“Escaping?” I say.
She hoots. “Amen to that, girl!” She waves her arm out. “I like all these fancy offices and smart people.”
I laugh. “I’m not fancy, though. I live in social housing in Queens myself.”
She nods. “I thought you looked like one a’ us.” She gestures at my face. “And not just because some fella took a swipe at you.” She guffaws.
“It’s a paragliding bruise,” I say as a smile curls over my mouth.
She snorts. “That’s a new one on me, girl, and I thought I’d heard them all.”
“My stepdad,” I say.
She points to her chest. “Five half-siblings, all with different dads. My mom’s a car crash, chasing all these men tryna get money, support, any damn thing she can.” She shakes her head. “That isnevergonnabe my life.”
“You sound very wise.”
“I wish I was. I’m working here because I messed around in high school being a smartass, and I got no qualifications. I’d be on my mom’s path if I hadn’t gotten a scholarship to go to night school.”
“That’s amazing! What are you studying?”
“Finance. Hoping I can be an accountant if I can force myself through it.” She rolls her eyes like she doesn’t believe it.
“That sounds like a great idea.”
“You gotta have a plan, girl. You really do.”
My only aim has been to find a better job than my mom’s, and I thought I’d done that. But now Jake’s touched my ass, and I’m essentially homeless, and I think the guy who’s going to be my boss isn’t my biggest fan, no matter what Des says. I’d like to be a real computer programmer, but if you look at my life, it’s been a series of knee-jerk reactions to pull myself through one problem after another.
She lifts her chin toward the tills by the entrance. “Go pay for your stuff. If you like, I can put some on your face for you.” She waves an arm across the empty store. “Ain’t got nothing else to do. Another reason I like working here: It’s as quiet as the grave.”
I hold out my hand. “Sadie,” I say.
She takes my hand. “Cherelle.”
When I head back to her after paying, she carefully covers up the red mark on my cheek and talks me through how to do it, and I tell her what a star she is, because, if I worked here, that’s what I’d want someone to say to me. And sheisamazing: She’s helpful, kind, and busting her ass to improve her life.
“Thanks so much,” I say as I head off.
Her eyes scan over my face. “You take care of yourself, girl, you hear me?”
Soon I’m out on the street, clutching the makeup and twenty-five dollars lighter.My paycheck has gone into my personal savings account now, but it’s an advance, so I won’t be getting paid at the end of this month. I’ve still got to find an apartment and pay a deposit and a month’s rent upfront. Then there’ll be bills on top of that. Fuck. I need to sit down and work it all out.
Once I’m on the train, I whip my mirror out of my bag and examine my cheek. It hurts like hell if I press on it, but it looks a lot better. Thank God for Cherelle. I settle back in my seat, an unfamiliar feeling blooming in my chest. Despite all the mess, I did things today. I’ve moved out of home, even if it is under slightly distressed circumstances. I also looked James in the face, and I’ve talked to a lady in a store about makeup. I escaped from Jake, and that’s the most important one of all. Now all I’ve got to do is persuade Des that I can’t share an apartment with James.
The following morning, when I examine my face in the hostel bathroom mirror, the top of my cheek is yellow, and a nasty purple bruise has come up beneath my eye. I cover it up the best I can, but it’s nowhere close to Cherelle’s expert hand. But when I jump on the train to head into the office, nobody gives me a second glance and my shoulders ease. I sit at my desk all day with my head down: Who’s going to notice?
I’m feeling pretty good by the time I push through the doors of 90 Water Street.
Chapter 7
James
Early morning sunlight is slanting through the window by the sink as I examine my puffy face in the office bathroom mirror. After Des and Alex went to bed, I drank too much of a bottle of whiskey I’ve stashed away in my bedroom. It’s becoming a habit. I just want to numb everything that keeps circling around in my head like water around a drain. I have no memory of when I drifted off. My head throbs, and the stitches on my face look like someone left a very tidy spider next to my eye. When I close my eyes, stumbling around on the roof flashes through my head and then a sharp pain in my leg. I roll up my pants and examine the wound. It looks neat and innocuous, like something minor happened, but it feels so much bigger than that. I push the cotton back down, lean forward, and wash my hands. Could I hide in here all day?
My phone buzzes with a message:
Are you still at Des’s? When are you coming back home?
