Hell, Fire & Freedom (Fighting for Freedom)

by Callahan, Shannon

  “For the record, I’ll never be half as beautiful as you are today, and I was the one who made a fool of myself, not the other way around. I’ll stay away, but I just couldn’t leave without you knowing that,” he says in a calm whisper. I’m stunned to silence, as he brushes his thumb alongside my cheek. “Take care of yourself.”

  I vaguely hear someone shout, “Blaze,” and his eyes search the café before settling on someone near the front door. He nods at them, and then rises from his knees, turns, and leaves. I’m shocked to find that I miss his touch. Snap out of it, Brynn. I shake my head, trying to clear the cloudiness that’s taken over.

  “Are you all right?” Marie asks, taking my hand in hers.

  “Yeah, sorry, I’m fine. I promise.” I manage to smile weakly, pulling my hand back. “Let’s go take a look at that new apartment of ours, huh? We can eat on the way over,” I say in an attempt to sound enthusiastic, but the apartment is the last thing on my mind at the moment.

  We clear the table and hail a taxi to take us to the address Tara provided me with when she called the hotel last night. We learn it’s not very far from the café we were at and probably would have been quicker to walk. I’m not familiar with street names, though, so lesson learned.

  The apartment is a large red, brick building only a few minutes walk from downtown. The outside of the building is clean and looks promising. The area doesn’t seem to be too bad either. Tara greets Marie and me in the lobby with a big smile on her face.

  “Brynn, Marie! It’s so nice to see you two! I’m so excited for today. A safe home to make new memories in. Come on in, and let me show you around. This is one of the best parts of my job, and one of my favorite apartments,” she says excitedly. We give her a big smile and follow her into the building where she punches in a security code to get in through the first door and uses her key for the second one.

  “The code is 76936. It will change every two months; the landlord will slip the paper into your mailbox or under your door letting you know about the change a week in advance. You’re on the third floor, so you’ll have a bit of a climb, but it’s not so bad,” Tara says.

  We follow her up the stairs and down a long hallway. The building is clean, a little dated, but that doesn’t bother me in the slightest. The carpets are a dull burgundy, and the walls are white with a faded gold trim. I’m guessing in its prime years, this building used to be a great spot. She stops at a white door, with the gold numbers 312 hanging above. She uses her key and opens the door wide, beckoning us in.

  “Welcome home, girls!” she squeals.

  I walk in first, and I’m immediately awestruck. The hallways may not have been updated but the apartment definitely has been. It’s an open floor plan design with the kitchen off to my right, living room to my left, and I can see a hallway in the back of the living room. The living room is furnished in creams and blues with printed throw pillows. A lovely L-shaped sofa, reclining chair, and coffee table are all centered to a wall-mounted television and what looks like the original wood flooring.

  The kitchen cupboards are white, and the countertops are a dark grey. The appliances are white as well and look fairly new. There’s three stools along an eat-in island, and the flooring from the living room is continued into the kitchen.

  I look over at Marie who has a smile plastered on her face and then back to a nervous looking Tara. “Well …?” she asks.

  “This is incredible, Tara. Are you sure this is the right place?” I ask in shock. I mean, seriously, I could never afford this place in New York City!

  “I’m certain. This building is actually all condos. A very generous elderly lady who lost her daughter to domestic violence donated it to the shelter almost ten years ago. We pay the condo fees and the utilities, so that’s what your rent will be for. The electricity, water, heat, internet, cable, and phone are all included in your rent cost as well. We’ll determine what you’re able to pay once you get your first pay check and we can go from there. Don’t worry about anything; we would never charge more than you could comfortably afford.

  Now, there’s a bedroom right off the kitchen and one down the hall from the living room, and that’s where the bathroom is, too. There’s only one, but I’m sure you two can make it work just fine. The washer and dryer are in the bathroom, as well, and it’s stocked with towels and extra linens. Make yourselves at home, and let us know if you need anything. Oh, and that reminds me, are you going to need some grocery money until you receive your first pay check?” she asks politely.

  “We still have a little bit left over from selling my jewelry for the plane and bus tickets that should hold us over, but thank you for offering.”

  “Marie, why don’t you check out the bedrooms? I’m thinking you’re going to like the back bedroom the best,” Tara offers. Marie leaves, smiling, and Tara pulls some forms on a clipboard from her bag, which is almost as tall as she is. She lays out stacks of papers along the kitchen island, and sets a pen beside them.

  “This is the lease agreement, so I’m going to have you sign this now. It’s basically just stating that you agree to live here until you’re able to get back on your feet, whether that be months or years from now. There’s no timeline—we’ll keep in touch to see how you’re doing,” she says, and I start to relax. That doesn’t sound so bad. She points to the next stack of papers on the island.

  “These are your divorce papers, and thanks to your statement yesterday, I got these fast tracked. I just need you to sign anywhere there’s a sticky, and I’ll make sure he signs them on his end, never knowing where they came from. It’s still going to take a little while to go through, but this is a great start,” Tara says in a more sympathetic tone. I finish up the lease papers and start signing the divorce papers without bothering to read them. So long as I’m free from Carl, I don’t care what else they have to say.

  “These forms are the name change you requested. The judge approved them, so all you have to do is sign. I also have Marie’s new ID card and your new license. They just used the photos on file from your old ones in Oregon. You are officially Brynn Elizabeth Vincent and Marie Abigail Vincent,” she says, handing us our new cards. I hand her back the completed forms and sign the name change papers quickly. I say my new name in my head proudly, Brynn Vincent.

  “This last form is an application for the Frothy Moustache ...” she says and I don’t catch another word. All I can think is that I saw him in there two days in a row, and I can’t fathom seeing him again. I can never go back there again! Without even bringing Blaze into the question, I made a mess in there just this morning! A mess Blaze cleaned up, I remind myself.

  “Did you say Frothy Moustache?” I whisper, cutting her off. “I have no coffee shop experience.” I pray that’s enough of an excuse.

  “No, but you do have experience in customer service at the diner you worked in before you were married to Carl. Isn’t that right?” Tara asks in a soothing tone. “I promise you, it won’t be any different. The manager there is phenomenal. She has hired several of our girls in the past. They don’t ask many questions, and they’re very accommodating for mental health days, court dates, and anything else you may need. You won’t find many places like that in New York. The interview is really just a formality, and I’m sure you’re going to fit right in,” she says.

  I wonder why she has all of this confidence in me when the only thing she knows about me is that I was stupid enough to let a man abuse me for five long years. Yes, I was thinking about Marie and trying to protect her at the time, but if I was smarter, I’m sure I could have found a way out sooner. I just want to scream that I’m a good for nothing klutz. I can’t carry a tray, I run into absolutely everything, and more importantly, everyone. I drop everything that comes into contact with my hands, I can’t cook, and I definitely can’t bake. That’s just the tip of the iceberg too. What if my job is to make those croissants or any of the other baked goods? I’ll ruin the company’s name, and then they won’t hire any more gi
rls from the shelter. To top it all off, there’s Blaze. Just saying his name brings on a mixture of butterflies, embarrassment, and anxiety. My heart starts beating a mile a minute, and my palms are sweating. I look up from the floor, and I know Tara can see the panic in my eyes.

  “Brynn, if you want me to look for another job for you, I can. No questions asked. If you’re not ready for employment, that’s fine, too. We can wait a little while until you’re good and settled. Honestly, that happens a lot, all you have to do is let me know. No need to be embarrassed,” she says, moving to cloak me in a hug. She’s done so much for me already, I can’t turn down a perfectly good job without even trying. I also can’t sit around the house while Marie is in school either. I’ll drive myself crazy.

  “No, no, I’ll go to the interview. I just haven’t had one since I was fifteen. I’m a bit nervous is all, but I’m grateful for the opportunity,” I lie. I plaster on the biggest fake smile I can muster and look away. Marie comes back from the room, still smiling.

  I begin filling out the application while Tara talks to Marie about her new school. She gives her a school supply list, and they chat about the location. It’s just two blocks over from our building. I finish the forms in record time, without even processing the importance of them all. I just want to be alone for a moment.

  I hand the forms back to Tara, and she gives me the details of my appointments today. First off, the doctor, then my interview, and then finally she managed to squeeze Marie and me in with a therapist later this afternoon. I thank her and am truly blessed by all she has done to help us. It still doesn’t stop me from feeling relieved when the door closes behind her, though.

  “Hey, want to check out the rest of the apartment?” Marie asks excitedly. I would really like to find a closet and hide for the rest of the day, but I figure if I pick a room, I can at least be alone with my thoughts before leaving to see the doctor. I immediately feel guilty. Marie deserves so much more than I have to offer her today.

  “I’d love to,” I manage to say. We do a walk-through of the apartment, and I choose the smaller room just off the kitchen. It still has a queen sized bed, a large dresser, and a bright, sunny window. The walls are painted a lovely shade of purple, and it feels bright and cheery. I insisted Marie take the bigger bedroom even though she argued until she was blue in the face that she didn’t need it. I could live in a cardboard box, and I’d be happier than where I was a month ago. Most of all, though, I want to be the one closest to the front door. If Carl ever gets in somehow ... I’m hoping he will find me first.

  I excuse myself for a nap, telling her she should go watch some TV, but to stay off the internet until we figure out what’s safe to do. There’s still the matter of calling to check on Ma, but that’s something I really don’t want to think about at the moment. I have an hour until my doctor’s appointment, and I desperately need to clear my head, so she doesn’t see how incredibly crazy I am and commit me. I decide tha the best thing to do is to try and nap.

  Marie wakes me half an hour later, and we call Ma at the hospital before starting our day. The doctor informs us that she’s still sedated, and there hasn’t been much change since Marie saw her last.

  We take a taxi to the hospital for our appointments. My name is called first, so Marie stays in the waiting room while I see Dr. Enman. She’s a lovely young doctor with chin length dirty blond hair, rosy cheeks, and an incredibly upbeat attitude. She removes my IUD as it’s been over five years since I’ve had it in. I was supposed to get it out a few months ago, but it just wasn’t possible to have it removed without Carl finding out. Thankfully, Dr. Enman doesn’t scold me for it, or even ask questions as to why I left it in for so long.

  We talk more about birth control; she would like me to have a full cycle before inserting another IUD or choosing another form of birth control so my body has a chance to regulate itself first. She sends me for an x-ray to make sure any breaks Carl managed to inflict have healed properly. It turns out one of my ribs is still in the healing process, but luckily all other breaks have managed to set correctly on their own.

  I stay in the room while Marie has her check-up. Just as I thought, she’s underweight, but only by about twelve pounds. I promise to help her gain the weight she needs to achieve a healthy BMI. The doctor draws some blood to check her nutrition levels, letting us know she will call us with the results. Dr. Enman wants to do a full physical on her, but Marie refuses, stating she’s fine. I offer to leave the room, but that seems to upset her more. The doctor doesn’t push it, but let’s her know that she would be happy to do it anytime, and to just book an appointment when she feels ready.

  We leave, feeling a little better, but I can tell she’s still on edge. Ma has probably never taken her to the doctor because she’s never applied for state medical. Hell, she was probably never sober enough to even know what it is. That’s probably why Marie felt so uncomfortable.

  We walk to the Frothy Moustache, and I give Marie some money to grab lunch while I do my interview. I scan the café, hoping he is not here. I will completely fail my interview if he’s in the same room as me. Fortunately, there’s no sign of him. I look around for the manager and notice her sitting at a table with a clipboard and her work uniform on. At least, I’m assuming it’s her. I walk over to her table and introduce myself.

  “Hi, my name is Brynn Vincent. I’m here to interview for a position with you,” I say, with what I hope is confidence. I hand her the application that Tara has brought by.

  “Welcome to Frothy Moustache, Brynn. My name is Stella, and I’m the manager here. Have a seat, and don’t be nervous. I promise I don’t bite,” she says with a small laugh. So much for confidence, she clearly saw through my façade. I take the seat opposite her.

  Stella is curvy, blonde, and beautiful. She looks to be about thirty, but I’m guessing she’s probably into her forties. I sit awkwardly for a moment while she scans through my application. I’m glad when she breaks the silence first.

  “I see that you had some serving experience in the past, so you know how the industry works. We serve the public, and our job is to keep the customers satisfied. Unfortunately, people usually come in here pretty grumpy, but by the time they’ve had their morning coffee, they’re more alert and generally in a much better mood. I think you’ll find the other baristas and servers here are all very friendly and welcoming. If you have an issue with anyone, all you have to do is let me know and hopefully we’ll be able to work it out quickly,” she says with a smile. I relax some, she seems pleasant. It’s just a coffee shop, I can do this.

  “So, Brynn, can you tell me why you would be a good fit here at the Frothy Moustache?” Stella asks. I hesitate before answering her. It’s probably not going to be the right answer, but at least it will be an honest one.

  “Well, I never took a sick day when I worked at the diner, and I did more than what was in my job description. I worked hard, but I won’t lie, I did make mistakes, too. Once in a while someone would get the wrong order, or I’d forget to bring out the ketchup—things like that. I’d like to say that I’m the perfect employee, but I don’t want to disappoint you either. All I can promise is that I will give you my very best from the moment I walk through the door. I want to be here. It’s actually the first place my sister and I ate when we came to New York. I love the atmosphere,” I say nervously. She scans my application, and I wonder if she’s looking for evidence that I’m a complete idiot. She surprises me with her reply, though.

  “I respect honesty, Brynn, I really do. I have high hopes that you will fit in here. I have two positions available right now. The first is a barista, which would be making espresso drinks, coffee, tea, that sort of thing. It will take about a week of training and will require you to move quickly and remember a lot of information at once.

  There’s also a server position. You would be responsible for taking the customer’s orders and relaying them to the barista. Anything baked will also be your responsibility to plate or bag. I
t requires dealing with the public more than the barista, but the tips are better, too. Servers tip the baristas thirty percent of their tips at the end of their shift. I’d be happy to train you for whichever position you’d feel most comfortable with,” she offers. I breathe a sigh of relief, knowing I have successfully gained employment, my first step of independence in New York. I see a server wave Stella over, and she stands, excusing herself.

  I use the time she’s gone to decide which position I’m most suited for. I’m not sure I’ll be great at either, but I need to at least try. I think about the barista and look over to see them moving expertly behind the counter. I’m clumsy and a daydreamer. There’s no way I’d be able to handle hot liquids, let alone remember some of the complex orders I’ve heard being shouted out around here. The only reason I can see not taking the server position, though, is Blaze. I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to face him again, especially daily. But is that really enough of a reason to turn down a job I might be good at? A job that will help me support and keep Marie safe? I find the answer I’m looking for before Stella comes back and sits across from me.

  “Well?” she asks cheerfully.

  “I think I’ve decided to try the position of server. I think it would benefit me to interact with the public on a daily basis, and I hope that I would represent Frothy Moustache well by giving it my all every day I’m here,” I say, and she nods. “I am extremely grateful for this opportunity, and I will accept either position you decide to place me in,” I say, much quicker than I probably should have. Crap, could she even understand me? She laughs at my eagerness.

  “I think you will do wonderfully as a server, Brynn. The position I need filled is actually during our rush hours. We’re a pretty busy store if you haven’t noticed,” she says looking around with pride. “Let’s start you out from 6:30-2:30 Monday through Friday. I know you have a sister you’re taking care of as well, so I’ll try and keep you during school hours, but it may not always be possible if you’re looking for overtime. How does that sound?” she asks.