. Give me another chance.
I close my eyes on a tremulous exhale, my mind flashing back to a time not so long ago, the moment that made me finally make the decision to leave, when he was mad at me for waving to one of his friends from the door.
He smacked me so hard, it caused my ears to ring and my vision to blur.
Then he choked me until I blacked out. When I came to, I was bent over the kitchen table, my dress pulled up and my underwear around my knees.
He was leaning over me, about ready to take me, when I looked up and saw Billie’s wide eyes staring at me from the doorway.
She was so confused, so frightened, so helpless, tears streaming down her cheeks, her small, shaky voice cutting through my pleas for him to stop. “Mommy?”
“Mommy?”
With a gasp, my eyes fly open, and I’m brought back to right now, to the recycled air of the Stop and Shop swirling around me, to the low murmur of an old Sugar Ray song crackling through the speakers high up in the beams of the store.
Tom and Billie are standing there looking up at me—Billie clutching her beloved Curly, Tom holding a box.
“Hey!” I force a big smile despite the tears I know are shining in my eyes, and I crouch down. “What’d you get?”
“It was… uh… cheaper to get a-a box of six,” Tom explains, showing me the box of Bomb Pops in his arms. “Only three bucks and seventy-nine cents.”
“Two each?” I smile at my children. “Sounds like a good deal to me.”
“Did you get a job, Mommy?” Billie asks, so pure and innocent, her eyes bright and full of untainted optimism as she takes my hand.
“No, baby,” is all I say. “Come on, let’s go before those popsicles melt,” I add quickly before they can ask questions I don’t have answers to.
Tom and Billie slurp on their popsicles, thankfully none the wiser to the current state of my mind as we drive the road back toward the main heart of town.
I need a job. We need money. Something, anything.
Gripping the steering wheel so tight my knuckles crack, I try desperately to steady my breaths, racking my brain with what the hell I’m going to do, which is right when I spot a flashing neon sign from the corner of my eye.
Girls wanted.
I slam my foot down on the brake, harder than intended, pulling up to a stop so sudden, dust whooshes around the car like a whirlwind.
“Mom?” Tom asks, and I can tell he’s on edge, suddenly panicked, hand clutching his seat belt.
“Yeah,” I huff out, looking into my side mirror. “Sorry, I… I thought I saw something.”
The non-descript windowless building sits surrounded by a gravel parking lot and nothing but a few cacti dotted about, the big neon sign flashing even through the bright light of day.
Meow’s. I can’t help but grimace, my stomach roiling because I’m not an idiot.
I know exactly what it is. But it seems I’ve run out of options.
So, I flick on the blinker and, checking for traffic, I do an illegal U-turn.