Live For This

by Kathryn R. Biel

  I want to. I’m just not very good at it.

  But the fact that I want to, that should count for something, right?

  That’s why I’m getting a job. I could work at a restaurant, but that reminds me too much of my old life. I don’t want that. I need to do something different. There’s a quilt store in town. Seems safe. I doubt they need help. It can’t hurt to check though, right?

  I was going to ask Michael to bring me into town, but I’m too embarrassed to speak to him. There’s a bus stop about a mile away. I walk there and wait. I picked up a schedule yesterday when I walked down to the thrift store to get my highly fashionable skirt and blouse. My skin is sort of crawling, despite the fact that I washed it last night. I don’t think it looks terrible. It’s simply not anything I would have worn in my former life. A white blouse, probably fashionable in the early 90s. I tucked it into a plaid A-line skirt that hits below my knees. The last time I wore a skirt below my knees (that wasn’t a maxi dress), I was probably ten. I found a cool belt. In my head, I’m pulling off thrift-store chic. I hope that’s how it translates.

  The quilt store wasn’t my first choice, but the other three places I’ve checked don’t need anyone. If the quilt store doesn’t hire me, I’m going to have to sell Michael’s ring. I’ll use the money to buy a car so I can look elsewhere for a job. It makes me feel terrible. I don’t see how I have any other choice. He didn’t want it. It symbolizes nothing but pain and heartbreak for him.

  He doesn’t talk much about her. I sort of hate her, even though the only thing I know about her is that she couldn’t handle his injury. I probably would have done the same thing, but I don’t think highly of myself either.

  Inside the quilt shop, there’s an ancient woman behind the counter. Picture every stereotype of a little old lady—bent over posture, tight white curls, pastel polyester pants—she’s got ‘em all. Her name is even Hazel, which is the quintessential little old lady name. Apparently, she’s not the owner. She’s just the help. The owner won’t be back until tomorrow. I need to come back then.

  I hope she doesn’t notice that I’ll be wearing the same outfit.

  The jewelry store I noticed before is across the street from the quilt shop. I’ve been carrying the ring in my purse, waiting for this chance. I could at least find out how much this ring is worth.

  The clerk is a middle-aged woman with mom hair—the boring, bland bob that so many moms seem to sport. Not that my mom ever had that kind of hair. She always looked great. This woman is only a few years away from ending up like Hazel in the quilt store. This woman—I look at the name tag—Linda, bustles over.

  “Hello, there. Can I help you with something today?”

  “Um, yeah. I have something I’m considering selling. I was wondering if you could tell me what it’s worth.”

  “Well, my husband, Reginald, does the official appraisals. He’s out of the store at the moment, but I may be able to help. At least give you a ballpark. Why don’t you come over here and we’ll take a look?” She bustles back behind the glass case and pulls out a black velvet mat on which I’m to put the ring. Suddenly, I’m nervous about this. Really nervous. I’m not used to being edgy. I feel jittery and just want to leave. I glance at the quilt shop across the street.

  I don’t have the luxury of leaving. This is my only choice.

  Digging in my purse, I produce the battered ring box. I put it down on the mat, not opening it. Linda gingerly reaches out and turns the box to face her. She opens it. Then she squints, bending down to get a closer look. She picks up the ring box and stares intently at the ring for a moment. Then she looks at me. Then back at the ring.

  “You’re looking to sell this?”

  “Yes.” Her demeanor has totally changed and she’s making me nervous. Even more nervous, I should say. I just want to take the ring and run.

  “Hmmm. Interesting.” She takes the ring out and examines it more closely.

  I want her to put the ring back in the box so I can get out of here. I’m feeling claustrophobic, and it’s hard to breathe.

  “Hang on a minute. I want to look something up in the office. I’ll be right back.” She takes the ring and disappears through a curtained doorway. Odd. You wouldn’t think they’d leave someone unattended in a jewelry store. I’m sure there are cameras all over the place. She’s probably watching me right now.

  Linda walks slowly out of the back, my ring still in her hand.

  “Should I just come back later? When would be a good time?”

  “Do you want to leave this here so Reginald can look at it when he gets back?”

  “Um, no thanks. I’ll come back some other time.” I think this is my sign from the universe that I’m not meant to sell the ring. Fine with me. It doesn’t feel right anyway.

  The bell behind me sounds, and I whip around, startled. There’s a police officer in the doorway, his shoulders taking up most of the frame. I step backward, but the counter’s there. I have nowhere to go.

  “Hey Linda.”

  “Thanks for coming over John. That was quick.”

  Oh shit. She called him here. Why? I didn’t do anything wrong.

  John takes a step toward me. I’m trapped. My hands are drenched with sweat, and I think I’m going to puke. “So, Linda tells me you’re trying to sell a ring. Is that right?”

  I nod, unable to form the words. I glance to my right at Linda. She’s got the ring back in the box. I clear my throat and find my voice. “Is there something wrong with that, Officer?” I need to turn on the charm.

  I can’t.

  The thought of trying to use my body to get out of this—whatever this is—makes me sick.

  The door flies open, the jangle of the bell startling and harsh.

  “John, arrest her. She stole that ring from Michael.”

  My mouth falls open. How dare he? I knew Mitchell didn’t like me, but I never thought it would come to this.

  “Ma’am, can you tell me where you got this ring?”

  I give Mitchell my best death stare. “I found it on the side of the road.”

  Mitchell pipes in. “That’s bullshit. She’s staying with Michael. She stole it.”

  I want to defend myself. But like I did with Meadow, like I did with Chase, like I did with my dad, I stand there and take it. I say nothing and take it.

  “Ma’am, can you come with me?” The cop is stepping toward me. He attempts to grab my elbow, which I jerk away from him.

  “Ma’am, what’s your name?”

  “Samirah.”

  “Samirah what?”

  “Samirah Lundgren.”

  “Where are you living, Ms. Lundgren?”

  I know if I turn on the charm, I can get out of this. Of course, I’m wearing my thrift store nun outfit, so maybe not. I try to give him a coy look, but can’t muster the strength. I don’t want him looking at me that way. I don’t want anyone looking at me. Period. He’s trying to escort me out the door. I can’t fight him. Mitchell’s standing next to Linda, looking at the ring.

  I hate him.

  I hate Linda for calling Mitchell.

  I hate the world.

  The hate bubbles up and I channel my dad. I hate him too, but he was a litigator. What I do remember about him being around is him yelling and arguing.

  “I don’t feel the need to disclose that at this time.”

  “Do you have an I.D.?”

  “I do.”

  He looks at me. He is not amused. Neither am I.

  “I need to get my ring back. Excuse me.” I try to step around him to go back into the store. He sidesteps, blocking my way. I step to the other side. He lets me pass. I march back in, head held high.

  Linda is still clutching the ring. “I’ll take that back, thank you very much.” She looks at my outstretched hand. Mitchell is seething. She has no choice, and we all know it. Officer John is still standing there, watching.

  “John, are you going to do something? You need to arr
est her.” Mitchell’s voice hurts my ears.

  “I can’t do anything. There’s no evidence a crime has been committed.”

  “She’s got Lainie’s ring.”

  “How do you know?”

  Linda chimes in. “Because I helped Sally design it myself. It’s a custom ring. I’d know it anywhere.”

  I’m standing there, watching this take place. My hand is still extended, waiting for the ring back. My arm is tired, but I’ll be damned if I drop my hand without the ring in it.

  “Has Lainie filed a report that it’s missing?” Officer John is taking notes in his small notebook. I hate small towns where everyone knows everyone.

  It’s Mitchell’s turn to scramble. “Um, Lainie gave it back to Michael.”

  “And has he reported it missing?” When the police officer asks this, I smirk. I know the answer.

  “Mitchell, why don’t you call your brother? Ask him where the ring is.” That’s Linda’s helpful suggestion. I can’t hold my hand out anymore. It falls to my side. Mitchell’s got his phone in his hand, and almost instantaneously, I hear Michael’s voice coming over the speaker.

  “Yo, bro. Wha’s up?”

  “Where’s Lainie’s ring?” Mitchell is abrupt. I wonder if he’s always been such a huge asshole. Probably.

  “Um, dunno. And it’s not her ring. It’s the ring I bought for her that the bitch gave back to me.”

  “I need to know RIGHT NOW, where is the ring?” Mitchell’s shouting. It makes me want to vomit. I’m starting to fall apart. My bravado is crumbling.

  “I don’t know. I threw it away.” Michael pauses. “Why?”

  “No reason. So you don’t know what happened to the ring?”

  “Nah. I tossed it out my car window while driving. Actually, that’s how I met Samirah. I think I hit her with it. Why? Am I on speaker? Where are you?”

  “Gotta go.” Mitchell disconnects before Michael can say anything more.

  There’s an awkward silence. No one will meet my eye. Finally, Officer John speaks. “I guess that clears this up.” He turns and walks out the door. Useless oaf.

  I clear my throat. “Now give me my ring back.”

  “No, I’m not giving it back to you. Michael needs this. He should be the one selling it, not you. After all he’s done for you, this is how you treat him?” Mitchell’s face is purple with rage. I’m trembling and need to leave before my legs give out. I grab the ring and box defiantly.

  Fine. I know I’m right, but I can’t do this anymore. I leave.

  To hell with this town. I’m outta here.

  CHAPTER TWENTY: MICHAEL

  “WHAT DID YOU DO TO HER?” I’m livid. I have never been so angry with my brother in all my life.

  “SHE STOLE LAINIE’S RING!” His voice matches my own. He plunks the damn box down on my coffee table. I can’t get rid of that fucking thing. It keeps finding me.

  Good thing we’re in my living room and not at work.

  “She did not. I threw it away. She must have picked it up. Good for her. At least it could help her.”

  “GOOD FOR HER? ARE YOU KIDDING ME?”

  I want to fucking punch my brother right about now. Samirah’s gone. I don’t know where. All her stuff is missing. The only thing left behind is the ring. It’s on the coffee table. I have no idea where she could be going. She doesn’t have anyone.

  I was the closest thing to a friend she had. “Was” being the operative word.

  I can’t believe she’s gone.

  “She left.”

  “Good.” Mitchell goes into the kitchen and gets himself a beer. “Michael, believe me, this is for the best. She’s no good. Nothing but trouble.”

  “How can you say that? You don’t know her.”

  He hands me a beer. Tonight is a night I want to drink. I pull open the tab and take a long sip. “Neither do you. Honestly, you don’t know anything about her, do you?”

  I want to answer him back, but he’s right. The things I know are mere fragments. Her mother’s dead. Her father threw her out. She was dating a married guy named Chase who hurt her. I still don’t know what he did, but man, it was a doozy. “You’re right.”

  “I know, man. And some day you’ll thank me.”

  “Not right now.” Not for a long time. Normally, when Mitchell and I fight, which isn’t often, it blows over almost as quickly as it started. Right now, I can’t see getting over this.

  “Hopefully, she’s off to the next town on the bus line. Or the furthest town that Greyhound goes to. Just far away.”

  “That’s it! I bet she went to the bus station.” I put the beer down and head toward the door. I’m glad I didn’t have more than a sip. I need to cath soon, but this can’t wait. In record time, I’m sliding into my car, dismantling my chair, and tossing it in the back.

  “Where are you going?” Mitchell’s standing in front of my car.

  “To find her. I need to try the bus station.”

  “Let her go.”

  I look at him through the windshield. “I can’t. So move or get in, but I’m going after her.” I pull my door shut and turn the key in the ignition. Mitchell steps aside and I take the car out of park. I pull back on the handle that operates the gas pedal, and I’m off.

  She’s not at the bus station. I don’t even need to go that far. I find her about a half mile from my house. With her bags weighing her down, she hasn’t covered much distance. I pull up next to her and roll down the window.

  “We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”

  Tears are streaming down her cheeks. She can’t wipe them because her hands are full. She’s bent over at the waist under the weight of her backpack, and her hair hangs down, forming a curtain around her face.

  “Please don’t think I’m not a gentleman if I don’t get out to help you with your bags, but I can at least pop the trunk for you.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, because it’s going to be hard to put your bags in the trunk if I don’t open it.” I smile.

  She looks at me blankly and doesn’t move. “No, why are you here?”

  “Because you left and you have nowhere to go.”

  “Did you talk to your brother?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then why do you want me to come back? Don’t you know I’m a thief?”

  “If memory serves me correctly, I threw the ring away. I believe the saying goes something like, ‘finders keepers’—or something along those lines.”

  A smile finally breaks through on her face. It is slight, but it’s the first hint of an expression. “You’re not mad.”

  “Maybe. I wish you would have said something about it.”

  “And how would that have gone? You know that huge rock you threw away? I picked it up and I’m going to fence it so I can buy a car to go to work.”

  “That’s why you were selling it?”

  She nods.

  “Get in the car and we’ll talk at home.”

  “I don’t have a home.”

  “Yes, you do. For as long as you want it. Don’t make me come out there. Please, like literally. I don’t feel like hauling my chair out again.”

  Relief washes over her eyes and she moves toward the back of the car. The closing of the trunk makes a loud thump, and then she gets into the passenger seat.

  “Thanks,” she says, her voice barely audible. She reaches over and squeezes my hand. “What about your brother?”

  “Screw my brother.”

  “No thanks, if it’s all the same to you.”

  That makes me laugh. I’m just so relieved I found her. And that she’s coming back. I don’t care what my brother has to say about it. He’ll have to learn to deal with it. I’m sure he’s gone to my parents, and I’ll be hearing from them soon.

  No sooner do I have that thought than my phone lights up, flashing my mom’s picture in the dark interior of the car. Crap. I answer the phone with a tap of the button on my steering wheel, and her voice comes over the car r
adio.

  “Hey, Mom.”

  “Michael, Mitchell called me.”

  “I’m sure he did. I’m sure you’ll be relieved to know I found Samirah. She’s here in the car with me. We’re on our way back.”

  “Oh.”

  “She’s right here, Mom. You can say hello.”

  Her voice is flat. “Hello, Sam … Um, I’m sorry I didn’t catch the full name.”

  She answers. “Samirah. You can call me Sam. I’m okay with that. How are you Mrs. Salinger?”

  “A little startled, but Mitchell’s wasn’t the worst phone call I’ve ever received.”

  My poor mother. She’s been through hell with everything too. Sometimes I forget. “I’m not sure what Mitchell has told you, but I’m helping Samirah out for a while by letting her crash at my place. She’s been looking for a job, but I don’t think she’s had any luck.” I glance over at Samirah to see her shaking her head. “You know, I was thinking, maybe we can find something for her in the company. I was gonna talk to Dad about it tomorrow.”

  “Oh, okay. I’ll mention it. Why don’t you bring her by in the morning? I’m anxious to meet her.”

  “She’s still right here and listening.”

  “Right. Okay. I’ll see you both in the morning.”

  “Night, Mom.” I disconnect.

  “I can’t let you do that,” Samirah interjects immediately.

  “What?”

  “Give me a job, too. You’ve done too much already.”

  “Honestly, I don’t know that we have anything, but it’s worth taking a look. Have you ever done clerical work before?”

  “Not really. I was a business major before I dropped out of school. My high school guidance counselor thought it would be a good place for me to meet a man.”

  I almost run a stop sign when she says this. “He did not?”

  “I told you—people don’t look past the exterior.”

  “That’s terrible.”

  “That’s life.”

  “No, it’s not. I know what it’s like when people make a snap judgment based on what they see. It sucks. You would not believe the things people say to me.”