"What's your name?" he asked, a gentle quality in his voice now.
I blinked up at him. "Eden," I whispered.
Paul narrowed his eyes. "Where you headed, Eden?"
I stared up at him, seeing that despite his gruff exterior, there was concern in his eyes. I let out a ragged breath. "Grant and Rothford Company."
"Grant and Rothford Company? The jewelry store?"
I nodded. "Yes. Can you tell me how to get there?"
"That's only about ten blocks from here. I'll tell you how to get there, but then, you don't come back here, you hear me? This is not the place for a young girl who's alone. I think you get that, right?"
I bit my lip and nodded. "I won't come back here." If all went as planned, I'd be sleeping in a hotel room tonight. I'd have food in my belly, and it would finally be safe to cry.
Paul pointed his finger down the block. "Walk in that direction until you get to Main Street, make a right, and go about six blocks down. You'll see it on your right."
I let out a breath. "Thank you, Paul. Thank you so much. And thank you for saving me from the cockroach." I mustered up a very small smile and then turned and began to walk in the direction he'd pointed me.
As I started to turn the corner, Paul called my name and I stopped and turned, looking at him questioningly. "There are more boot stompers than cockroaches in this world."
I considered him for a minute, tilting my head. "The problem, Paul," I said softly, meeting his eyes, "is that cockroaches can survive the end of the world."
Paul gave me a small, confused smile right before I turned and walked away.
**********
When I looked up the street and spotted the sign I'd been looking for, my cold hand automatically reached into my jeans pocket and wrapped around the heavy gold locket within—the one that had the name of Grant and Rothford Company on the back—the only thing of value I had to my name. I completed the rest of the block sluggishly, hunger, cold, and fatigue overwhelming me.
I pushed the door open and was greeted by the comforting warmth of the heated store. For a second I just stood there and breathed, relieved at both having found my destination, and warmth seeping into my chilled skin. I headed toward the sales counter. But as I passed a display shelf to my right, I caught sight of a glass jewelry box with pressed flowers between the panes creating the illusion they were floating over the velvet interior. I halted, looking more closely, my eyes widening and tears immediately blurring my vision, as I instinctively reached toward it. They were morning glories. I should know, I had fifty-two of them, carefully pressed and preserved in a plastic bag in the inside pocket of my jacket. The locket, the flowers, and a small, round pebble were the only things I had grabbed before escaping. They were the only reminders I had of him. I’d left everything else I had ever known behind. A lump formed in my throat and grief swept over me, so intense, I thought it might knock me down. I reached out to touch the glass, one finger tracing the deep blue petals of the flower I was so well acquainted with. But my body was worn-down, tired, hungry, and my hand jerked ungracefully and knocked into a crystal vase sitting on the shelf next to the jewelry box. As if in slow motion, it wobbled and fell despite my unsuccessful attempt to grab it. It crashed to the floor and shattered at my feet. I sucked in a loud gasp and jerked my head up as a woman came rushing toward me, saying, "Oh no! Not the Waterford!" She brought her hands to her cheeks and pursed her lips as she stopped in front of the pile of shattered glass.
"I'm so sorry," I gasped. "It was just an accident."
The woman huffed out a breath. She was well-manicured beauty: stylish in a dark gray suit, hair swept up gracefully, and her face stunning with perfectly applied makeup. I shrunk before her. I knew what I looked like. I was wearing clothes stolen from a clothesline from someone who was obviously quite a bit larger than me. I hadn't bathed for three days and my hair hung loose and lank around my face and down my back to just above my backside—far too long to be stylish. The woman looked me up and down.
"Well, accident or not, this will need to be paid for."
My shoulders sagged. "I don't have any money," I whispered, glancing around as my cheeks heated and the few customers roaming the shop looked away uncomfortably. I was almost surprised to find I still had a little pride left.
I brought the gold locket out of my pocket. "I was hoping to sell this—and maybe get some information about it, too," I said, imploring the woman to help me. Please help me. I'm so scared. I'm in so much pain. I've been broken in so many ways.
She put her hands on her h*ps and looked from the locket to my face and back at the locket again. She took it from my cupped hand and held it up to the light. Then she looked back at me. "Well, lucky for you, this is gold. This will probably take care of the cost of the vase." She kept looking at it, turning it over in her manicured hands. "There's no way to give you any information about it though—no engraving or personalization." She looked over her shoulder at a man who had just finished dealing with a customer and was coming out from behind the counter. She pointed to the crystal on the floor and said, "Phillip, will you have this cleaned up while I take care of this . . . girl?"
"Of course," Phillip said, eyeing me curiously.
I followed the woman to the counter. "Wait here while I weigh this. You don't have the chain that goes with it?"