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I chuckled. “No, ma’am. I’m in these single streets.”
“Oh.”
She turned her head and looked out the window. We drove in silence until she spoke to point out a hotel. I pulled into the parking lot and up to the front entrance. While she went to grab a room, I grabbed a luggage cart and began unpacking the trunk. As I played Tetris, attempting to fit everything, she returned with a distressed look on her face.
“Put it back,” she whispered.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, confused.
“He canceled my credit cards... I can’t pay for the room, and I don’t have enough cash to cover it.”
Her lips trembled as she turned away from me. I felt anger surge through me at that moment. It was enough to make me wish I had broken that nigga’s arm. What kind of man puts his wife out of their home and then proceeds to cut off her livelihood? Whoever that pregnant woman was must have had his nose wide open. She had to be out of her mind to sit and watch that happen and be okay, let alone feel secure.
Mrs. Sinclaire finally gathered herself. She turned to me with red eyes. Again, my heart broke for her.
“Is there anybody you can call?” I asked. “Parents... a friend?”
She shook her head. “My parents died in a car accident a few years ago. I haven’t spoken to any friends in so long that I wouldn’t feel right asking them for help. You can just take me to a shelter—”
“Absolutely not.”
“Please, I’m begging—”
“Let’s go inside. I’ve got you.”
“No, no, you can’t.”
“Mrs. Sinclaire, I’m not leaving until I know you’re safe. You don’t know me, but I can be annoying as hell. That’s the last thing you want. Now, let me help you.”
I didn’t wait for her to protest. Instead, I grabbed her hand and pulled her and the cart behind me as I headed for the front desk.
“Good evening. My friend here needs a room. What do we need to do to make that happen?”
The receptionist ran me the pricing while Mrs. Sinclaire stood off to the side, looking embarrassed. There was no need for her to feel embarrassed with me, but I understood. If I were in her shoes, I would feel ashamed too. After paying for the room, I led her to the elevator. The ride to the fifth floor was quiet. The walk to the room was quiet, and it was quiet as I unloaded the cart. She seemed to be searching for the right words to say whenever my gaze met hers. Once the last bag hit the floor, she finally approached me.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“You don’t have to thank me.”
“Yes, I do. You didn’t have to do this, yet you did. I promise I will pay you back once I get on my feet.” She whipped out her phone. “Give me your number.”
“Mrs. Sinclaire.”
“Please? Allow me to retain what little dignity I have left.”
I sighed as I took her phone and programmed my number in it before handing it back to her.
“The room is yours for two weeks,” I said, reaching into my pocket for my wallet. Flipping it open, I pulled out all the cash I had on me, about $600, and handed it to her. “In case you need anything.”
“I can’t... You’ve done enough.”
She wouldn’t take the money from me, so I walked over to the nightstand beside the bed and set it there. I would call here in two weeks to see if she checked out. If she hadn’t, I would just cover another two weeks. I didn’t share that with her, though. She was going through enough. I just wanted to lift a burden from her.
I grabbed her hand and squeezed it. “Get you some rest, Mrs. Sinclaire.”
“Please, call me Pasha.”
“Pasha... take care.”
