Fallen Woman(3)

The elevator opened into the lobby, and I stepped out. For just a moment, I allowed myself to dance a little jig once the doors closed behind me. My heels clicked on the marble like a maraca. I had foolishly believed I was alone until I saw the man snickering by the door. His face filled with humor as though my happy dance had made his day. Embarrassed, my cheeks flushed, and he opened the large glass door, motioning for me to go through. There was nothing special about his attire, he didn’t even say hello, but he had the most haunting gray eyes I ever had the privilege of staring into, even if it was only for a split second. And his quirky smile warmed me from the inside out. Once out of the building, I chanced a glance over my shoulder only to find him still rooted in the same spot, holding the door for no one. He gave me a quick wave, and I tossed my long, dark hair back and kept walking. Maybe I wasn’t dead after all.

Reaching my front door, I unlocked the deadbolts and scurried inside to find my kids still sitting exactly where I’d left them. Their little heads turned to the door, startled when I came in, and when they saw the joy on my face, they rushed to me, knowing I had good news. Swarmed in baby hugs, I told them, “Mommy got a job!”

For the first time since Ryan died, a little bit of the weight lifted off my shoulders. Now I had five days to find someone to help me with Trace, Megan, and Emmy while I went to work. There was no way I could leave them for ten hours a day unattended. That night after I put the kids in bed, I racked my brain for options. I needed a viable solution, but there was no way I could afford daycare for three, and the twins wouldn’t start school for months. With no family, no money, and even fewer resources, I was pretty well screwed.

The next morning, I got up and got the kids dressed. Without having to worry about finding employment, it seemed like a great day to get out and enjoy the sunshine in the park. The kids loved it. It was one of the few times they got to interact with other children and run. Our apartment had one tiny bedroom with no space to move, and we all shared a bed. Being in a park was like setting wild horses free.

We all held hands coming back—Megan and Emmy on my left, and Trace on my right. As we skipped into the breezeway, the neighbor, an elderly African American woman I’d seen many times before, stopped us.

“Don’t y’all just look happy as little larks?” Her wrinkled cheeks pulled up into a cozy grin, and her eyes twinkled with the delight of youth in front of her.

“Yes, ma’am! We got to go to the park because Mommy got a job!” Trace announced proudly. “And ‘cause Emmy’s better today,” he added, smiling at his little sister.

“That is pretty special, young man. Where did your mommy get a job?” She looked at me through her dark brown eyes, so deep the pupils seemed to fade into the irises.

“Oh, um, at Faston Corporation,” I answered her, still swinging the twins’ arms.

“Well, what are you three going to do while Mommy’s at work?”

With trepidation in their eyes, all three of my children stared at me, waiting for the answer to the million-dollar question.

“I haven’t quite worked that out just yet, but we’ll figure it out, right guys?” Even I heard the lie as it left my mouth. Nothing but doubt lined my words.

The lady eyed me for a minute, contemplating, her face pinched before releasing. “I know we just met, but I’ve seen you here and there. You ain’t got family around, do you?”

I shook my head. She was direct, but I appreciated that about people.

Her eyes and cheeks had softened before she spoke again. “I’m Pearl Johnson.” She looked down at the kids, “But you can call me Miss Pearl.” Her gaze returned to me, and she extended her hand.

“Gianna LeBron.” I shook her outstretched hand and continued with introductions, thankful she didn’t place the last name. “And this is Trace, his twin sister, Megan, and their little sister, Emmy.”

Miss Pearl reached out to each of them and curtsied as she took their hands. “How do ya do?” she said three times over, causing each kid to giggle. When she finished with Emmy, she added, “Glad to hear you’re doin’ better.”

She stood back up but just as I was about to excuse my brood, her fingers touched my forearm and lingered.

“My grandbaby comes over every day while his mama’s out. I’m sure he’d be happy for some company his own age.” Wisdom filled her chocolate orbs. She knew without me telling her what kind of shape I was in—heck, she couldn’t be much better or she wouldn’t live next door.

“I couldn’t impose. One is quite different than four.” I offered her a meek smile and sad eyes. I desperately wanted to accept her offer, but I didn’t know her and neither did my children.

“Baby, you got any other options?” Her southern drawl was more pronounced when she lowered her voice.

Again, I shook my head.

“Look at me, child.”

I did as she told me to.

“The Lord orchestrates every encounter. There’s no movement in the world He didn’t choreograph for His purpose. Our meeting here is no different. Allow Him to provide for you.”

At one point in my life, I had certainly been more religious than I am now, but losing everything—our house and my husband—crushed that faith. I wasn’t Job, and I didn’t believe I was being tested. I had simply been dealt a bad hand, and now I had to figure out how to play it. Thus far, I was losing my tail. But this woman, Miss Pearl…she believed. Her faith was strong; it had roots.