“I grew up in the neighborhood, and Bold Beginnings was the first safe place I remember.”
Watching me, she took another drink. Her unwavering attention convinced me to continue despite my insecurities.
“My mom was… um… she had lousy taste in men. She didn’t have relationships so much as she had thrill rides. The highs were incredible, full of gifts, vacations, and promises, but the lows were… well, they were the stuff of dramatic Lifetime movies. Subsequently, I didn’t grow up in the best home environment.”
That was all I felt comfortable saying, so I waited out her silence until she said, “So, the preschool was your bookstore?” There was no pity in her tone, just understanding.
Relieved, I nodded. “Exactly.”
“You’re speaking about your mom in the past tense. Is that intentional?”
“Yeah.” I played with my straw, hoping this admission would be easier without eye contact. “Her last Lifetime drama of a relationship didn’t have a happy ending.”
Julia sucked in a breath. “Fuck. I’m so sorry.”
Her voice caught on the last word, and I looked up, horrified. I hadn’t meant to make her cry.
“Sorry!” She fought back a sob. “Pregnancy hormones are a bitch, making me bawl like a baby at the drop of a hat.”
I still felt awful. “I’m sorry. That was too much to share with you in your state.” In fact, this was precisely why I never talked about it.
“In my state?” she chuckled. “I’m hormonal, but I’m not breakable, trust me. Don’t apologize. This is what I do.”
Now I was confused. “At the bookstore?”
“No. I also help with Ladies First.” She pulled her purse onto her lap and dug, handing me another card.
I recognized it because she had given me one in my office. I’d been too excited about the reason for her visit to pay the card much mind. Now, I searched it for clues, only to find more questions when I read the tagline. “When no one can help, we will. Help with what?”
She shrugged. “Filling out job applications, finding classes, childcare during classes, whatever they need help with.” Glancing around, she lowered her voice. “But what we’re known for is helping women break out of abusive or dangerous situations.”
Women like my mom.
Emotions assailed me, clogging my throat until it was all I could do to squeak out an, “Oh.”
All I could think about was that nobody had helped my mom. No, when push came to stab, she’d been all alone. Now my baby brother was somewhere in Seattle, with nobody helping him, and it suddenly felt like the walls were closing in on me.
I bolted to my feet. “I should go.”
Julia rose too, her expression confused. She grabbed her drink and silently followed me out of the restaurant. As soon as we stepped onto the sidewalk, she asked, “Are you okay, Mercy?”
“Yeah.” What was I doing? This was a donor, and I needed to behave professionally. I shouldn’t have even shared anything personal. “I’m sorry.”
Why the fuck did I suddenly want to scream? I couldn’t be pissed. Only an asshole would be angry about such an incredible organization. Ladies First clearly provided a much-needed resource for women, a resource I could recommend to women who needed it. A resource that could have saved my mom’s life.
“I had a rough night last night, and this morning was only worse. Everything seems to be hitting me at once.”
She nodded her understanding. “Do you want to talk about it?”
I shook my head. “No. Thank you.” Tears stung the backs of my eyes, but I blinked them back. Mom made shitty decisions, and the system failed her. There was nothing more to talk about. “Do you work with local law enforcement?” I asked.
Out of the corner of my eye, I could have sworn I saw her grimace, but her expression changed before I could be sure. “Not exactly. Don’t get me wrong, we have some friends on the force, but the Seattle Police Department has its hands full. And there’s a lot of politics involved. Some cases get all tangled up with money or influence. We work closely with the Dead Presidents instead. They provide safe houses and security, and sometimes step in to help abusers see the error of their ways.”
I stopped walking and stared at her. The club had a reputation for helping veterans and the community, but I hadn’t expected this. “Are they like biker vigilantes?”
“They try to stay mostly on the right side of the law.”
That didn’t sound sus at all. Then again, abusers deserved whatever they got. Had Mom had any biker support, maybe she’d still be alive.
