Don't Take Any Wooden Nickels (5 page)

“We missed you in church on Sunday,” she scolded gently, reaching out to stop a mountain of blazers from toppling over next to her. Though she never complained about the cramped space—and she seemed organized enough to be able to lay her hand on any specific item at any given time—I still thought how much easier her work would be if she had a little more room to spread out.

“I was in Tennessee,” I replied. “For work.”

“What about the Ladies Circle dinner at church? Will you be coming to that?”

“I-I’m not sure.”

“Well, I put your name down for a reservation, just in case. It’s coming up soon, you know, and I didn’t want you to miss out. It’s filling up fast!”

Trying not to roll my eyes, I told Verlene that I’d have to see, that it depended on my work schedule, knowing I had no intention of joining the Ladies Circle or any other group.

For some reason, Verlene saw it as her personal duty to keep tabs on me where church was concerned. She hated that I limited
my attendance to the Sunday morning worship service—and even then, only when I was in town. As far as she was concerned, I should be on committees and in Bible studies and in the women’s group. Despite my protestations, she nagged at me almost every time I saw her. If she weren’t so good-hearted, I might be tempted to tell her to mind her own business and leave me alone.

It wasn’t that I thought church was unimportant; I knew that the Bible repeatedly stresses the need for “gathering together” with other believers. When Bryan and I lived in Virginia, we were both very active in our church. But here, it was different. Here, I just didn’t have the time or energy to invest in the peripheral goings-on of the church community. I was spiritually fed from the Sunday morning service just fine. Everything else—Bible study and outreach projects—I did on my own, and that’s the way I liked it.

“Ah well, you lead such a glamorous life,” Verlene said, “always jetting off to here and there. When did you get back?”

“Just a while ago,” I said. “I have an appointment with Shayna Greer.”

“Oh, that’s right. I heard she got a job as a medical billing clerk. Good for her!”

We talked about some of the new clothes that had come in since I was here last and what might work for Shayna. At our first appointment, arranged by her social worker, Shayna had been quiet and kind of shy, though very sweet, and we had been able to put together a nice outfit for her to wear to job interviews. Now that she had landed a good job, it was my assignment to provide her with a week’s worth of professional-looking clothes, a haircut, and some makeup—just as we did for all of our clients. Once she started her new job, she and I would probably touch base a few more times; then the case would be closed out and, hopefully, she would be well on her way to a new and better future.

Though I enjoyed the mentoring side of my responsibilities, my favorite task at Advancing Attire was definitely picking out the
clothes. Maybe it wasn’t much in the grand scheme of things, but I always thought that the self-esteem these women got from their makeovers was priceless. My hope for today was that I would be able to get Shayna’s mind off of the missing boyfriend and onto the task at hand.

Verlene and I went into the front room, which was also small but much less crowded and designed to look like an upscale women’s boutique. We had slacks, tops, suits, skirts, dresses, accessories, shoes, and even high-quality undergarments organized onto racks and shelves by size and style. Two dressing rooms were in the rear of the store, with a huge three-sided mirror and viewing area between them. Because we didn’t charge our clients for the clothes, the only thing missing from our little boutique was a cash register.

“We got a new batch of shoes from Mrs. Reddingham,” Verlene said, rolling her eyes and pointing toward the racks. By our previous calculations, Mrs. Reddingham had to have bought an average of one pair of shoes per day for the last ten years to equal the quantity she sent our way. “Oh, and Grace Collins passed away. Did you know her? Of Collins Electronics. Her family has been sending us some of her things for a while, but after the funeral the son brought us a
ton
of stuff. All beautiful, very pricey. She was quite ill for the last several years, so most of it was hardly worn. I think we’ve gotten it all out on the racks by now.”

“Okay, thanks.”

“Like Shayna, Grace was very petite. You might find some nice stuff there.”

We walked around looking at the different items, and then I sent Verlene back to her work while I made coffee and waited for Shayna to arrive. Once the pot was brewing, I wet some paper towels and tried to repair the damage done to my nice pumps by the mud in the cemetery earlier this morning.

There was a knock on the door just as I was slipping the shoes back onto my feet, and I headed through the boutique to see Shayna standing on the other side of the glass. Her eyes were
rimmed in red and filled with tears. I braced myself, unlocked the latch, and opened the door.

Six

“Come on in,” I said, holding the door wide. “How’s it going?”

Shayna dutifully trooped inside. She wore a denim jacket over a faded T-shirt and carried the outfit we had previously given her draped over her arm. She was pale and thin, with about five inches of dark roots at the top of long hair that had once been bleached a harsh blonde.

“I’m okay,” she said softly.

“By the look on your face, I gather your boyfriend hasn’t turned up yet?”

“I’m so worried,” she answered. “Nobody’s seen Eddie Ray anywhere.”

I took a deep breath and guided her through the store to the seating area near the dressing rooms. Reluctantly, I sat her down, gave her some coffee, and let her pour the whole story out to me. Apparently, she and Eddie Ray had had a huge, screaming fight the night before, and he had stormed off to the local bar. As she had already explained over the phone, that wasn’t unusual. What was unusual was that he had not come back this morning, and no one knew where he had gone after he left the bar last night.

“I even called the police,” Shayna said mournfully, “but they told me there was nothing they could do yet. He hasn’t been missing long enough.”

“He is a grown man, Shayna, free to go if he chooses.”

“He wouldn’t leave me, Callie. Not again.”

“Again?” I asked, alarm bells going off in my head. History seemed to be repeating itself.

“He ran off one other time, a while back,” she admitted sheepishly. “He was gone for months, actually. But then he showed up a few weeks ago. He told me he had changed.”

I stood and crossed to the counter, retrieving a box of tissues and wondering how to counsel this young woman, who seemed to keep making all the wrong choices.

“Does he take drugs, Shayna?” I asked. “You told me you were in a twelve-step program. If you’re in recovery, you shouldn’t be around him anyway.”

I knew it wasn’t really my place to say—as I told her before, I wasn’t her sponsor or her social worker, just a volunteer helping her out—but it was hard to hold my tongue.

“No, no,” she replied, “he does pot sometimes, I think, but never around me. The problem is that he…he’s…” Her voice faded. “Eddie Ray’s a big dreamer, I guess you could say. Always got some great thing coming, right around the next corner. He was cooking up something really big this time. He was so excited. That’s another reason I know he didn’t leave on purpose. He had too much at stake.”

“But you said yourself that he’s left before.”

“I thought it would be different this time.”

I pulled out a tissue and handed it to her. She took it gratefully, wiped at her eyes, and then blew her nose.

“Are you in love with him?” I asked gently, taking a different approach.

“I used to be,” she whispered. “I’m not sure I am anymore.”

“Then don’t let him mess this up for you,” I said earnestly. “You got a good job—the job you trained for, that you worked hard for. When we finish here today, you’ll also have some nice new clothes and a big opportunity. You don’t need some guy coming in and messing up your life this way. It’s time to focus on
yourself,
Shayna. A nice job can be more rewarding than you’d ever imagine.”

My words hung in the air between us, and I could see the doubt on her face. I wished I could make her understand what having a career really felt like—the incredible sense of accomplishment that came with doing a job well, the paychecks that reflected all the training and preparation, the feeling that there was a reason to get up in the morning outside of yourself and your own needs. Still, she was young. Try as I might to share with her the secrets of the workplace, until she lived it for herself, she wouldn’t really understand.

“Eddie Ray says my new job is dumb.”

“What?”

“He says the life of a nine-to-fiver is boring and stupid. He said that as soon as this thing he’s gotten involved in pans out, we’ll have enough money so that neither one of us will ever have to work again.”

“Ignoring for a moment the fact that Eddie Ray is probably in another state by now,” I said, trying to keep the frustration out of my voice, “I thought you
wanted
to work. I thought you
liked
medical billing.”

“It’s okay.”

“Just okay? When I talked to you the other day, you were bursting with enthusiasm. You said you got a great job with good pay in a really nice office. What happened to all of that excitement?”

She looked down at the floor and shrugged.

“Shayna,” I said, sitting in the chair in front of her, forcing her to look at me, “just when things are starting to go right for you, why are you letting yourself get dragged back down by a man?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered, tears spilling down her cheeks.

I felt a surge of sympathy for her. One thing I had observed since I started volunteering with Advancing Attire was that many of these indigent women simply took what life offered—the good and the bad—without it ever dawning on them that they had choices, that sometimes they could take control themselves.

“Shayna,” I said, meeting her eyes, “life has thrown a lot of bad things your way. But there are some things you can choose to throw back, you know. You don’t always have to take everything as it comes.”

She attempted to smile in spite of herself.

“Look,” I continued, “you have a real chance here to be a success completely from your own efforts. If Eddie Ray is still around—and if he truly cares for you—he’ll have to respect that.”

“I…I guess so,” she whispered.

“And if he really has skipped town, at least you’ll know not to fall for his lines the next time he shows up.”

Shayna looked off in the distance, her eyes filled with pain.

“You’re right,” she said.

“Good,” I replied. “I know you told me you’ve been trying to grow in your faith. Why don’t we say a quick prayer and turn this matter over to God? He knows what’s best for you. Believing that is about the only thing that will get us through the tough times.”

Seven

Shayna seemed better after we shared a short prayer. As a relatively new Christian, she often seemed to have trouble remembering to surrender everything to the Lord. Now that she had, she seemed much more calm. I, too, needed to gain a little perspective for her situation.
It’s not my place to mother her,
I reminded myself.
I’m only here to give her the tools she needs for this new start.

“Now, let’s get down to work and find you some new clothes,” I said, and she quickly agreed.

As always, I started by laying out on the counter the clothing we had already given her; then I asked her to describe her new
workplace and the types of clothing she had observed while there for her interview. It sounded as though the office was what I’d call “dress casual,” a look that would be easy to assemble from the clothing we had on hand. Using what we had given her already, we would now attempt to build a mix-and-match wardrobe that would carry her to her first paycheck and beyond.

The next hour passed in a blur as I pulled things from the racks, she tried them on, and we talked about what worked and what didn’t. She certainly wasn’t very picky—in fact, she seemed thrilled with everything I suggested. Once we had made our final choices, I loaded the list of her new clothes into the computer. When I was finished, I ran a printout and handed it to her.