Breaking Free

by Jennifer Slattery

  The woman pulled open her purse, grabbed a stick of gum, and popped it in her mouth. “And I would have moved in with her if it wasn’t for my husband.” A sour expression spread across her face. “Charles don’t come to church no more. Not since he lost his leg. An old farming accident that left him tied to his wheelchair. Always thinks people are looking at him—pitying him.”

  Betty rolled her eyes. “I told him to get over himself. Like anyone’s got the time of day to get all caught up in his life. But he’s stubborn that way. He likes watching those ‘how things are made’ programs. You know, the ones that show you how they put computer chips inside calculators or something crazy like that. Like it’d kill him to miss one once in awhile.”

  “The apartment? Can you tell me more about it?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. My husband always says I’m like a bag of popcorn kernels let loose on a hot-iron stove—popping in so many directions it makes you dizzy just trying to keep up with me.”

  Alice smiled.

  Betty sat and set her purse beside her. “It’s got three bedrooms, nothing fancy. Two of the rooms are pretty small, but they’re big enough to get a full and a dresser in ’em. Other one’s almost master size. Only one bathroom. Comfortable living area, and it’s got its own kitchen.”

  It sounded perfect, but it probably cost a fortune. Certainly more than Alice made waiting tables.

  Betty’s eyes narrowed. “Why? Who you thinking of?”

  Alice swallowed and sat up straighter. “Me. Me and my two boys.”

  Betty’s face erupted in a fleshy grin, until her gaze landed on Alice’s wedding ring. Then her expression hardened. “You on the run? ’Cause Momma sure don’t need any crazy wife-beaters pounding down her door in the middle of the night.”

  “Oh, no! We’re . . . I . . . It’s complicated.”

  Betty leaned back and crossed her arms.

  Alice held her breath. Was she about to lose an apartment because of a wedding ring? Really?

  After a few moments, Betty relaxed, her smile returning. “I’m heading that way now, if you’d like to see it. Wanna check on Momma anyway. Make sure she took her meds.” She grabbed her purse and pushed herself to her feet. She grimaced when her knees popped. She pressed her hand against her spine. “All these visits are wearing me thin. It sure would be great to have someone right there, to check on her.” She paused. “Would you be willing to do that? Check on Momma every now and again? Make sure she’s doing the things she’s s’posed to?”

  “Certainly.”

  “Then come on.”

  Alice grabbed her things and followed Betty to the parking lot.

  Maybe God was watching out for her after all.

  CHAPTER 37

  Trent spent most of the night driving through the streets of Seattle only to begin again as soon as the sun peaked over the horizon. His muscles ached from exhaustion, yet sleep refused to come.

  He needed to return to his house to get his things before the bank threw everything to the curb, but just thinking about it sent his heart racing. Not that Jay’s boys would still be there. Surely they’d given up by now. Unless Jay intended to make an example out of him. Trent shuddered.

  He checked his gas gauge. With just over a quarter tank and not a dime to his name, he’d be running on fumes soon. He needed to find a place to park. He snorted. Why? So he could go for an afternoon stroll? Greasy hair and all? That would go over real well. Unless he headed south to Pioneer Square, formally known as Skid Row. He’d fit right in there. Emptiness wrapped around him as he glanced around at the tree-lined streets and steeply sloping yards on either side of him.

  Used to fit in here, too.

  Living in the has-beens wouldn’t do him any good. He turned the corner, passed a playground, and followed the curve of the road through another residential area. On his left stood a white, one-room church with a cross shooting up from its roof. Slowing, he pulled alongside the curb. Men and women dressed in their Sunday finest filed out of the double doors, smiling, rosy-cheeked children tagging along behind.

  A man with short dark hair and broad shoulders carried a giggling toddler. A little girl with blue and white polka-dot ribbons scampered along beside him. Her plump little legs took three steps for every one of his. Following close behind, a woman with dark curly hair framing her heart-shaped face lugged a Bible in one hand and an overstuffed diaper bag in the other. A sweet, happy family, like Trent once had. His eyes stung, pain stabbing at the back of his throat as he watched the four of them cross the street and pile into a silver minivan.

  He grabbed his phone lying on the passenger seat. A black screen stared back at him. The batteries were shot and his charger was at the house. Now he had to return home, unless he wanted to lose all connection with the outside world. Not that anyone would call him, except creditors. And he had their numbers memorized, all five of them. Hit ignore after the first ring. Mrs. Northrup had begun to call almost daily, probably with details on proceeding with the short sale. Although based on her last message, she’d finally made the decision for him.

  Meaning, most likely, he was now officially homeless, with a lifetime of belongings sold on auction or tossed into a Dumpster.

  The one call he’d been waiting for hadn’t come. His heart cramped, the pain constricting his lungs, as he thought about the possibility of losing Alice forever. An image of the curly-haired man at the diner—his hungry gaze locked on her as she giggled and blushed— flashed through his mind.

  She wouldn’t call. She’d moved on.

  Trent opened his wallet and pulled out an old family photo. The color had faded, and a tear spread through the right corner. He traced his finger across Alice’s face and studied her laughing eyes. It had been a long time since he had seen her laugh, since they had laughed together. His chest ached as he thought about the day of the photo and the flustered look on the photographer’s face. Young Timmy had blinked every time the camera flashed. And whenever Danny smiled, his face scrunched up until his eyes nearly disappeared amidst a mound of pudgy cheeks.

  Trent glanced back at the church. The crowd had started to thin. Then a man in a suit and tie slipped out and locked the door behind him. Trent waited to step out of his car until the man climbed inside a station wagon and pulled away. Slowly, he made his way across the street and up the concrete stairs to the tiny steeple.

  The peeling paint on the window trim and doorframe revealed dry rotted wood and moss grew in the corners of the windows. He touched the door with a shaking hand. Running his fingers along the rough wood, he squeezed his eyes shut. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. When had everything gone so wrong? His dear, sweet Alice. What had he done?

  He fell to his knees and pressed his forehead against the door and sobbed. Lifting his face toward the sky, he cried out, “Help me, God! Please, help me! I can’t do this anymore.”

  He cried until his throat ached and his eyes burned. Spent, he pushed to his feet and turned to go. A pale yellow slip of paper laying on the top step caught his attention. He picked it up. A bulletin: “Church of the Open Door: Transforming Lives with the Love of Christ.”

  Yeah, well, some lives were too far gone for transformation. He started to toss it aside when a blurb asking for help at a local food bank caught his attention. His stomach gurgled, reminding him how long it had been since his last meal. An address was provided. Second Street, less than a quarter tank of gas away.

  Alice followed Betty east on 105th Street to Aurora, then turned left. They continued south at a snail’s pace to North Green Lake Drive where diners and concrete parking lots gave way to lush floral gardens. Quaint cottages set behind limestone retainer walls nestled between Cape Cods and late 1800 Tudors with their heavy chimneys and steep roofs.

  She allowed a smile as the road curved around Green Lake Park dotted with massive elms and alders. Much better than the dilapidated houses she had envisioned.

  Betty stopped in front of a pale green cottage with white trim a
nd a tangerine door. Odd-shaped stones lined the moss-covered walk leading to a covered porch. A stone chimney centered between two block windows gave the property an enchanted feel.

  Alice parked behind Betty and stepped out.

  “It needs some work.” Betty shaded her eyes from the sun. “But it’s stable. And quiet.” She tucked her purse under her arm and walked up the front steps made from railroad ties. “Mind if I pop in to check on Momma before I show you the apartment?”

  “By all means.”

  Not wanting to intrude, Alice walked over to the porch bench to wait, but Betty beckoned her with a jerk of her head. “Might as well meet her now.” She paused, hand on the doorknob. “Don’t say nothing about checking up on her or nothing. She’d throw a fit if she thought you were here to keep an eye on her. She’s stubborn that way.”

  Alice nodded and tucked her hair behind her ears. The idea that this lady might be counting on her to watch out for her mother unsettled her. It was a commitment she wasn’t ready to take on. She had enough to worry about getting her own two feet on the ground. But Betty and her mom had made it just fine without her for quite some time, and should Alice move, for whatever reason, they’d do it again. Besides, how hard could it be to pop in every once in awhile?

  “Momma, it’s me!” Betty cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled so loud Alice thought the doors would rattle. “Momma?”

  A few moments later, a woman dressed in a housecoat with a shawl draped around bony shoulders shuffled into the kitchen. Her wrinkled face erupted into a toothless smile.

  “Oh! You didn’t tell me you were bringing company. I’ll make some coffee. Decaf OK?” She reached for a small pot on the counter but Betty grabbed her arm.

  “No, Momma. We don’t have time for that. Alice here is thinking about renting out the granny suite.”

  “Oh, I see.” The woman’s face fell. She turned back around, swayed slightly, then grabbed Betty’s hand for support.

  “Alice, this is my momma, Gertrude. Momma, this is Alice . . . ?”

  “Goddard. Alice Goddard.”

  “Good to meet you, dear.” Gertrude squeezed her hand and held it. “I’m so glad you came. It’s always nice to have company, whatever the reason.” She turned to her daughter. “Surely you can spare a few minutes. I have cake. Cindy brought it by. I asked her to stay and have a piece, but she had to study or some such thing as that. You know how busy she is.”

  Betty shot Alice an apologetic glance.

  Alice covered a giggle with her hand and shrugged.

  “I really do hate to eat alone.” Gertrude pulled a cake from the fridge and set it on the table. She placed three small saucers and a silver knife next to it. “I do hope you like the apartment. Although it isn’t as clean as I would like. If I’d known you were coming, I would have spruced it up a bit.” She sliced the cake into three thin slivers. “’Course, I could always tidy it up while you eat. At least clear out a few of those nasty cobwebs.”

  Betty raised her hand. “No worries. Alice is capable. I’m sure she won’t mind.”

  “Not at all.” A little Alice could handle, but if they were looking for a handyman, they needed to keep searching.

  “Such a dear you are.” Gertrude’s face brightened. “I’d forgotten all about Betty’s rental conditions. Do you like to garden?”

  “I—”

  “Did you show her the garden in the back, Betty? I can hardly stand to look at it myself. It’s gotten so overgrown. Used to be the talk of the neighborhood. Back in the day, everyone wanted to spend time in my little patch of heaven, isn’t that right, dear?”

  “Yes, Momma.” Betty shoved a forkful of cake into her mouth.

  Gertrude set her fork down. “It’ll be so nice to have someone to enjoy it with. Are you a bird watcher, Alice? I love to sit out there and watch the hummingbirds fly between the flowers. My favorites are the roses. Though I don’t like pruning them much, not with all those thorns. Maybe you could help me with that. Always thought an extra set of hands would do that garden good.” She spoke herself breathless.

  Alice smiled. The woman was absolutely adorable.

  After they finished their cake, Betty stood and rubbed her stomach. “That hit the spot, Momma.” She turned to Alice. “Ready?”

  “Hate to see you eat and run.” Gertrude spoke fast. “Why don’t we go into the living room where it’s more comfortable?”

  Betty shook her head, eyes firm. “No, Momma. I need to show Alice the apartment.”

  “Yes, you’re right.” She squeezed Alice’s hand. “So nice to meet you, dear. I do hope you like it. It will be so nice to have someone to talk to once in awhile.”

  “All right then, if you don’t need anything.” Betty glanced about, as if taking a mental inventory.

  Gertrude shooed them away with both hands. “Go on. Don’t let me keep you.”

  Betty kissed her mom’s cheek then led Alice out the door and along a stone walkway. The sound of trickling water alerted her to a pond on her right surrounded by rhododendrons and a few low-lying ferns. Wicker furniture decorated a paved patio a few feet away.

  They rounded the corner and stopped at a door that could use a fresh coat of paint. Betty opened it to reveal a tiny living room filled with mismatched furniture.

  “Don’t let the dust and cobwebs fool you. The rental really is quite nice. Cozy.”

  It had a peaceful, homey feel. Its quaint little kitchen, tiny living area, and full bath were perfect. As long as the price was right. But considering the location, Alice wasn’t holding her breath, even with the “momma-watching” discount.

  CHAPTER 38

  Trent followed a series of small cardboard signs to the back of a large industrial building. Men, women, and children formed a line from the warehouse doors to the end of the parking lot. Sweaty-faced toddlers clung to their mother’s legs, and slouching men stared at the cracked concrete. Trent fought off a wave of shame as he filed behind a woman in a yellow top and calf-length skirt.

  She smiled at him. “Think we’ll get peanut butter this time?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “I like the crunchy stuff, but you never know what you’ll get.” She craned her neck to see around the long line of people. “Clifford said he got oranges.” She licked her lips. “Can’t remember the last time I had a good orange!”

  Trent focused on the ground and inched forward. The sun climbed higher in the sky, biting at his back, neck, and shoulders. Two girls played a patty-cake type game in a stretch of grass near the edge of the lot. A group of children, they looked to be siblings, lined the curb, hopeful eyes glued on a man standing behind a long table. Dressed in jeans and a navy T-shirt, he handed out food. Iced water bottles filled a bucket to his right.

  Trent shifted and tapped his left toe on the pavement. Sticky sweat accumulated between his shoulder blades, trickling down his back. A man in a black jumpsuit looked at his watch, then at the mass of people in front of him. He spat a slew of curse words and left. The line moved another two steps. Trent wiped the sweat off his forehead. He contemplated leaving, but his hunger prevented him. Besides, he didn’t have anywhere else to go. And he really needed to conserve every drop of gas he had.

  He looked around. A few cars parked along the street, and a rusted pickup sat beside two large Dumpsters. Maybe he could stay here, at least for the day. It’d give him easy access to water, anyway.

  The line moved another step forward. And then another, until Trent reached the front.

  The man in the T-shirt flashed him a coffee-stained smile, his chestnut eyes bright. “You must be new.”

  Trent nodded, eyeing the man. His long, brown hair, tied in a low ponytail, gave him the appearance of an ’80s wannabe rock star. Pockmarks dotted his sallow cheeks. Minus the clean clothes and hair, he looked like all the other yahoos crowding the parking lot.

  The guy studied Trent for a moment, his gaze sweeping across Trent’s striped polo shirt before lingering
on the country club emblem. The man raised his eyebrows.

  He handed Trent a clipboard and a pen. “Gotta fill this out to get the grub.”

  Trent read the long list of questions printed on the front page. Name. Address. Employed: Y/N. Number of dependents currently under your care.

  He glanced at the line behind him, now extending past the end of the parking lot.

  The man laughed. “Don’t worry, I won’t make you get back in line.” He tossed Trent a water bottle. “Give me a holler when you’re done, and I’ll get you hooked up.”

  Trent moved to a curb a few feet away and sat. He downed his water in deep gulps before focusing on the questionnaire.

  Address? My car.

  He jotted down his street, even though his home was heading toward a short sale, if it hadn’t been auctioned off all ready. Like these folks did credit checks.

  Employed? He wasn’t technically unemployed. Just suspended. Without pay.

  Who was he kidding? This was about as rock bottom as it got.

  It took him all of five minutes to finish and return the form. The man looked it over then traded it for a bag stuffed with bread, powdered milk, and various other nonperishables topped with two plump oranges.

  “You get one bag a week. There’s a day and evening shelter on South Main. And the folks from Holy Trinity should be around Friday handing out backpacks filled with water bottles, deodorant, stuff like that. If you see ’em, don’t be afraid to grab a pack. You need shelter?”

  Averting the man’s gaze, Trent mumbled that he didn’t and turned to go.

  The man grabbed him by the arm. “Wait.” He pulled a pen from his back pocket and wrote a number on a slip of paper. He handed the paper and a glossy brochure to Trent. “Call me anytime.” His expression sobered. “Anytime.”

  Trent stared at the number scrawled beneath the guy’s name and tucked it into his pocket. “Thanks, Ethan.” He waited until he reached the curb to read the brochure.