Alice:
You probably won’t be, but it’s still happening and is going to complicate things.
I’m sorry it’s happening, I really am. But I’m worried for you.
And these situations don’t like… get better with age.
My phone rings.
It’s Timmy.
I don’t answer, because that would be illegal.
Me:
He just tried to call me. Which is a trap, because I’m not allowed to communicate with him.
Alice:
Correct.
Don’t fall for it.
Me:
Ugh. If I had the truck, I could charge my phone.
If I had my ID, I could book a hotel.
Yet, because of Timmy, I have neither.
The sun feels relentless as I sit by the security shack pondering my options, my phone barely clinging to its last bar of battery life. The weight of everything that has happened presses downon me like the heat—the arrest, the stay-away order, the sheer audacity of Timmy taking the truck that I’m legally responsible for, and now being stuck here without shoes, identification, or any semblance of stability.
I lean against the wall, watching the bustling activity of the complex—the occasional car pulling in, tenants coming and going. The security guard eyes me with what I hope is sympathy, but I’m not counting on it.
Dennis, one of Timmy’s coworkers, arrives and chats away with the guard. I recognize him from the times Timmy insisted on dragging me to his job site—one of those guys who always seemed to have a joke or a laugh but never seemed too bothered by the seriousness of anything. Today, though, I’m grateful for his presence.
“Excuse me, Dennis, right?” I ask, stepping closer to him. He turns, his face twisting in mild confusion.
“Yeah?” he says.
“Hi,” I say, trying to keep my tone steady. “I’m Timmy’s fiancée. I’m in a bit of a bind, and really need to get in touch with him. Could you help me out?”
Dennis raises an eyebrow, clearly not expecting this. “Uh, yeah. I guess. What’s going on?”
“I need to grab some things from the apartment,” I explain. “But I can’t legally go in there without him present because of the… situation. And he took the truck, so I’m stuck without anything.”
He nods. “Yeah, he said he had a meeting in town, so he’s not working today.”
I think about it, and realize he did mention having to go to some kind of food stamp eligibility course. Something where you go through the motions of pretending to be on the job hunt so that the government will keep giving you money.
“Could you maybe give him a call and find out when he’ll be back?” I ask.
Dennis pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Sure, hang on.”
He dials, and I watch as he has a brief conversation with Timmy, his face giving nothing away.
When he hangs up, he looks at me and says, “He says he’s on his way back now. Shouldn’t be too long.”