Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 25544 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 128(@200wpm)___ 102(@250wpm)___ 85(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25544 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 128(@200wpm)___ 102(@250wpm)___ 85(@300wpm)
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.