“Just you.”
“Good.” I adjust the strap of my bag on my shoulder. “Don’t tell anyone else; we keep it between us.”
He nods his head in reply before I walk out of the building to my car.
I stare at the money in my hand that the cashier has given me, not quite believing that I have so much of it. The stack of bills looks like such a huge amount; I don’t think I’ve ever held this much money in my entire life. I really need to open a bank account.
I close my fingers around it and turn before walking toward Livvy where she waits by the door.
“Ready?” she asks.
I nod, not being able to use my voice. Ever since Jake left us a couple of days ago, I’ve said no more than a few words to her. I don’t know what to say: how to thank her for putting me up when I have nowhere else to go.
I can’t comprehend why someone would be this kind, to take a complete stranger into their home and not bat an eyelid: to not want to know what that person did to land themselves in prison in the first place.
“Grandma. Pills,” I blurt out when we’re back onto the main street that runs through the middle of the town.
“What’s that, lovely?”
I shake my head at myself before trying to explain. “My grandma, she needed pills.” I take a deep breath and move my gaze to hers before looking away again. “I had to get them for her… that’s why I went to prison… I—”
Her hand falling on my arm and pulling me to a stop has my breath catching in my throat. “You don’t need to tell me.” Her voice is soft but also firm as she smiles gently. “This is your start over; you know, the thing you hit on them computers to make it fresh again… I don’t know what it’s called, but it’s what you have here. A fresh start. This is your time, lovely. You can make a good life for yourself, and I want to help you achieve that.”
I swallow, the dryness of my throat making it difficult. I don’t deserve this.
“Thank you,” I manage to whisper.
“You’re most welcome.” She lets go of my arm and looks down the road. “Now, let’s get you some decent threads, then we can have some dinner before you start your first shift.”
> “Threads?” I chuckle at her and then sober as I feel the paper bills still clutched in my hand. “How much do I give you?” I ask, holding the wad of cash toward her.
She pushes my hand down, looking left and right at the people milling about before whispering. “Let’s say forty dollars a week?”
“Are you sure?” I ask, not knowing if that’s enough. Once she nods, I count out four hundred dollars and hand them to her. “Here… ten weeks in advance.” I smile.
“You don’t need to—”
“I do,” I say, spinning around and looking up and down at the row of shops. “I don’t even know where to start.”
She puts the money into her purse while mumbling under her breath and puts her arm through mine, pulling me down the sidewalk and into the first clothes shop that we see.
“Let’s see… you need new undergarments, new pants, jeans, tops, shorts, sneakers.” She goes on and on, making a full circle of the shop and waving her arms about. “Have at it.”
I inch forward, looking at all the underwear and having no idea where to start. I’ve never bought my own clothes. Before I went to juvie, my grandma provided all of that and afterward… well, afterward they were provided by the prison service. The same style bra and panties along with various colors of prison uniform depending on which block I was in.
I slowly pick up a pair of black panties. “Lace boy shorts,” I say, reading the label and then picking up the matching bra that sits above it.
Once I’ve gathered up a few things, it gets easier and I manage to find most of what I’ll need—or at least, what I think I’ll need. Jeans, tank tops, long-sleeved tops, a cool faux leather jacket, and even a couple of pairs of flat ballet-style shoes.
Once I’ve paid, we head to the next store, picking up a few more clothes and some black Converse.
Two hours later, I’m armed with enough bags to clothe ten people, the smile on my face can’t be wiped off by nothing and nobody.
“Wasn’t so bad, huh?” Livvy asks as she walks beside me back to her place.
“No, it wasn’t.” I smile at her and look around at all of the houses that look like something out of a movie. The kind of houses they only have in those small towns, the one’s filled with people who have loving families and haven’t known real hardship, who know who everyone is and what everyone does.
I know that sounds judgmental, but when you’ve been through what I have, you can’t help but look from the outside in and judge what you think are their perfect lives.