by K. C. Crowne
With a heave, Adam pulled out the washing machine and reached behind it, adjusting something on one of the pipes and turning off the flow of water. Once that was done, he grabbed roll after roll of paper towels from behind the sink and began sopping up the mess.
Between the two of us, with no help from Daisy, we managed to clean up the water.
“Holy sh—” They were the first words out of my mouth once we’d finished, my heart still racing.
“What was that?” Adam asked with a smile.
“Nothing you need to hear.”
He chuckled.
“Any chance you know what’s wrong?” I asked.
He shook his head. “I mean, I can look. But knowing to turn off the water when it’s spraying out is all I know about plumbing. Want me to look? I might be able to find something on YouTube.”
I shook my head. “You get to school you’ve helped out enough already.”
“OK. But I’ll ask around and see if anyone knows anything about this stuff.”
“Thanks. Seriously.”
“Sure.”
He grabbed his things and gave Daisy a pet before heading out.
When I was alone, all I could do was survey the damage.
And a thought occurred to me – however much in need of money I’d been before, was now at another level.
It was looking like surrogacy or bust.
Chapter 13
RYAN
Message sent; message received. As I threw back the last of my morning espresso, my eyes on my brief text conversation with Carly, there wasn’t a doubt in my mind what she wanted – professional distance.
I sighed, tucking my phone into the pocket of my charcoal slacks. Part of me wished I hadn’t done what I’d done, that I hadn’t seduced her. Then again, had I seduced her? Sure, I’d gone out of my way, made a move and kissed her.
But it’s not like I’d needed to talk her into it. Sex was a two-way street, and she was most definitely into what we’d done. Again, just the thought of sex with her was enough to make me hard. The urge to text Carly and tell her that I wanted her like mad nearly took hold.
I pushed it out of my head, however, and focused on what I needed to do. First, there was the matter of getting in touch with the surrogacy clinic and setting up a good time for Carly and me to meet with the doctor.
After that, I’d need something to clear my head. My Monday morning schedule was actually pretty open, and I found myself considering calling the office and letting them know I’d be in a little later than usual. I craned my neck and glanced up at the mountains, the sloping sides covered in snow-topped trees.
A hike sounded bloody perfect. If there was one thing I missed like mad about New Zealand, it was the gorgeous, sweeping landscapes perfect for day-long hikes. But the States were nothing to scoff at when it came to scenery. Colorado, with its towering, snowy peaks, was ideal for both quick treks and long excursions.
Throwing on some hiking boots and going for a two-hour or so hike sounded just like what this doctor ordered. Nothing like fresh air and some sweat to clear one’s head. I was getting excited just thinking about it.
I picked up my phone to call the surrogacy clinic and make the appointment. But right as I held the phone in my hand, it shook with a call.
When I saw the name on the screen, I knew my hike wasn’t going to happen.
The call was from Amanda Wilkes – the head of Almost Home, a women’s shelter to which I donated both time and money. And Amanda only called when there was an emergency.
Without hesitation, I answered.
“Amanda, what’s the word?”
“Hey, Ryan. Sorry to bother you first thing.”
“No worries. What’s going on?”
“We’ve got a little bit of an issue with a young woman who came in last night, and I wanted to hear your take on the matter.”
“Shoot.”
“Last night around nine, this girl showed up at Almost Home looking…well, she looked bad.” Her tone was serious, and I said nothing as she went on. “She had bruises all over her face and arms and was all-in-all very frail. Moreover, she’s barely talking.”
“Sounds like there’s a good chance that, whatever she’s been through, she’s in shock from it.”
“My thoughts exactly. I called up Barb—” she was referring to Dr. Barbara Holland, the GP who handled most of the intake at Almost Home— “but she’s out of town for the week.”
“That’s right; she’s in Chicago, I think.”
“Yep. Anyway, this girl…she came in last night wearing nothing but a hoodie and jeans and a ratty pair of sneakers.”
“In the middle of a February night?” I asked, shocked to hear it.
“I know. And I’ve got no idea if she has frostbite or anything like that. Anyway, sorry to drop this all on you, but I wanted to see how she handled the night before getting in touch with you.”
“You’ve got nothing to apologize for. I only wish you’d have told me about it sooner.”
“Will do in the future.”
“Anyway, tell me what you do know. Got an age, a name, anything?”
“No age, but like I said, no older than twenty. And she said her name is Tiffani, but who knows if that’s a real name.”
“Right. If she got out of a bad situation there’s a damn good chance she’s not going to be keen on offering up her personal information. Where is she now?”
“At the shelter in Five Points. I was going to swing by there if you want to meet in an hour or so.”
“Perfect. I’ll grab some coffee and bagels for everyone.”
“Oh, they’ll love that. See you then.”
I hung up and slipped my phone back into my pocket, then took one more glance out of the window toward the mountains in the distance. They were still calling out to me, but matters at the shelter took a much, much higher priority than my own personal wants.
I finished dressing, grabbed an apple, and headed out to start the day.
I crossed the border into Five Points, the back of my neck tingling with danger as it always did when I came to this part of the city. The streets were cracked and marked with potholes; the houses mostly dilapidated. A few corners were even populated with prostitutes who wore barely anything despite the horridly low temperature.
The scene was something I had yet to really process since moving to the States. New Zealand had its fair share of poverty – every country did. But the poverty in the States was on a scale I hadn’t seen before. And more than that, it was so near unimaginable luxury. One neighborhood would be nothing but high-rise condos and trendy boutiques, then you’d go over a few blocks to see streets so run-down they looked like they were in another country.
It was enough to activate my do-gooder impulse. It’s why I gave so much of my time and money to low and no-income clinics and communities. I was blessed with my success and determined to give back.
I kept on driving, making the turns that would take me to the shelter. I hated that we had to have the place here in Five Points, but it was the best possible location. Most women that needed help came from this area and having it around where they lived gave them better access to its services.
I spotted the shelter, which was a three-story pre-WWII bungalow that looked, on the outside, like any other house in the area. That was intention, done to keep the place a secret. I was only one of a few men who knew it was there, and to even find out what it was, one needed to hear about it through word of mouth.
I parked behind Amanda’s red Toyota, hopping out and grabbing my satchel, along with the bag of bagels and donuts and trays of coffee. Once I reached the front door, I keyed in the code for the security system, the heavy-duty lock clicking open for me. I pushed the door open, and I was in.
I’d put some money into making sure the shelter was a little homey. The carpet was new, along with the paint and the up-to-date appliances in the kitchen. The TV was also new, with a PlayStation 5 there for the kids who came w
ith their mothers and likely hadn’t had a chance to relax and play some video games in a long while, if ever.
A few kids, all looking around three to ten, were seated in front of the TV playing some action game. Truth be told, they needed to be in school. But I knew any woman who needed the services of Almost Home likely didn’t have a stable enough life to think about matters like that.
Their mothers were likely resting or getting ready for their day ahead. The shelter was big enough to handle three families at once, but only long enough for them to get on their feet and figure out their next steps. I was happy to be a part of a service that provided the help they needed, but it wasn’t near enough. Denver would need a hundred more shelters like this to handle all the women who needed help.
Amanda Wilkes, a trim, neatly dressed and silver-haired woman in her mid-fifties, stepped out of the kitchen.
“Ryan – good to see you.”
“Likewise.” I turned my attention to the kids. “You guys want some donuts?”
That got their attention.
“Hi, Dr. Anderson,” they said in unison, turning their eyes from the screen just long enough to look in my direction.
I grabbed the smaller bag inside one of the other ones, the bag that contained the donuts, and handed it over to the kids. They happily took it and went to town, passing them out and eating them hungrily, with big smiles on their faces.
Donuts and video games weren’t the best recipe for healthy children, but these kids needed a little indulgence. I was happy to provide it.
I glanced back up at Amanda just in time to see her approach and help me with the coffee trays.
“I can get these passed out upstairs,” she said. “Thanks for bringing them.”
“Sure, sure. Is she here?”
Amada, her mouth in a flat line, nodded. “In the kitchen. Come with me.”
I glanced back at the kids, who were still happily munching their donuts. Amanda led me into the kitchen, the room small and barely big enough for everyone who lived there. But it was a long shot better than the places most of them had fled.
At the small, wooden table near the kitchen window sat a slender young woman with dark hair that fell in front of her face in wavy tresses. Her face was blank, maybe a bit thoughtful, as if she had much on her mind but no idea where to begin thinking it over. She was dressed in flannel pajama pants and an oversized sweatshirt, worn-out tennis shoes on her feet. The oversized clothes made her look smaller, more delicate.
“Tiffani, this is Dr. Ryan Anderson,” Amanda said.
Tiffani glanced up at me with big, dark eyes – eyes that flashed with surprise as she fixed them on me.
It was a common reaction. Most of the women in the shelter were in the process of escaping men, so seeing some hulking, two-meter-tall man was typically enough to give them a fright. I let a warm smile spread across my face, one that let her know she had nothing to fear from me.
“He’s a local gynecologist, and one of the main donors to the shelter. He’s an excellent doctor, and a good man.”
Tiffani said nothing as I approached, that blank stare still on her face. I set the coffee and bagels down on the counter, taking one of the coffees and placing it in front of her.
“Pleasure to meet you, Tiffani,” I said, extending my hand.
But she didn’t take it. Instead, her eyes vaguely drifted up to my palm. It was expected – women in her position weren’t all that into pleasantries. All the same, it was good to offer so she knew I was on the same level.
“What’s with the accent?” she asked in a rough, weak voice.
“I’m from New Zealand,” I said, pulling the chair across from her out and taking a seat. “We’re like Aussies but, ah, better.” I flashed her a smile that she didn’t react to.
“Tiffani, I’m going to leave you with Dr. Anderson, if that’s alright with you. He’s going to ask you some questions, but I’ll be right out here, OK?”
Another blank stare.
From what I could tell, she was in major post-traumatic shock. Whatever she’d escaped from, it hadn’t been pretty.
Amanda placed her hand on my shoulder. “Let me know if you need anything.”
“Of course, thank you.”
Amanda removed her hand and Tiffani and I were alone.
“Now, Tiffani. I don’t know what you’ve gone through. And I’m not going to pretend to understand. But the more you tell me, the more I can help.” I spoke in a slow, calm voice. Then I craned my head a bit, taking a look at her face. There were scratches and bruises – like from an attack. I’d need to get a closer look, but that would require trust. No doubt that was something she had in short supply. “I know this is hard to talk about, but do you mind telling me how you got those?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
She pulled up the sleeve of her right arm and rubbed the skin quickly before pulling it back down. But it was up for long enough that I could see more injuries on her forearm. And more than that, her hands were shaking something fierce.
Tiffani might’ve been simply scared. But there was also a damn good chance she was coming down from drugs. There were heaps of questions to be asked, but it was clear she wasn’t in a talking kind of mood.
“Tiffani, I’m here to help. And if you don’t want to talk, that’s totally fine. But the more I know about you, the more I can make things better for you. How about you tell me your name?”
“It’s Tiffani. She told you already.”
“I’m going to tell you a little secret. I’ve got an embarrassing middle name. Kids used to make fun of me all the time in school about it. Want to know what it is?”
She shrugged.
“It’s Julian. Personally, I think it’s pretty cool. So, now you know my full name – Ryan Julian Anderson. There’s technically a ‘doctor’ there, but I’m not all that big on titles. So, now that you know my name, I think it’s only fair that I know yours. Your real one.”
She let out a snort, a small smile tugging one corner of her mouth. It was as if she’d been wondering how long it’d take for someone to figure out that she wasn’t telling the truth about her name.
“It’s Amy. But I’m not telling you my last name.”
“And that’s perfectly fine. But Amy, it’s very important that I know why you’ve run off, why you’re giving us a different name. Are there people you’re trying to hide from?”
She swallowed, biting down on her lower lip.
It was an answer as good as a “yes.”
She took the coffee and brought it close, removing the lid and looking into it.
“I need some milk.”
“Sure.”
I rose and went to the fridge. There wasn’t much in there, but milk was among the contents. I brought it over to the table and set it down. She quickly poured some in and replaced the lid, then took a quick sip.
“Who are you going to tell? I mean, if I tell you.”
“Depends on what you have to say. If someone’s out there hurting people, I’ll have to tell the police.”
She sighed, as if she’d known that’s what I was going to say.
“This might be hard to believe right now,” I said. “But I’m one of the good guys. Amanda and I and all the other great people who work here, we help people like you out, make sure the ones who hurt you never get a chance to do it ever again.”
Amy nodded, glancing back down at the table. I could sense she was weighing the pros and cons of telling me her story.
“It’s my dad.”
Silence fell. I said nothing, letting her take her time.
“He’s an addict. Alcohol and whatever else he can get. And he hits me. Sometimes he hits me when I make him mad, sometimes he hits me for no reason.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
I stayed calm on the outside, but deep within, anger began to boil.
“That’s just how life was, you know? He’d get mad and I’d try to stay out of his way, but it never help
ed. But…something happened last night, something that made me know I had to leave.”
My stomach tensed at what she might have to say next. I’d heard my share of horror stories working for Almost Home, but I had a sense what Amy had to say might be the worst yet.
“My dad has this friend; his name is Jason. He brings my dad drugs. And he always…he always looks at me when he comes over, makes me feel horrible. Yesterday, he came over and my dad told him that he didn’t have much money.”
I took a deep, slow breath, trying to prepare for her next words.
“My dad asked if there was anything he could do, something else he could offer. Jason looked over at me, and said, “yeah, I can think of something.” So, he and my dad leave to go to the other room and when they came back my dad said that I needed to stay home, that Jason was going to come by later and spend some time with me. I knew what that meant and that I had to get out of there.”
I grit my teeth, my hands formed into tight fists under the table. I wished her dad, and that piece of shit dealer were there right then; I’d take them apart with my bare fucking hands.
“How old are you, Amy?” I asked.
“Seventeen.”
Fucking hell.
“Then what happened?”
“There was no way I was going to let Jason touch me. So, when he left, I put whatever I could into my backpack and ran away. But I didn’t have any food, didn’t have any money. I didn’t know what else to do. A police officer stopped me and asked what I was doing and I just starting crying. He got me into his car and told me about this place, brought me here.”
“Good. I’m glad to hear it.”
“But…my little brother and sister, they’re still at the house, and…” Tears formed in her eyes, and I slid out of my chair and picked up a nearby box of tissues, placing them in front of her.
Amanda, having likely heard the tears, came back into the room.