CHAPTER 9
Petal
Two days ago, the cameras mounted to poles near the fence line at Dino-Mite disappeared.
Then a sign showed up in the window of the office that said Under new management and advertised free drinks and snacks for people who have rental units here.
Nothing else seems to have changed, minus the volume of granola bars and fun-sized candy bars left in the baskets after I quietly loaded my backpack with as many of each as I dared.
And maybe, I should feel a little concerned about the removal of the security cameras, but it’s not as if they actually kept anything safe around here.
Part of the reason I chose this place to rent a storage unit is the reputation for management ignoring everything possible, barring actual police reports made by customers if a break in occurred.
Hopefully, the new owner will be as hands off and lazy as the old one, at least, for a few more weeks while I save up to get out of here.
I’ve had a sense of urgency to move along to a new place building in me ever since I first felt eyes on me the other morning.
The sensation intensifies every time I squeeze from under the roll-top door to my unit.
Jordan finding me comes to mind as a possible reason for the feeling, but I quickly set aside that worry.
He doesn’t have the patience to spy on me for any length of time.
It’s much more likely he’d slam his way in here, full of fury and violence at having been dumped.
The eyes I feel watching me don’t vibe as violent. The opposite, kind of. I can’t really explain, even to myself, what could possibly be safe about feeling stalked. Still, with a tummy filled with free granola bars and nacho-flavored tortilla chips, it’s hard to be upset at anything.
Three weeks ago, I’d considered it lucky if I made it through an entire night without being hassled by the cops for sleeping on a park bench after hours. Now, here I am, fully rested from a good night’s sleep on my pile of blankets in a safely locked-up room that even has running electricity.
Yeah, maybe, it’d be nicer if it also had plumbing, so I wasn’t stuck buying shower time at the truck stop by the highway and peeing in the bushes behind the Dino-Mite office.
But still, I’m feeling more lucky than I have in years.
Maybe ever. Thinking about luck makes me think about the sexy guy who’d been in Pete’s the other day.
He didn’t say much, but the tip he left was ridiculous.
It’s selfish of me to wish for more good fortune, but I really, really hope he comes back.
Not just for the tip, although that was pretty awesome.
He’d been eye candy for my entire shift, and even though I’ve sworn off men after what Jordan put me through, that doesn’t mean I’m dead.
Looking is plenty, and I sure had looked plenty!
The money he left me, plus the other tips I’ve been hoarding, is enough to open a bank account so I can have a safe place to keep my savings.
With that In mind, I head to the bank nearest Pete’s Pastries.
“I’m sorry, miss. Without two proper forms of identification, I’m not legally allowed to open any accounts for you.” The banker schools his expression into fake concern, but condescension is obvious in his voice.
“But I have my birth certificate and my social security card. That’s two!” I argue.
“The birth certificate is only a photocopy of the certified version, and your social security card’s been ripped in half and taped up. Plus, neither is a photo ID,” he sniffs, his opinion of my pitiful lack of a driver’s license clear.
Once again, I mentally curse Jordan for all the bullshit he put me through. Ripping my social security card had been a power and control move on his part. An attempt to force me to stay reliant on him to take care of me. Well, it didn’t stop me from leaving then, and it won’t stop me now.
“Fine. I guess that’s that then. May I please have my documents back, so I can take my business elsewhere?” I’m being a brat, but who would blame me? I know it’s not the bank employee’s fault I’m in this bind, but jeez, he also doesn’t have to be such a snooty prick about it.
He hands me my paperwork, and I slink toward the door, avoiding the line of people waiting to conduct their business at the counter. The open air lobby of the bank means probably everyone standing around got to hear my embarrassing exchange with the teller.
“Hey, wait!” a woman calls as she abandons her spot in line to follow me out the door.
“You couldn’t open an account without IDs, right?” she asks.
“I guess.” It’s humiliating to admit it, especially to this woman. She’s carrying a purse that looks as if it cost more than all the money I’ve got to my name.
“My name’s Hollis. Do you have time to grab a coffee? I think I can help.” She seems earnest, and it’s been so long since I actually had someone to talk to, so I’m nodding before I can overthink it.
“Um, yeah, that would be cool I think. I’m Petal.
” My agreement has a smile breaking across her face that draws one to my own.
She shakes the hand I extend without hesitation, saving me from feeling like a dork for offering a handshake as if I’m some sort of professional type instead of an unhoused diner waitress.
I have no idea what kind of help this girl, who doesn’t look any older than I am, can possibly offer, but I’m willing to hear her out. My shift at Pete’s doesn’t start ’til mid-afternoon, and the bank I chose to try to open an account is just a few blocks away from work.
“Do you want me to wait while you finish your bank stuff?” I offer.
“Nah, I just needed to transfer some money from my checking into my daughter’s savings account and the app was acting funny. Figured I’d use the time while she’s at preschool to stop at the bank in person and have them do it, but it can wait.”
She meets me eyes when she mentions her daughter, an assessing look on her expressive face. I can guess exactly what she’s expecting me to say, but who am I to judge another woman? She doesn’t look old enough to have a daughter in school.
“That’s really smart to have an account for her, even if she’s only in preschool. By the time she’s old enough to start adding her own earnings to it, she’ll be in great financial shape.”
I may be broke now, but I wasn’t always. One of the few classes I’d gotten good grades for in high school was economics, and early, frequent savings was a big topic.
“Exactly! I never want Dru, that’s her name, to struggle like I have!” Hollis gushes.
I give her another once over, taking in her couture purse, name brand clothes, and the expertly applied makeup that gives her a runway-ready look.
Whatever struggles she’s had, it looks as if she’s made them her bitch.
Hearing her admit she’s been through tough times and come out the other side looking like a million bucks makes me glad I didn’t blow off her offer to grab coffee.
Whatever she’s done to get ahead, maybe, it can work for me, too.
So it’s an easy decision to walk with her to the coffee shop next to the bank.
“First things first, when getting ahead without a bank account, you gotta get one of those prepaid credit cards they sell for gift giving. You can reload it whenever you have cash. All it takes is stopping by customer service at any of the big-box stores. Once you’ve got a good build up on one, get another one you carry for every day expenses. They’re untraceable, too.”
I’m so excited by the info-dump Hollis is spilling I’d forget all about the coffee and muffin in front of me if she didn’t pause and gesture at me to take a drink. The idea of using a prepaid card hadn’t even occurred to me, but it’s brilliant.
“Plus, you can use the prepaid cards to open an online account with one of the money moving apps and that way you won’t have to keep all your money with you.
Cuts down the risk of being robbed, ya know?
” Hollis has a way of addressing the elephant in the space between us without ever directly calling it out.
I don’t know her history, but for the first time in a long time, maybe even since high school, I feel as if I’ve met a kindred spirit.
Someone I can call a friend. See? More good luck.
I hand my found phone to her, so she can add her contact information and she doesn’t even pause when I admit it doesn’t have service except for when there’s free Wi-Fi around.
“I get it. I’ve been there,” she says simply, with no pity and no judgement. “You’ll get through it. I had a friend help me, and now, I get to be a friend to help you.”
We both ignore the tears in my eyes as she gives me a quick hug before taking off to pick up her daughter from preschool.
I’m not sure when I’ll see her again, but just knowing someone knows what it’s like to climb back onto their feet after life takes its licks makes me feel confident and powerful enough to follow in her footsteps.