Page 26 of Shiver

I really should get a new sewing machine because this one is, frankly, ancient, but I can’t bring myself to part with it yet.

It’s the first my dad was ever able to buy my mom after he worked tirelessly to open the restaurant of his dreams, all while somehow managing to keep food on the table for us.

This old-ass machine is the same one my mom taught me how to sew on when I was five years old, and it still works. It doesn’t have all the fancy attachments that the new ones do, and if I’m being honest, it would probably take me a quarter of the time to finish a piece of clothing with any other machine.

Maybe I’ll keep this one as a sort of art piece and upgrade to something more practical soon.

My foot lifts off the pedal as soon as I get to the end of the garment, and I snip the last bit of thread off.

I fold the onesie and place it in the bag at my feet with the rest of them before scooching out of my chair to get ready to go.

***

As I enter the shelter, I see Brandi standing at the counter, speaking with one of my clients. “Hey ladies,” I greet them.

“What are you doing here on a Saturday at this time? Shouldn’t you have a hot date or something?” Brandi jokes, knowing damn well Ineverhave a hot date.

“Ha ha ha, very funny.” I roll my eyes playfully at her. “Hey, Charice, you’re just the woman I was looking for.” I wink at her from behind the counter.

Brandi buzzes me in, so I head on back. “Is now an okay time to go over the details for next week?”

“Of course it is,” she tells me, making her way around the counter to follow me back to one of the private meeting rooms reserved for counselors and lawyers like me working pro bono cases.

I hold the door to an empty room open for her and close it once she’s passed me. We take a seat on opposite sides of the plastic folding table.

I set the bag of clothing on the floor beside me and lay the file containing all of her court documents in the center of the table. I slide my hands palms up across the table for her to take. She squeezes them gently and gives me a hopeful smile that wreaks havoc on my emotions.

I feel a lump forming in my throat and hot tears threatening to well behind my eyes but push them away before they can make an appearance.This isn’t about me.It’s about Charice and her gorgeous children getting the opportunity they should’ve been afforded so long ago.

“We’re going to get those babies back to you. Do you understand me, Char?” I ask, pushing every ounce of confidence I can muster into my voice.

She nods her head, but I don’t miss the way her lips purse together in a slight grimace. “We are,” she says, her voice cracking.

We spend the next half hour sorting out the final details of her case. It’s been months of compiling this information, all while ensuring the safety of my client remains intact as she fights for her future inside the walls of this shelter.

Offering pro bono services at a place like this comes with its unique challenges. I have to be extremely strategic as to what I’m willing to divulge about my clients and their circumstances during court hearings, even if giving more detail would increase their chances of actually winning.

The thing is, these people have been dealt an unfair hand in life, and while I know I’m playing the absolute smallest role in helping them get their lives back on track, it’s something I take very seriously. It’s easily the most important thing I’ll ever do in this lifetime.

Sure, I help a lot of people settle custody cases, but the truth is, I only take the paid cases in order to fund the ones like these.

“Alright,” she says with a small smile. “I guess we’re all set then.”

She moves to stand, but I stop her. “Wait, one more thing.” I grab the bag from beside me and set it on the table. I push it toward her, and her brows climb her smooth, tan forehead as she eyes it in shock.

“For me?” she asks, hesitantly pulling it toward her when I dip my chin.

She takes out the items, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, and as she makes her way to the bottom of the bag, pulling out the cross-stitched blanket, they fall down her cheeks.

“Let’s get those babies back to their momma, okay?” I ask, and she nods, squeezing her eyes tightly shut to stop the tears from falling.

***

I pull out of the shelter parking lot and follow the GPS to Gloria’s house.

My heart feels heavy as I make the drive, my mind wandering.

I’m at the shelter most weekends and on the rare occasion that I don’t have a client during the week. It always manages to make me think of Cora.