The woman glanced around the room. I wasn’t sure what she was looking for.
“Should I call the police?” she asked.
“What will they do?”
“Ask you questions. Try to help.”
My body trembled. “Aren’t police for jail?”
“Your mother has probably already called them.” The woman bit her lip. “There’s a women’s shelter in Austin. Let’s see if they’ll take you in. They can help you straighten all this out.”
“What’s a shelter?”
“They help women in trouble. Let me look up their number.”
A long-held breath escaped from my chest. A place where people didn’t know me, but still, they’d help. I had no idea such a thing could exist.
After an hour or so, a taxi came for me. The woman at the library said I wouldn’t have to pay for it. After a long ride, we stopped at the biggest house I’d ever seen. There was a locked gate outside. Mother couldn’t get to me here.
A kind, gray-haired woman let me in and told me to wait on a sofa, and someone would get me settled.
While I sat waiting in the living room, women walked in and out, some of them plopping beside me to talk. Some were angry. Others were sad. They told me stories of men who hurt them. Boyfriends. Husbands. Fathers. Comparedto them with their bruises and broken arms and endless tears, I wasn’t sure my life had been so bad.
Eventually, a woman in jeans and a T-shirt, with short curly hair and bare feet, sat by me on the sofa. “Ava, right?” Her voice was soothing, like a trickle of water.
“Ava Roberts. I’m eighteen.” I opened my folder.
“I’m Sheila. The police are here for you.”
I snapped the folder shut and held it to my chest. “I didn’t do anything wrong.” My voice sounded strange.
“You did not. You did nothing wrong. And I plan to send them away, but I need to talk to you first.”
She wasn’t sending me back to Mother. I drew in a shaking breath. “What’s going to happen to me?”
“You’re going to stay here for right now. But your mother marked you as a special needs person who should be returned. What is she talking about?”
I opened my folder again to show her the hospital papers. “I have epilepsy. She wouldn’t let me get a job because she said I was sick. But I got a job. I’m supposed to start working for Penny St. Martin at Shelfmart tomorrow. But she said I couldn’t. But she also said I was sixteen. But I’m not sixteen. I’m eighteen. She lied. I don’t know how a phone works. I don’t know anything.”
Shiela squeezed my arm. “That’s okay. You’re going to be just fine. We’ll get you to a doctor right away. I’ll take you to Shelfmart. We’ll get your new job handled. Don’t worry, Ava. You’re an adult, and you can find your way.”
“But the police are here.”
“Can I borrow these papers for a minute? I’ll explain things to them. It will be okay.”
Could I trust her? I looked into her eyes. They were brown and kind, with creases in the corners. She reminded me of Mary Poppins, but only in the eyes.
“Okay.” I passed her the folder.
“I’ll be right back.”
I sat on the sofa, waiting. A woman in a chair in the corner watched me. “Mothers are hell, girl. Good on you.”
Sheila came back and told me the police were gone, and I would not be returning to my mother for now. They would not let my mother know where I was. I could return to her in my own time, if I chose.
She showed me a room with both low beds and high beds. I got assigned washing dishes and putting away the dinner food. These were things I knew how to do, and I was happy to help.
Some of the women had children, so as the days passed, sometimes I did their chores for them, too. I didn’t mind. I liked the noise and the talking and the TV with way more than four movies.
