I consider my choices. I’m out of a car, out of money, out of resources. I’ve never been to a shelter before, so I don’t know what they will want from me. With my hunger pains temporarily satisfied and my sense of self-preservation on high alert, I put the rest of the sandwich inside the bag. Maybe I can keep it cool and eat it later.
“Veronica?”
“I’ll go to a shelter. Please.” I have no choice.
He seems satisfied with this answer and removes the lid from the potato container. “They’ll help you. Everything will be fine.”
“You ever been to a shelter?”
“Well, no. But I’m sure they are terrific people there.”
I nod. “If you think so.” For some unknown reason, I trust his judgment. He may be a stranger, but he has a kind heart. My earlier imaginings of what could be in his trunk were plain silly.
“I’ll find one after we eat. If I can figure out how to manage my food without a table. I don’t know why anyone would eat in their car.”
“You never eat in here?” One corner of my mouth lifts before I can suppress it. “Not even a burger and fries?”
He smiles at my amusement. “No. I’m particular about where I eat. Also, I don’t like crumbs on things. “
“Crumbs.” I repeat the word while shaking my head. “You get crumbs on your table. What’s the difference?”
“When I finish a meal, I wipe down the table.” He says this like it should make perfect sense to me.
Because he may be the nicest guy I’ve met in my life—though, granted, I don’t get out much and lived in the smallest bump in the road in all of America—I let it go.
“I like things clean,” he says as I stare at the baked potato caddy he balances in one hand.
“Ah.” I brush some errant breadcrumbs from the seat into my palm.
“It’s okay for now. I’ll have the car detailed tomorrow.” He makes a brisk bobbing gesture with his head. “Don’t worry about it. It’ll come clean.”
I smooth my muddy T-shirt. I’m probably the messiest thing that’s been inside his car in forever.
I can’t wait to find this homeless shelter and let him get on with his day. He’s a nice guy … a little bizarre with the crumbs comment, but we all have our quirks. He’d be wise to get rid of me and my trouble fast. My eye twitches at the thought.
I’m one huge crumb.
Chapter Three
Collin
Next item on the Rescue Veronica Agenda is finding a homeless shelter. I access my cell phone’s browser and search for anything nearby. I had no idea there’d be so many of them.
“You have a preference on how many days you’ll need to stay?” I ask.
She gives me a blank look. “One,” she finally answers.
“Oh. I thought you didn’t have anywhere to go.” I’m confused now. Maybe I heard her wrong.
“One night and then I need to leave. I don’t want to go somewhere they think they can force me to stay.”
“No one’s forcing you. Listen. You can stay a night and maybe you’ll change your mind. This would be a good place to get yourself back on track. They’d probably let you stay for weeks.”
“This is a mistake. I can sleep outside. It would be exactly like camping. I have some friends I can stay with later.” Veronica rubs her fingers across her lips. “Thanks for everything. Really.”
She opens the door with one hand and grabs her duffel bag with the other. I grab for her arm without thinking. She makes a small hurt animal sound that startles me. We both look down at my fingers closed around her forearm. I’d forgotten about the purple mass of bruises I’d seen earlier.
“I’m sorry.” I release her arm.
“We’ll check one out. If you don’t want to stay, we’ll find another,” I say.
Veronica gets back into her seat and pulls the door shut.
I navigate to the first one on my cell phone list. It’s a Victorian-style home in need of repair. A sign on the door says ‘Out of Business’ in large block letters and a giant cobweb covers the front window.
The second one on the list is only a couple of miles away. It’s a utilitarian brick building with a high chain-link fence surrounding the yard. Veronica leaves her duffel bag in the car as if she’s declaring she hasn’t committed.
“They forgot the razor wire on the top,” she says, glancing at the fence as we open the gate.
“Probably electrical.”
She snorts. “Most likely.”
A sidewalk leads us to a door with a metal sign announcing a requirement for visitors to register. At the entrance, we step around a puddle of water dripping from an air conditioning window unit.
An elderly woman with a cane greets us at the door. “Come in. How can I help you?”
“Can you tell me how this works?” Veronica glances around. “I need a place to stay for the night.”
The woman nods. “I see. We’re a short-term facility, but there’s a waiting list. You can fill out paperwork, and we’ll determine your eligibility. Then we can give you a call when there’s an opening.”
I take a step forward and hold out my hand. “Hi. I’m Collin Cordova. This is an emergency for Veronica. She only needs to figure out something for tonight. You don’t have even one bed?”
“No, we don’t. Let me get you some paperwork.” The woman turns her back on us and hobbles to the desk where she picks up a clipboard.
“Thanks, but no thanks.” Veronica is out the door before the shelter employee turns around. I catch up to her midway down the sidewalk.
“Hold on,” I say and gently place an arm on her shoulder.
She jerks out of my grasp. “No homeless shelter. You’re a very nice guy. I’m not your problem.” Her weak smile, only a hint that tips one corner of her mouth, makes me uneasy. It tells me how destitute she is. She doesn’t belong in this place or any other shelter. We’re wasting our time because I can’t abandon her.
“You can come home with me. For tonight. You can sleep on my sofa.” What the hell am I doing?
She stares at me with a look I can’t interpret. Fear? Horror? Shock? Perhaps a mixture of all three?
“Come on. Get in the car. I can’t let you take off walking. It’s going to be dark soon and where do you think you’ll go?” I shake my head and close my eyes for a second. Only a second because I have the feeling she’ll run off if I don’t insist.
“What’s in your trunk?”
“My what?”
“Chainsaw? Garbage bags? Bleach?”
I can’t help but grin, which probably reserves my spot in the murderer category. “You checking my supplies list?”
“I’m a girl.”
“You must watch a lot of crime drama.”
She taps her fingers across her lips while looking at the traffic milling by on the highway. “I was taught to stay away from strangers.”
“The creep back in the bus station is the type you should be worried about. Not me. Come on.”
She doesn’t make eye contact. She studies her sneakers.