When we got to his car, he held out his hand. “I can’t thank you enough. Is there anything I can do for you?”
“Nah, I’m good. I’m just glad the sea gave you back.”
“Me too.” Arthur opened his car door and Charlie hopped inside, sitting in the front passenger seat.
“Blast your heat until you get home,” I said. “And then get in a warm shower. Both of you.”
“Will do.”
After they were headed out, I walked back to where I’d left my board and hoodie. The sea had managed to distract me from thoughts of Esme for a few frightening minutes. Regardless, now I had to face the day, whether Esme had a date or not.
I had an appointment with a woman who needed assistance from my foundation. Nothing, not even my aching heart, could keep me away from work that helped me sleep at night.
The officeof the Harborlight Foundation was in the basement of the Willet Cove Presbyterian church. The room was small andplain, with beige walls and a folding table. A box of tissues lay in wait. They were always needed.
Renting the space helped the church financially, but it also provided something just as important—anonymity. The board had understood my mission and had agreed early on to keep my secrets, and those of the women and children who came to me for help. Rape and assault victims. Children who had suffered years of abuse, often by a family member.
Women like the ones my father had destroyed.
Today, a young woman sat across from me with her coat still on, even though the room was warm. One hand wrapped around a paper cup of water, the other clenched in her lap. She hadn’t said her name yet, but I knew her age. Twenty-six. And that her life had just imploded.
The advocate beside her had already gone over the basics. Options. Boundaries. What we could help with and what we couldn’t. My role was simple. I was there to listen, and to say yes where I could.
“I don’t know if I want to press charges,” she said quietly. “It happened at work. A colleague. I was there late one night, finishing up a project, and he trapped me in the bathroom. I haven’t been able to go back. When I didn’t show up for two weeks, they fired me. I need work to pay the rent. But I can’t sleep, and that makes it feel impossible to even think about a new job.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Insomnia isn’t uncommon after an assault. Without sleep, everything starts to fall apart.”
She nodded once, eyes fixed on the table. “I don’t want anyone to know. Not my parents. Not my sister. Or my friends.” Her voice wavered. “I don’t want this to become the thing people think about when I walk into a room.”
“I understand.”
She looked up at me, searching. “You do?”
“Yes,” I said. “I have something in my past that’s similar. Something I don’t want to be defined by.”
“Yet it’s now a part of you, right? Even though you don’t want it to be.” Tears leaked from her eyes.
I pushed the box of tissues toward her.“ That’s right. And I can assure you that nothing leaves this room unless you want it to. Everything said here stays between us. Even when I wish I could call the police, I won’t. It’s up to you to decide what steps you want to take. Nothing happens without your permission.”
Her shoulders loosened just a fraction. “That’s a relief. I wasn’t sure I should come here. But I’m unraveling. I need help.”
I nodded. “That’s what we’re here for. If you decide to pursue legal action, the foundation will cover your legal fees. We’ll pay for counseling, which we strongly recommend. The women and children we’ve helped in the past all say how helpful it was to talk to someone. We’ll help with your rent and living costs until you’re feeling better. We also partner with an employment agency that will help you find a new job.”
She shook her head slowly. “This is a blessing. I had no idea anyone was out here, willing to help me.”
“We do what we can,” I said. “But we also understand that what happened to you is not something that will ever go away. We’re here for you, though. You’re not alone.”
Tears slid down her cheeks. She dabbed at her face with a wad of tissues as she thanked me.
When she was ready, she signed the paperwork with a shaky hand. No last name. No unnecessary details. Just consent. As the advocate walked her out, she paused at the door and turned back to me. “Thank you. For believing me.”
“I’m glad you came.”
After she left, I sat in the quiet room for a while. I always needed a few minutes after these meetings. In the three years I’dbeen doing this work, I’d never ceased being deeply moved but haunted by the stories I heard.
I locked up, thanked Pastor Linda for the space, and walked back toward Harbor Avenue. The afternoon light had softened, turning the storefronts golden. I passed the art gallery and the bookstore and then I was in front of the flower shop.
The sign, Wild Petal, swung in the breeze over the door. Through the front window, I could see Esme moving between the worktable and the cooler, arms full of white roses. Buckets of flowers and greenery were spread across the counter as well as spools of ribbon, wire, and floral tape. Trevor was asleep in his bed behind the register, unbothered by the chaos unfolding around him. The shop looked warm and bright and chaotic and alive. Not anything like the beige room at the church, where I’d listened to another heartbreaking story.
