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Leah
Six months later
I hadn’t set foot in Turners Falls since I left. I’d considered driving all the way out to California or even out of state, but I didn’t want to leave any footprint that Trevor could follow. In the end, I decided on heading into Boston, which was one hundred miles east of home. Since it was the same state, there would be no need for me to get a new license or anything. It was a large enough city that I could disappear into the shadows. Plus, Trevor knew I didn’t like cities, so I hoped that he wouldn’t think to look there.
When I arrived, there was really nowhere for me to go other than a woman’s shelter. When I told the counselor my story, she quickly offered me a spot in the domestic abuse center.
“Will I be safe there?” I asked quickly.
“It’s a locked facility. No one can get in without the door code. You’ll be safe there with your daughter,” she assured me.
It was difficult in the end, but I wasn’t deciding just for me. I needed to make sure my daughter was protected too.
I stayed there for three months before I had to find someplace to go. The center had daycare, so I was able to go out on several interviews and find work. During the day, I worked for a cleaning service as a maid. It didn’t pay much, but they promised me that it would be okay to bring my daughter with me to work once I no longer had access to daycare, and they paid in cash at the end of the week, which meant no paper trail and that was good.
Because it wasn’t enough to support both me and Emma, I found a job as a bartender at a local Irish pub that had a reputation for being open all night in South Boston, or Southie as I quickly learned they called it. The owner was kind and paid me in cash. He said it was for some accounting related reason, but I didn’t ask any questions. I preferred to be off the books anyway.
During the interview, he’d looked at me with a reserved and semi-reluctant expression, almost as if he couldn’t believe that I could handle myself in a bar.
“Your work experience isn’t that extensive, Leah,” he said, appraising me as I stood there leaning against the heavy wood-grain bar.
“I’ve been caring for my daughter. She’s only three. I’ll do whatever I need to do to make money to help care for her,” I replied.
“Is that so,” he said, his voice flat. He continued to assess me.
“Yes,” I said firmly.
“I’m the owner, Sean McCarthy. I’ve run this place for the last twenty years. Sometimes the crowd gets a bit rough, think you can handle that?” he asked.
“I’m a fast learner,” I reassured him.
“I’ll give you a week. If you want to turn and go by the end of that, I won’t hold it against you,” he muttered.
“Thank you so much, Mr. McCarthy. You won’t regret this,” I exclaimed.
He nodded and I could have sworn there was a hint of warm kindness in his eyes. I tried to ignore it, not wanting this to be some form of charity. It was hard for me to let other people take care of me and I hoped this wasn’t that.
That first week hadn’t gone quite as smoothly as I had wanted it to, but I learned the ropes soon enough. When I didn’t walk out at the end of that first week, I told Sean more about my living situation. My time at the center was quickly coming to an end and I needed somewhere to go. He connected me with a friend of his who was renting out a small apartment down the block above a coffee shop. Again, I had to ignore the feeling that this might be charity too, and it was more difficult this time.
The rent was cheap. I’m not sure if Sean had anything to do with that, but I didn’t ask questions because I really didn’t want to know. The place was fully furnished, which was a relief. It wasn’t the nicest place, but it was a step up from where I came from, and I was grateful for that. The elderly landlady, Irma Shelby, was also highly agreeable to cash payments and didn’t care to take any of my information, which just made everything that much easier for me. She also offered me a daily coffee as a part of the rent package since she owned and ran the shop underneath too. Emma’s eyes had gotten big at the sight of some of the donuts in the glass bin. When Irma had seen, her whole face had warmed. It was easy to see that she loved children and that put me even more at ease.
“If your mommy tells me that you’ve been very good, you can even have one of those each morning,” she winked.
“My favorites are blueberry muffins,” Emma piped up.
“For today, at least,” I chuckled.
“My kids and my grandchildren all went through that phase,” Irma said. “Now, Leah, you let me know if you need anything. It’s not easy here down in Southie, especially for out of towners,” she added, reaching into the cabinet and pulling out a muffin. She handed it to me, along with a mug of steaming black coffee.
“Thanks, Irma,” I smiled politely.
“Creamer and sugar are over that way.” She pointed to a small table beside the door and grinned warmly, before turning away to serve another customer. I handed the muffin to my daughter, then pushed my small cheap stroller out of the way to the table with all the fixings. I added creamer to my coffee and strode out the door to be on my way to my first job.
That was my life.
I cleaned with Emma during the day. She loved to help, and I made sure she was safe in whatever she did, but it was nice to spend every day with her. I cherished that.
My nights consisted of Sean’s Pub.
