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"Then no. But I bet you understand why I have the rules I do now."
I nod. "I do. They make perfect sense."
"I'll make sure James is never one of your clients again. Do you want Reece on that list too?"
"No, he's not an issue. He's harmless." I chuckle thinking about how I took control of him earlier and the look of elation on his face. "I do think he's secretly into submission, though, and would die if a girl took control." I give her a knowing look and the corners of her mouth curve up. "He seems too macho to ask, you know?"
She nods, her eyes agree. "They usually are. Thanks for the tip."
Stepping out of Sanctuary Cove and back into the real world, my shoulders feel lighter, but my heart is undeniably heavier. I'll never see James again. The thought crushes my heart and makes me want to run back inside to change my mind. I won't, I know I can’t, but at least I'll have the memories of the few times we were together to reflect on. Those will last longer than anything. I feel sick over it because deep down I know a small part of me will always miss him.
As I eat up the pavement with each step I take, I keep telling myself it's better this way and that I don't regret my decision one bit, even though it makes me emotional.
I want to cry. I don't want to never see him again.
I regret my decision. Of course I regret it, but I know it was the right one.
Exhaling a tired sigh, I walk a couple of blocks to the subway and catch sight of the woman I usually see when I leave Christine's. I don't know what it is that draws me to her, but it's something in my gut that I can't fight.
She's probably just trying to stay warm and avoid the snowfall that's supposed to take place starting after midnight. I walk over to her and recognition forms in her eyes.
My pockets are lined with cash, and I hand her a wad of bills. Her jaw trembles and I feel for this woman as tears brim her eyes.
"Why do you always give me money?" she asks.
"I just felt like you need help and I can do that for you. I know what it's like to struggle and go hungry."
She can't stop saying thank you and calling me an angel.
Yeah. I'm an angel with black wings born with no morals or modesty, and legs for days that spread like holy water.
But at least I put them to good use.
Thirty-Four
Ever since I was ten, Grammy and I volunteered at a soup kitchen on Christmas Eve. She never had money to donate, but she taught me that time was more valuable. She'd say, "The holidays are hardest on the needy and we have to give back, especially when they need our help the most."
I continued our tradition, even when I went off to college. Today I’m volunteering at a kitchen in the city, then I’ll go to her home in Queens and sleep there so we can spend Christmas Day together.
I offer a plate of food with a gentle smile to a woman holding a toddler. Something in my gut draws me to her. There’s a story behind her eyes, and I can’t help but wonder how she and her kid got to this point. I feel bad for them. No one should live on the streets, especially a child.
As I pass the next plate to a girl who doesn’t look much older than eighteen, I’m reminded that there’s a story behind every person's eyes. We don’t know what these people have been through. I’m not naive. I’m sure there are some who take advantage, but I like to believe most aren’t like that. Why would anyone willingly want to live in a shelter, or starve?
Seeing so many women struggle makes me think about all the cash I have hidden at home and the money I make now, and suddenly, the idea running through me like a freight train, I know what I want to do with my degree after graduation.
I’m going to open a nonprofit shelter for women and children.
I finish my shift at the soup kitchen with renewed energy and head home to clean up and grab my bags. Grammy is already asleep by the time I arrive. It's late and I don't want to wake her, so I quietly place my gifts under her tree and plan to cook her breakfast when I get up.
"You outdid yourself this year," Grammy says the next morning after we exchange gifts.
I swear she looks thinner since the last time I saw her, but it's hard to tell with all the layers she's wearing. It's a white Christmas this year, and even with the heat turned on high, she’s standing in the kitchen sporting the fleece-lined boots I got her.
"Did you get more prescriptions recently?" I ask as she measures out her morning medication into a small ramekin.
There's a slight tremble to her hands as she carries it back to the kitchen table. I look at the colorful pills with a feeling of dread. There seems to be a few more than usual and that worries me. She normally tells me when she gets new prescriptions.
She holds one pill up to show me. "My cholesterol skyrocketed." She places it down then picks up another. "The doctor gave me a new one for osteoporosis, and this one is for anemia. Apparently my levels were low. And this one is for high blood pressure."
