I shook my head. "No, just the locket."
I stood at the counter, my hands resting on the glass in front of me. When I noticed they were shaking visibly, I pulled them back and rubbed them together, attempting to still my body with mind over matter. My heart thumped hollowly in my chest. Fear and hopelessness rose up my throat, making it difficult to swallow.
I looked behind me where the woman had entered a door to the back of the shop and saw her talking to an older man through the glass. He furrowed his brow as he looked up at me and nodded his head, his eyes lingering for a moment before he looked down at what he held in his hand. The woman turned and walked back through the door and behind the counter where I stood. "We can give you twelve hundred dollars for the locket, which is a little bit under what the vase cost, but we're willing to give a discount on that so the matter is resolved."
Vomit rose up my throat. "Please, I need that money," I said, raising my voice. "It's all I have."
"I'm really very sorry, but there's nothing I can do. The vase has to be paid for. We can't just eat that cost. We run a business here."
"Please!" I said again, louder this time, bringing my hands down on the counter with a loud slap. The woman startled and pursed her lips, leaning in toward me so that I leaned back.
"Do I need to call the police, miss?" she asked in a harsh whisper, barely moving her mouth.
Dread raced through my veins and I swayed slightly before pulling myself upright. I shook my head vigorously. "No," I squeaked out. I took a deep breath, "Please, I just . . . I don't have any money and that locket . . ."
I sucked in another breath, refusing to cry in front of this woman, in front of all the customers who were pretending to mill around but were really listening to the exchange between us. "That locket is all I have. I need the money for it to find somewhere to sleep tonight. Please," I ended pathetically.
Something I thought might be sympathy flashed in the woman's eyes, but she leaned back, crossed her arms over her chest, and said, "I'm sorry, there isn't anything I can do. There's a homeless shelter over on Elm Street. The fourteen hundred block. I've passed by it several times. Now I'm going to have to ask you to leave our store."
I hung my head, too sick, tired, and heartbroken to put up a fight. How had I managed to squander my one chance for money and possible safety? Now I very literally had nothing of value to my name. Nothing at all, in fact, except the stolen clothes on my back, the pressed flowers and the small pebble in my pocket. I turned and walked out of the store as if in a daze, thoroughly depleted of every ounce of hope.
I wandered down the city streets for a while, hours maybe, I wasn't even sure how long. I grew weaker; my steps grew slower. I saw a bench up ahead and stopped and sunk down onto it, pulling my arms around myself. The night was settling in around me now, and the air was even chillier, my jacket too lightweight to keep me warm.
Where do you find your strength, Morning Glory? he'd asked me.
From you, I'd said, smiling and pulling him close.
But now he wasn't here. Where would I find my strength now?
I looked up at the corner street sign to my right. Elm Street. I let out a heavy breath. Did I have it in me to go just a little bit more? Yes, I thought I might—for a warm bed and a meal—even if it was in a homeless shelter. I'd make it through tonight and then I'd come up with some sort of plan. Maybe someone at the shelter could tell me where to find a job . . . something.
I stood up and walked to Elm Street, and after determining I needed to head right to get to the fourteen hundred block, I set off. My teeth chattered and I pulled my arms around myself again as I walked, tucking my head down against the wind.
A line was formed up ahead and I craned my neck to see if it was the shelter, standing on my tiptoes to see around all the people.
"You looking for a place to sleep?" an older man at the end of the line in a long, dirty jacket with a head of wild white hair, asked.
I nodded, my teeth chattering harder.
"This place is only for men," he said. "But a pretty girl like you could probably make some good cash in the alleyway back there." He inclined his head backward and then leered at me and cackled.
So there it was again—sex. Evidently I did have something of value. I'd like to say I didn't consider it for a brief few seconds. I was so hungry, desperately hungry, and so cold. The list of things I wouldn't do to stop the pain of my empty stomach and the cold that had made its way down to my bones, was growing shorter and shorter.
I mustered the very last shred of my pride and turned away.
He's waiting for me, by a spring, under the warm sunshine. I'll wait for you. But I hope I'm waiting a long time.
I got about a block before the tears started to slip down my cheeks. Panic surged inside me. Oh no, oh no. You can't cry. If you cry, you'll lose control. That thought brought the terror of my situation front and center. I needed someone. Anyone. There were plenty of people walking by, but I didn't belong to any of them and none of them belonged to me. They didn't see me. They didn't care. With neediness came overwhelming grief. I sat down on some steps, put my head on my knees, and I cried.
"Miss?" I jerked my head up and looked through tear-blurred vision at an older man in a suit. I sucked back my tears as much as possible, swiped wetness from my eyes, and attempted a deep, shaky breath, trying to compose myself.
"I own Grant and Rothford Company," he said quietly, looking uncomfortable.