Chapter Seven
THE BUS PULLS INTO the station, and the brakes hiss as it stops.
I can’t believe at what point did I fall asleep, but it doesn’t feel long enough, and my back hurts in a place I didn’t know my back had.
My neck hurts, too. My hips. My legs. I’m not sure if it’s because of my age or lack of exercise.
Or maybe it’s simply because I had a really comfortable life in the past twenty years.
..in exchange of subconsciously playing dumb and blind to everything my husband was doing.
I look down at my dress, which is all crumpled and dirty. I bought it to celebrate the very first time he’s introducing me as his wife to his work buddies. But instead, this ended up being my the-day-my-marriage-crumbled dress.
I look out of the window, and things feel even more surreal as the bus I’m in tosses me this way and that in my seat.
It was only a few days ago when Sandy and I sat on business class on a flight to New York.
That was my treat, too, by the way. All I wanted that time was to please my husband because back then. ..everything was still normal.
Safe.
Fake.
But now that the truth is out...life just keeps getting harder and harder.
The driver is calling out the stop, and people around me start gathering their things while I just get to my feet because all I have with me is my shoulder bag. Even so, it’s still a challenge to move with my knees shaking so badly, and I end up being the last one to get off the buss.
The Charlotte station is a place I haven't been in since I was twenty. Maybe earlier. Sandy bought a car for us when we got married because he said his wife wasn't going to take a bus.
I find a cab outside, because I have no other way to get home, and I do the math in my head as the driver pulls into traffic.
I have enough cash for the cab. I'll have nothing after that.
But it doesn't matter, because home is where my things are.
My ID. My checkbook. And the $357 in cash that I left in the bedside drawer.
I lean my head against the window and I close my eyes for the ride.
When I open them, we're at the gate, and I thank the cab driver after giving him a tip.
Tomas is in the booth when I walk up to the gatehouse, and there’s just something about the way he’s looking at me...
He knows.
The thought has me swallowing hard. I wish I was wrong about this, but when he gives me a strained smile and greets me—
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Pettyfer.”
He definitely knows.
I’ve been Nicole to him ever since Sandy and I moved here, so why has that suddenly changed?
“I need to get something from the house.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Pettyfer.”
His voice is pained.
“But I have orders not to let you in.”
“I’m a resident, Tomas.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am—”
I don’t understand.
“But the rules are clear. We can’t go against resident orders—”
“I am that,” I protest.
“I’m sorry,” Tomas repeats. And then he leans forward, saying under his tone, “There truly is nothing I can do. Your husband told management you're getting a divorce, and that your name should be removed from the list."
He leans back, and all I can do is bite my lip hard because I’m once again so, so tempted to start crying. I’m just so tired and hungry and sleepy. He’s also cut off my cards, emptied our joint account, and now this? He’s already cheated on me with the intern, and he still can’t give me a break?
"Please, Tomas. It will only take five minutes.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Pettyfer. But there’s truly nothing I can do.”
I force myself to inhale deeply when I see how troubled Tomas looks at having to turn me down.
At the end of the day, I have to remember that he’s just doing his job, and it’s exactly what he says, too: things like this are out of his hand, and here I am, practically trying to guilt-trip him to do something that can get him in trouble.
"It's okay, Tomas.” I even manage to say this with a smile. “I'll come back next time."
The older man nods profusely. "I hope this will all be resolved soon. I wish I didn't have to do this—"
"It's okay, Tomas. I really understand."
I turn away from the gatehouse, and the world outside suddenly feels impossibly, terrifyingly vast.
I've lived behind that gate for ten years. The sidewalks beyond it aren't sidewalks I've ever walked. The road is a road I've only ever driven. I have no idea where the nearest bus stop is. I have no idea where there's anywhere to sit down. I have no idea, period.
So I start walking.
It’s like there’s anything else I can do, since I no longer have enough money to even ride the bus.
I walk and walk and walk until I eventually come to a part of town where the houses get smaller, and then I keep walking until the houses around me get fewer and fewer until they’re none at all.
And it’s here, surrounded by strangers and structures I’ve never seen—
It’s then I realize that this place is where people like me end up.
When you have nowhere to go, this is the only kind of place that can take you.
A soup kitchen to give me lunch, with the volunteer only nodding and asking me to sign my name when I told her I didn’t have any valid I.D.
with me. She hands me a tray after—it has a bowl of soup, a roll, and boiled eggs.
It might not be much to most, but to me, it’s a feast, and I wolf everything down as soon as I get to a vacant table.
I think it was last night when I last ate. A cereal bar from the vendo. And then nothing.
I’ve been doing my best to pretend I’m not starving since then, and that’s why all of this right now—the soup, the bread, the eggs—it all tastes heavenly.
Next to the soup kitchen is a community library that offers several computer stations.
They’re outdated but functional, and that’s all I need.
I update my resumé and start looking for online job listings I can apply for.
I do this nonstop until my eyes start to drop, and it’s only when I glance outside the window that I realize it’s already evening.
I leave the library and start walking again.
I’m not sure what I’m looking for. I just know I’ll know once I see it, and eventually, I do see it: a halfway house for the homeless, the orphaned, and the troubled.
I give my name to reception, they create an account after asking me some questions, and then they give me a room number.
Or maybe it’s more accurate to say that they’re giving me a bed for the night, in a room that I end up sharing with three other girls.
“One last thing—” the one in charge of registration says. “Are you sure you don’t have any pre-existing medical conditions we know about?’
The only condition I can think of is the one my husband gave me.
Sign the papers...if I don’t want to make things harder.
But other than that?
I shake my head. “None.”
“Any addictions?”
Does being stupid and blind count? I’m almost tempted to ask this, but since that might have them thinking I’m insane and I end up losing a place to sleep—
I shake my head.
“None.”
And with that, I’m free to go to Room 14, and I nearly weep tears of joy when I see that my upper bunk comes with its own charging station. I plug my phone, and after a few moments, its screen lights up—
And I start to try.
Because there’s no one calling or texting me.
There’s no one who cares enough to ask where I am or how I am.
I'm alone in this world, and it might be so for the rest of my life.