Paul gave me a small, confused smile right before I turned and walked away.
* * *
When I looked up the street and spotted the sign I’d been looking for, my cold hand automatically reached into my jeans pocket and wrapped around the heavy gold locket within—the one that had the name of Grant and Rothford Company on the back—the only thing of value I had to my name. I completed the rest of the block sluggishly, hunger, cold, and fatigue overwhelming me.
I pushed the door open and was greeted by the comforting warmth of the heated store. For a second I just stood there and breathed, relieved at both having found my destination and at the warmth seeping into my chilled skin. I headed toward the sales counter. But as I passed a display shelf to my right, I caught sight of a glass jewelry box with pressed flowers between the panes creating the illusion they were floating over the velvet interior. I halted, looking more closely, my eyes widening and tears immediately blurring my vision, as I instinctively reached toward it. They were morning glories. I should know, I had fifty-two of them, carefully pressed and preserved in a plastic bag in the inside pocket of my jacket. The locket, the flowers, and a small, round pebble were the only things I had grabbed before escaping. They were the only reminders I had of him. I’d left everything else I had ever known behind. A lump formed in my throat and grief swept over me, so intense, I thought it might knock me down. I reached out to touch the glass, one finger tracing the deep blue petals of the flower I was so well acquainted with. But my body was worn-down, tired, hungry, and my hand jerked ungracefully and knocked into a crystal vase sitting on the shelf next to the jewelry box. As if in slow motion, it wobbled and fell despite my unsuccessful attempt to grab it. It crashed to the floor and shattered at my feet. I sucked in a loud gasp and jerked my head up as a woman came rushing toward me, saying, “Oh no! Not the Waterford!” She brought her hands to her cheeks and pursed her lips as she stopped in front of the pile of shattered glass.
“I’m so sorry,” I gasped. “It was just an accident.”
The woman huffed out a breath. She was well-manicured beauty: stylish in a dark gray suit, hair swept up gracefully, and her face stunning, with perfectly applied makeup. I shrunk before her. I knew what I looked like. I was wearing clothes stolen off a clothesline from someone who was obviously quite a bit larger than me. I hadn’t bathed for three days and my hair hung loose and lank around my face and down my back to just above my backside—far too long to be stylish. The woman looked me up and down.
“Well, accident or not, this will need to be paid for.”
My shoulders sagged. “I don’t have any money,” I whispered, glancing around as my cheeks heated and the few customers roaming the shop looked away uncomfortably. I was almost surprised to find I still had a little pride left.
I brought the gold locket out of my pocket. “I was hoping to sell this—and maybe get some information about it too,” I said, imploring the woman to help me. Please help me. I’m so scared. I’m in so much pain. I’ve been broken in so many ways.
She put her hands on her hips and looked from the locket to my face and back at the locket again. She took it from my cupped hand and held it up to the light. Then she looked back at me. “Well, lucky for you, this is gold. This will probably take care of the cost of the vase.” She kept looking at it, turning it over in her manicured hands. “There’s no way to give you any information about it though—no engraving or personalization.” She looked over her shoulder at a man who had just finished dealing with a customer and was coming out from behind the counter. She pointed to the crystal on the floor and said, “Phillip, will you have this cleaned up while I take care of this…girl?”
“Of course,” Phillip said, eyeing me curiously.
I followed the woman to the counter. “Wait here while I weigh this. You don’t have the chain that goes with it?”
I shook my head. “No, just the locket.”
I stood at the counter, my hands resting on the glass in front of me. When I noticed they were shaking visibly, I pulled them back and rubbed them together, attempting to still my body with mind over matter. My heart thumped hollowly in my chest. Fear and hopelessness rose up my throat, making it difficult to swallow.
I looked behind me, where the woman had entered a door to the back of the shop, and saw her talking to an older man through the glass. He furrowed his brow as he looked up at me and nodded his head, his eyes lingering for a moment before he looked down at what he held in his hand. The woman turned and walked back through the door and behind the counter to where I stood. “We can give you twelve hundred dollars for the locket, which is a little bit under what the vase cost, but we’re willing to give a discount on that so the matter is resolved.”
Vomit rose up my throat. “Please, I need that money,” I said, raising my voice. “It’s all I have.”
“I’m really very sorry, but there’s nothing I can do. The vase has to be paid for. We can’t just eat that cost. We run a business here.”
“Please!” I said again, louder this time, bringing my hands down on the counter with a loud slap. The woman startled and pursed her lips, leaning in toward me so that I leaned back.
“Do I need to call the police, miss?” she asked in a harsh whisper, barely moving her mouth.
Dread raced through my veins and I swayed slightly before pulling myself upright. I shook my head vigorously. “No,” I squeaked out. I took a deep breath, “Please, I just…I don’t have any money and that locket…”
I sucked in another breath, refusing to cry in front of this woman, in front of all the customers who were pretending to mill around but were really listening to the exchange between us. “That locket is all I have. I need the money for it to find somewhere to sleep tonight. Please,” I ended pathetically.
Something I thought might be sympathy flashed in the woman’s eyes, but she leaned back, crossed her arms over her chest, and said, “I’m sorry, there isn’t anything I can do. There’s a homeless shelter over on Elm Street. The fourteen hundred block. I’ve passed by it several times. Now I’m going to have to ask you to leave our store.”
I hung my head, too sick, tired, and heartbroken to put up a fight. How had I managed to squander my one chance for money and possible safety? Now I very literally had nothing of value to my name. Nothing at all, in fact, except the stolen clothes on my back and the pressed flowers and small pebble in my pocket. I turned and walked out of the store as if in a daze, thoroughly depleted of every ounce of hope.
I wandered down the city streets for a while, hours maybe, I wasn’t even sure how long. I grew weaker; my steps grew slower. I saw a bench up ahead and stopped and sunk down onto it, pulling my arms around myself. The night was settling in around me now, and the air was even chillier, my jacket too lightweight to keep me warm.
Where do you find your strength, Morning Glory? he’d asked me.
From you, I’d said, smiling and pulling him close.
But now he wasn’t here. Where would I find my strength now?
I looked up at the corner street sign to my right. Elm Street. I let out a heavy breath. Did I have it in me to go just a little bit more? Yes, I thought I might—for a warm bed and a meal—even if it was in a homeless shelter. I’d make it through tonight and then I’d come up with some sort of plan. Maybe someone at the shelter could tell me where to find a job…something.