Page 22 of Rise
12
Natalia
“Good work this evening, Talia.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Wilmington,” I answer, thinking I could easily get used to this job and living arrangement.
“Please call me Jeanie, darling. You’re an employee now, not a stranger. And call my husband Charlie. Thenwe won’t feel so old!” She beams over at me from the other side of the general store front counter. We’ve been back at her family’s motel, general store and gun shop for a few hours. She showed me around and introduced me to her husband when we first arrived. Then, after pointing me to the room where I’ll be staying, she spent a couple of hours walking me through what they do here.
Theproperty itself is more like a compound. The gray brick, one-story, U-shaped motel building skirts the property. Neatly painted parking spots wrap around the outer boundary of the motel. But not the motel check-in, general store, and gun shop. They're housed in one separate structure. It’s an older house, a two-level century farmhouse styled building inside the U-shaped motel, facing the town’s mainroad.
The middle-aged couple runs several businesses. The motel, the hardware store, and gun shop, and Mrs. Wilmington’s homemade treats. Well, Jeanie’s, since she wants me to call her by her first name now. She makes and delivers jams, jellies and other baked goods to several establishments in the area. It’s no small operation, and it’s amazing that just the two of them and their kidshave been able to run it all without outside staff until now. I could see this set of businesses being staffed with at least nine or ten employees if it were back east in New Jersey.
“Do you remember which room you're in?” she asks, pulling me from my more trivial thoughts.
“Room one-seventy-one,” I answer, pointing behind me. “Around the northwest corner of the motel. The one directlyunder the motel sign.”
“Yes, that’s the room. I wish I could've given you a better room, but—”
“It's totally fine,” I reassure her. If Jeanie only knew where those men had been keeping me. Thank fuck she doesn’t. “The light won't bother me, not one bit. Plus, it's perfect for my budget.”
“That's right. It's slightly less appealing but it’s affordable and costs less than athird of your daily wages, which gives you some breathing room.”
“True.” I can’t disagree. Nineteen dollars a night for a motel room is a steal. Not even those crappy single-use earrings in the cheap section of my neighborhood mall in New Jersey were that low priced. Of course, I only earn sixty dollars each full eight-hour day in this job. Still, she pays cash, and it’s slightly betterthan the national minimum wage. It also means I’ll have as much as forty-one dollars a day in savings. Within a month, I can afford a plane ticket to almost anywhere in the continental USA. Within three months, I might have enough to pay someone off for a forged passport so I can leave the country. I’m not sure if I need to go to such lengths to keep out of danger, but I prefer to have the optionif it comes down to it.
“Do you need help with anything else tonight?” I ask her, wanting to be helpful. I’ve spent my whole life with nannies following me around and chefs and housekeepers waiting on me hand and foot, on top of the men Father hired to watch over me. The staff I liked the most were the ones who truly cared about me, the ones who were willing to go above and beyond to takecare of me or keep Father satisfied. I never liked the complainers, or the ones constantly looking at the time, ready to dash out the front door when their shifts came to an end. That’s how I know to put my best foot forward with Mrs. Wilmington. Jeanie. A little extra goes a long way. I won’t take this opportunity for granted. I can lay low and earn some cash here. It’s perfect, really.
“I think Charlie and I will be fine,” she answers. “No offense, but you look exhausted. Get some rest.”
“Thanks, Mrs.— I mean Jeanie,” I tell her with a shy smile and reach under the counter for the plastic bag holding all my worldly possessions.
“Oh, before I forget, I put together these things for you.” She pulls out a small duffel bag with the zipper open at the top. I see clothesinside and hope she didn’t go out of her way to find them for me. “It’s mostly stuff that my daughter set aside for the local charity. I’m sure most of it will fit you. You can keep the bag too.”
“You really didn’t have to,” I tell her, not wanting to be a bother. “But I appreciate the gesture.” I prefer to pay for what I own from here on out. I don’t want to be obligated to anyone. I feellike I owe Jeanie a lot already.
“You’re more than welcome. Charlie and I feel rather lucky to have found you, doll. You’re a quick learner, and you have such a professional, pleasant attitude.”
“Thanks so much for saying that,” I tell her. “I’m grateful for the chance you’ve given me.”
“Of course.”
I feel a hint of something I can’t easily explain when her eyes soften.I don’t know if she pities me, or if it’s empathy. The fact that she has a daughter my age makes me believe it’s the latter. I want to believe that any decent mother would naturally want to help, probably because in the back of their minds, they hope a stranger out there would do the same if their child needed help. “Enjoy your night, Talia,” she adds. “Your shift starts at eight, but you shouldcome down tomorrow at about seven-thirty. Charlie makes a nice breakfast around then.”
“Will do, Jeanie.” My sweet new host is cheerful and likable, but I’m relieved to stuff my plastic bag of belongings into the open top of the duffle bag, lift the strap over my shoulder and give her one more wave before heading out. What I need right now is to be alone. “Thanks again for everything. Goodnight.”
I take a breath, inhaling the brisk night air as I walk along the stone sidewalk toward my room. The path is well lit, lined with neatly trimmed hedges and shrubbery around mid-thigh in height. The white door to my room is under the bright orange hotel sign, its vertical lettering now showing a flashing neon green vacancy sign at the bottom. It’ll be bright in my room, but I don'tmind. At least I’ll be by myself. I have to adjust the nylon strap of the duffle bag on one shoulder a couple of times. It’s not that heavy, but fuck, my muscles are so weak. I run my fingertips up along the line of my collarbone to the base of my neck. I’ve never been skinny before. God knows I never thought this part of my body could be this hollowed out. It’s a physical reminder of what I’vebeen through.
Jesus Christ.
I got away.
I survived.
How the fuck is this even possible?
He left the door open and no one was around?
When do people like me ever get a lucky break like that?
