Hope Springs - 05 - Wedding Cake by Lynne Hinton Page A

live.
    “Can you help me make the spare bed in your room, Iris?” Charlotte asked. It was unusual for the shelter since they were almost always full to capacity, but on that particular day they actually had an available bed. Earlier that week, they had enjoyed a good-bye party for a previous resident named Lois and her two children. Lois was one of the lucky ones and could stay in the area. Her abusive boyfriend had been sentenced to a number of years in prison, and Lois had found a job at the casino in Sky City and a place to live just on the outskirts of the pueblo.
    Iris had been in the room by herself only a couple of nights but she, like all of the other residents, knew resources at St. Mary’s were to be shared. There were always more women in need than there was space, but the residents, glad to be safe, never complained.
    “There are still two drawers empty too,” Iris said. “And if she needs more, I can move my stuff under the bed.”
    “I don’t think our newest resident has much stuff,” Charlotte responded. “She’s coming from the police station, and the officer said she was pretty messed up.” Charlotte sighed. “So she probably just ran for her life, and you know what that means.”
    “She ain’t got nothing but the clothes on her back,” Darlene answered.
    Charlotte nodded, and Iris shook her head, making a kind of
tsk tsk tsk
sound.
    “I just can’t believe that this kind of thing happens like it does. My husband never laid a hand on me, not in forty-three years of marriage, and I will never understand what happened to my grandsonthat made him snap like he did.” Iris reached up and touched the bruise that was still visible above her eye. She had required twelve stitches to sew up the gash that had been the result of being hit by a baseball bat. Her grandson was twenty, still living at home, and had been charged with assault and battery and drug possession. She was brought to St. Mary’s because her daughter and son-in-law said that they couldn’t keep her and their other two children. She had nowhere else to go when she was released from the hospital. Charlotte was trying to help Iris find suitable housing at a retirement home, but she wanted to get the older woman healed up before moving her into her own apartment.
    “Your grandson was on crack,” Darlene noted, remembering her housemate’s story when she arrived. “Drugs will make a person violent and crazy.” She shook her head. “I should know because I been on both ends of that kind of violence.” Darlene was a recovering addict. She had been in and out of group homes, halfway houses, and women’s shelters since she left home at sixteen. But she was proud of herself because she celebrated ten years of sobriety and being clean. She and her second husband had quit drugs at the same time, and she always thought his violent streak had to do with his use of cocaine. She almost died the last time he threw her down the stairs at the apartment where they lived, and after that last time, she finally quit making excuses for him and moved into the shelter.
    “Well, let’s try and get this bed made, and, Iris, the nurse is coming to have a look at our newest guest, so you may need to let them have the room until after dinner. And then she may need a little time alone.” Charlotte glanced at her watch. She was trying to remember what else she needed to do before Carla’s arrival.
    “We’ll take care of it, Sister Charlotte. You go do your executivedirector work. We’ll make the bed and clean up a little in that room.” Darlene winked and nodded.
    Most of the women called Charlotte “Sister Charlotte” because the majority of them had never met a woman minister, and it was just easier to identify her as a nun. Charlotte never corrected them because she actually enjoyed being called “Sister.” It made her feel connected to the women as more than just an executive director or social worker. It made her feel like