She laughs.
Not the bright, warm laugh I remember.
This is sharp. Bitter. Empty.
“If I did, do you think I’d be here cleaning piss off a wall? Use your head.”
“Faith—”
She pushes opens the women’s restroom with her shoulder. “Don’t come back.”
I hold up her coat. “Ah…this is yours.”
She comes forward and takes it with the gloves, the dirty ones, like she doesn’t care.
“Thanks.” She goes inside the bathroom, the door swinging slightly behind her.
I stand watching the door, the remnants of her presence.
The hallway smells of bleach and lies.
It’s painfully hard to breathe.
12
NOTHING TO GIVE
FAITH
“Faith?”
My heart sinks when I see a woman in a sheriff’s uniform. She is framed by sunlight like an avenging angel in a leather jacket and mirrored sunglasses.
She finds me in the back of Nectar, carrying two bags of garbage.
I’m now working two shifts, one in the morning and one in the evening, because Nectar needs a lot of work. The place is huge and it has way too many nooks and crannies.
I talked to Ricky and he agreed. In fact, he was grateful.
Now, my shift is from two to four when the club is closed between lunch and dinner. I take a break, and am back from eight to closing, which is around four in the morning.
This means that I’m getting enough sleep every day;andI have time to take care of things like doing laundry, which I do in the motel. The washer and dryer use quarters and make a racket, but they do the job.
I have time to go to the supermarket nearby and buy essentials.
I have time to walk by Let’s Read, a bookstore, and check out books on display. I even bought a Marlon James book,A Brief History of Seven Killings,because it was on sale.
I don’t have the courage to go to the library—too many painful memories attached.
The policewoman waits until I finish dragging a garbage bag to the dumpster before she speaks.
She holds out a hand. “Sheriff Lorraine Zada.”
I look at my hands and brush them down my jeans in an effort to clean them. She doesn’t seem to care I was just handling trash; she doesn’t retract her hand. I shake it.
She takes off her sunglasses. Her eyes are swarming with pity for me.
That hurts more than if she’d come at me with a baton.
