Fallen Woman

by Stephie Walls

  My heart told me she was a blessing.

  “Gianna, what time you gotta be to work?”

  I sighed. She knew she had me. I needed her, and from the look in her eyes, she needed me too, but I didn’t know why. Maybe kids made her feel youthful or wanted. Or possibly just gave her purpose. Whatever it was, we needed each other.

  We confirmed the details for next week, but when I told her I wouldn’t be able to pay her until I got my first check, she adamantly refused any compensation. I finally relented but knew there was no way I could let that go. I’d figure out a way to reimburse her, but for right now, she’d saved my butt, and my kids were thrilled to meet Derrick, her grandson.

  Chapter Two

  Monday morning was a blur. We stopped first at Miss Pearl’s apartment next door. I’d tried to compile something resembling a lunch for Trace, Megan, and Emmy, but it would be painfully obvious to my neighbor how bad my circumstances were when she saw the crackers and applesauce. Just as she opened the door, a black streak flew past her and into the breezeway. Batman, also known as Derrick, whirled into our lives, and Trace instantly had a new best friend.

  Derrick had no qualms about befriending my son; he didn’t bother scoping Trace out. He simply extended his friendship in true boy fashion. “Wanna be Spiderman? I got my other costume here.” My son looked at me for permission, and I nodded. They took off like thieves in the night, leaving us standing outside.

  I gave the girls hugs and handed Miss Pearl my meager bag of food. She took it but told me in her own way that I didn’t need to bring any more. “I love to cook, Gianna, and your girls are going to love learning. We’ve got lunch covered.”

  I refused to feel shame. It stung to know I couldn’t feed my own children, but I had more issues to deal with than just room and board. Medical expenses were eating me alive. I knew if I ever had the chance, I’d help someone the same way Miss Pearl was helping me. So I straightened my spine, gave her a gentle nod, and thanked her with a kiss on the cheek. I wished this woman was my grandmother.

  “Shoo. Go on. You need to gets to work.” Her thin hands waved at me to go, so I did with a giggle.

  “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” I called over my shoulder and then hustled to the bus stop. I got there just in time to make the ride.

  Ryan always told me to dress for the job I wanted, not the job I had, so that’s precisely what I’d done for my first day. I had on a beautiful brown and gold silk blouse and trousers that matched. It was comfortable, and I felt like a million bucks in five-year-old clothes, but by lunch time, I was ready to cry. I hadn’t worn heels for this long in years, and no one told me working in the mailroom meant standing to sort mail. I spent the afternoon walking all over the twenty floors of Faston Corporation delivering it. It didn’t matter how fantastic I looked because every step I took made me cringe on the inside.

  At noon, my boss dismissed me for an hour lunch break that hadn’t come a minute too soon. When I found the cafeteria, I dug around in my purse and pulled out a quarter to buy a cup of ice. With my purchase in hand, I went to the lobby and tucked myself into one of the chairs in the corner facing a wall. Angry red blisters screamed at me for attention when I eased my shoes off. After tucking several pieces of the ice in a few napkins, I held it on my raw feet. I leaned back with my eyes closed and hoped the cold would numb the pain.

  I felt his presence before he spoke but refused to open my eyes, hoping whoever was at my side would leave peacefully. No such luck.

  “First day on the job?” The words were like velvet caressing my skin—warm and smooth like a shot of thirty-year-old scotch.

  I peeked through my eyelids to find the gorgeous grays I’d seen after my interview and offered him a weak, obligatory smile, but nothing inviting.

  He took the seat next to me. “Jase Lane.” This was the part where I gave him my name and prayed he’d never heard of my late husband.

  “Gianna LeBron,” I said as my head fell to the side to fully take him in.

  He nodded, but if he knew, he gave no indication and didn’t inquire further. “So, what happened to your feet?” He pointed toward the ice currently easing the pain on my heel.

  “The mailroom.”

  “Ahh. Standing in heels, huh? Have you never worked in a mailroom?”

  Embarrassed, I shook my head.

  “Well, Gianna. Make sure you put something on those blisters tonight when you get home and wear flats tomorrow.” He winked at me as he stood and gave me half a sultry grin. I’m sure he did well with the ladies, and had I been interested, he might have caught my attention, but the moment any man found out the gravity of my situation, he’d run for the hills—especially one like Jase Lane.

  I waved him off and closed my eyes for the remainder of my break. I prayed I’d be able to make it through the rest of the day.

  Luckily, the second half of my shift flew by as I met new people and delivered packages and letters to different floors. Walking was much easier than standing in one place, or maybe it was the conversation that helped me forget the burning pain as my flesh tore open—either way, at 4:45 pm, I had finished my first round and returned to my floor. I put my cart away, cleaned up my station, and beelined for my locker at five o’clock on the dot. When I opened the door to grab my purse, a Faston Corporation envelope floated to the ground. My head turned left, then right, but there was no one else around when I picked up the paper. Opening the envelope, a smile spread across my face, and I tucked the handful of Band-Aids into my purse.

  The moment I was out the front door, I removed my shoes and carried them in my hand on my way to the bus stop. The warm concrete felt good on the soles of my feet, and the air felt better than the confines of leather.

  “Hey, Gia.” The same buttery tone called to me from the entrance to the building. I stopped, more from the use of a nickname I hadn’t heard since Ryan died than Jase summoning me. “Where are you headed?” He had a briefcase in hand and looked smart in his suit, but my attention gravitated to his steely gray eyes.

  “Home.”

  “Would you like to go get a drink? There’s a group of us going to happy hour at Fifth’s across the street?” He appeared hopeful, and I hated to turn him down, not because I was interested, but merely because I craved adult interaction.

  “I wish I could, but I have to get home.” I should’ve offered an explanation, something more than blowing him off, but I wasn’t ready to reveal anything personal.

  He threw his hand up and pointed with his thumb. “The parking garage is that way. Come on; I’ll walk with you.”

  “I’m on the bus, but thank you.” Glancing at the huge clock in the center of town, I realized if I didn’t leave soon, I would miss my line and be stuck here for an hour. “I really do have to go.” I waved and turned without any further discussion. I wasn’t interested in explaining my circumstances to anyone.

  “Gia, wait,” he hollered behind me, but I kept moving as though I hadn’t heard him. If I’d turned around, he likely would’ve offered me a ride I couldn’t accept. This was best.

  I barely made it to the stop in time and arrived home exhausted. I opened our apartment and threw my purse and shoes inside before knocking on Miss Pearl’s door. She greeted me with a horde of children, mostly mine, at her feet—all smiles and covered in flour.

  “We made dinner, Mommy.” The girls grinned at me from the legs of our elderly neighbor. I watched as Emmy yawned and could see the glassy look in her eyes. Long days were harder for her than they were for the other two.

  “Oh, that’s exciting.” I squatted down to wipe the powdery substance from Emmy’s face. “Are you girls ready to go home?”

  “Nonsense. You’ve worked all day, and they’ve made you dinner. You come in and eat.”

  “Miss Pearl, we can’t intrude any more on your day.” This woman must’ve thought I was a total freeloader.

  “Table’s already set. You’s got plenty o’ time to eat and get the kids in the
bath before bed.” She took me by the arm and pulled me into her tiny apartment. It was no different than mine in layout, but somehow, hers felt like a home—she’d made it warm and inviting. Ours was cold and sterile. With no money to do anything to it, coupled with the little we had in terms of belongings, the walls stayed white and the place was drab. Miss Pearl’s felt alive.

  The portions were small, but the food was incredible. Fried pork chops, mashed potatoes, green beans, and homemade biscuits. I couldn’t recall having a better meal, nor the last time I’d actually felt full. My kids looked satisfied for the first time in months with full bellies and tired eyes. We all helped Miss Pearl with the dishes and cleaned up.

  Standing at the door, Derrick held onto his grandmother while we said goodbye. “Thank you for everything today, Miss Pearl. I don’t know how, but I’ll find a way to pay you back.”

  “Aww. Sweetheart. I’s just glad I’m here to help. Give Miss Pearl a hug and get those babies in bed.” She squeezed me tightly and directed her attention to Trace, Megan, and Emmy. “Remember, tomorrow we’re bakin’ cookies, so come ready. Be good for your mama.”

  I was shocked by the three “yes, ma’ams” I heard following her command, but smiled instead of acknowledging it. They were good kids; this was just a new level of manners they hadn’t been taught.

  The rest of the evening, the twins chattered on about Miss Pearl and Derrick. They had gone to the park and fed the ducks old bread, played dress-up, and she let them all help make lunch and dinner. I had no idea how she kept up with the four of them, but whatever she did, she did it right. Emmy fell asleep before the twins ever got a bath, and Megan and Trace each collapsed without a fuss. I opted for the couch instead of the family bed, hoping to get a better night sleep. With Band-Aids on my blisters and ice on my feet, I drifted off.

  When my alarm clock went off the next morning, I got up to do it all over again…but this time in flats.

  ~~~

  The first three weeks flew by, each day a repeat of the one before, ending at Miss Pearl’s apartment for a home-cooked meal my children had helped prepare. I had no idea how she wrangled three four-year-olds and a three-year-old to prepare food, but the woman was a saint and we’d all fallen in love with her. She was exactly what I’d envisioned a grandmother should be, but since I never had one and neither had the kids, we had no idea how wonderful it would be. I didn’t know how I had ever survived the last few years without that woman in my life. Somehow, she’d picked up on Emmy’s needs without me mentioning them, and every time I turned around, she was trying a new herbal remedy on my baby. Thus far, nothing had worked, but someone else was helping me fight this battle, and I looked forward to dinner at her table all day.

  When I got my first paycheck, I’d planned to do something nice for Miss Pearl, to say thank you for her generosity—not just her time—because she’d basically fed my family and me for three weeks. I was so excited to get paid, but when I opened it and did the rough math in my head, there was virtually nothing left after paying my measly rent, catching up on the utilities, and paying the bare minimum to stay in the specialists’ good graces. I had to have money for the bus every day, which only left me about twenty-five dollars to offer to my only friend.

  I sat on the bench outside the building, just off to the side of the flood of people racing home on Friday. The hustle and bustle went in the opposite direction, giving me a moment to collect myself after a good cry. I knew I wouldn’t get rich working in the mailroom, but I’d hoped to have enough to buy Miss Pearl some groceries or get a card. Anything I could contribute with this little bit of money would be an insult. The tears streamed down my face as I kept my back to the people making their way toward their weekend.

  “Gia, are you all right?” The familiar voice from behind startled me. I quickly tried to dry my face before turning around, but his firm hand hit my shoulder, forcing my eyes to his before I was ready. “Whoa. Why are you crying?” His brow furrowed and a worried look set in his features.

  We weren’t friends. I didn’t know why he cared nor how he kept finding me. I figured he worked in the building, but I hadn’t a clue where. He just seemed to appear out of nowhere—regularly.

  I swatted my hand in the air as if it were nothing. “I’m fine. Really.”

  When he took the seat next to me, I knew he wasn’t leaving without more of an explanation—one I wasn’t ready to give. As he started talking, I searched my mind for answers to questions he hadn’t asked, preparing myself to give as little information as possible. This man had no clue what my life was like, and I didn’t want him to learn through me. I didn’t want anyone to know how far I’d fallen.

  “Gianna?” He said my name as though he was waiting for my response.

  “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

  He smiled that half grin at me, his stone-colored eyes piercing my soul. “I asked what has you so upset?”

  Even after I sat there, determined to give him zero information, I still opened up more than I should have to a man I didn’t know. With a heavy sigh, I let out the first tidbit, the crack that would eventually allow him to push the door wide open. “I got paid today.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone cry on payday. Although now that I think about it, I probably should.” His attempt at lightening the mood was appreciated, but fell flat.

  “I was just hoping to be able to do something for a friend who has helped me out tremendously. I’m disappointed I won’t be able to.” A rush of frustrated air escaped my lungs. “I needed a minute to compose myself before going home. You seem to have a knack for finding me at my worst.”

  “What were you hoping to do for your friend?” he asked with genuine curiosity.

  “It’s not important. She wasn’t expecting it, so hopefully, I can make it work with the next check.” I wiped the remnants of my personal tantrum from my cheek with the back of my hand before standing to make my exit.

  “Don’t run off so fast. Why are you always in such a hurry to get away from me? Do I smell?” he asked before sniffing under his arms.

  I shook my head and rolled my eyes.

  “Bat in the cave?” he questioned, using the glass behind us as a mirror to look up his nose for anything hanging.

  I giggled and again, shook my head.

  “Bad breath?”

  “No. None of those things.”

  “Then what? You take off like your ass is on fire every time I’m near. What gives?”

  “It’s not you.”

  “I’m waiting…” He stood there, expecting more of an explanation. This was what happened when people were too pretty. They were accustomed to getting their way; people treated them a certain way. They had expectations. And here I was about to cater to those things because no matter how hard I tried to hide from him, his eyes drew me out. The warmth in their cold color was an anomaly I couldn’t resist.

  “I just need to get home. I can’t miss the bus, or I’ll have to wait an hour for the next one.” It was honest, not terribly open, but truthful.

  “There are buses every fifteen minutes, and besides, I have a car. I can take you home.”

  “My route only comes once an hour.” I was agitated. I couldn’t blame him. He likely assumed I rode the bus to one of the many apartments around the area—not to the outskirts of town in the projects. He couldn’t know—no one knew. Especially not looking at me. Even outdated fashion was still fashion, and when my clothes were new, they were quite expensive. “Look. I really have to go.” But just as I turned around to leave, I watched my bus pull away from the curb. My shoulders rounded in defeat, and I dropped my head.

  “Gia, it’s okay. I don’t mind driving you home.” He stepped in front of me, and for whatever reason, I leaned into his chest with my forehead. The scent of maple syrup filled my nostrils, and I wondered how anyone could smell like breakfast. His hands met my shoulders and pushed me back to make eye contact. “It’s not a big deal. Seriously.”

&
nbsp; “It is to me. I’ll wait for the next bus.”

  “That’s crazy. Come on. We can have you at your front door before the next bus comes.”

  “I appreciate it, but I’ll wait at the stop.” I started to walk off, but before I got two steps away, he grabbed my hand.

  “What gives? I just want to get you home safely.”

  My frustration had reached a breaking point. “I don’t want you to know where I live,” I half-hollered at him. It was loud enough to cause the few people who lingered in front of the building to stop and stare.

  He threw his hands up in surrender. “Got it.” Hurt lined every feature on his beautiful face, and I couldn’t allow him to misunderstand what my words meant.

  I closed the gap between us and grabbed the hand now at his side. “No. I didn’t mean I don’t want you to know where I live like I’m afraid for you to know. I don’t want you to know where I live because I’m ashamed.” And just like that, the cat was out of the bag—well, half of it anyway.

  “What? That’s insane. Why would I care where you live?”

  “You may not. But I do. I worked my ass off to get out of the situation I’m in, and I pulled it off against all odds, but life hit like a storm and tore down my sand castle.”

  “I’m not following you, Gia.”

  “I live in The Village, Jase.” Sadness and resignation laced my voice. It was what it was. I was who I was.

  His eyes were wide, obviously shocked. “Oh.” He couldn’t manage anything more, and that was fine. I didn’t need more. This would end whatever interest he might have had, and I could move on with my pathetic existence. He didn’t drop my hand or make any motion to leave. He just stood there, eye to eye, my green for his gray. “So you still need a ride home, right?”

  “Did you miss what I just said?” Surely he’s not stupid. Everyone in this area knew what part of town I was talking about, and no respectable man of his stature would be caught dead in my neck of the woods unless they were doing some Habitat for Humanity project.

  He began to pull me toward the parking garage, never releasing my hand. “Nope. I heard you. But I don’t understand what that has to do with whether or not you need a ride.”