white wainscoting and crown molding; still it managed to retain the distinction of an elegant older home, a little beaten and shabby, but in spite of everything, digni?ed. Time for a good spring-cleaning, Monica thought, as she sat in a wicker rocking chair and lit a cigarette. Tiny tendrils of nicotine reached deep, and Monica felt the morning’s pent-up frustration blow out of her lungs with the smoke. For now, she could let go of the fact that the jackass district attorney, responsible for prosecuting criminals and protecting victims, believed punching a woman in the face was justi?ed if that woman was drunk and obnoxious. Monica could deal with him later. For now, she would enjoy the cigarette, enjoy the women, enjoy the porch. Lauren, sitting directly across from Monica, came to the shelter last week, but she wasn’t new; it was her third stay in six months. She looked tired. “David’s mother called me today.” ) Beth, a resident of just two days, gasped. “How did she ?nd you?” ) Lauren shrugged. “David knows I’m here. The kids call him every night. I suppose he told his mother, and she called and asked for me. Sometimes people call here for the residents. Everything is con?den27
tial, so the sta? just uses a regular line – ‘There’s no one here by that name, but if I see her, I’ll give her the message’ – and then they give us the message. So she called, and I got the message and called her back.” ) “Don’t you have a cell phone?” Anna’s question mirrored Monica’s thoughts. It was rare these days for someone to be without her own phone. ) “No.” Lauren leaned forward and took a handful of M&Ms. “I did have one, but David said I was using it too much, and he took it away.” ) “Maybe you’re lucky,” Anna said. “Tony texted me ?fty-four times yesterday. I ?nally turned my phone o? and buried it at the bottom of my bag.” ) Beth pulled her legs under her oversized sweatshirt and looked at Lauren. “Are you scared that he’ll come here and get you?” She seemed amazed that Lauren’s husband knew where she was. ) “No, I don’t think so. I mean, he hits me sometimes, but he’s not that crazy kind of violent where he’s going to come here with a gun and drag me out.” Lauren’s dark hair fell in waves past her shoulders. She pushed it behind her ears. “Besides, I don’t think he’s really that worried about it. He ?gures I’ll come home soon.”