Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 57576 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 288(@200wpm)___ 230(@250wpm)___ 192(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57576 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 288(@200wpm)___ 230(@250wpm)___ 192(@300wpm)
Angelia gives me a sad smile. “Your chef soul just died a little, didn’t it?”
“Why? This can’t be. I knew the after school program was in danger, but…you might lose your job?”
“The shelter’s federal funding got cut. We’re getting forty percent of what we got last year. It’s a big hit. So the board had to decide if we cut back on beds, or cut back on what we can give residents. With the winters here and all our beds full for the past two years…they couldn’t cut beds.”
I nod slowly. “Yeah, that’s a horrible spot to be put in.” I feel a surge of anger. “But this means no classes? No job training?”
“Yeah. And nothing for the kids. We’ll be back to relying only on donations for extra stuff for the kids.”
“There wasn’t a lot of extra, anyway.” I bring my hand up and rub my temples. “This is complete bullshit. Is there anything we can do?”
“The funding has already been set. For this year, we’re screwed.”
“Well, this makes no sense. I don’t get paid, so why can’t I keep teaching my classes? My ingredients are all donated or bought by me.”
“We’re required by our insurance to have a trained staff member present for cooking and baking activities. And my salary had to be cut, too, so…”
“Oh, Angelia.” I sigh softly. “I’m so sorry. You love your work here.”
“It’s all I have.” Her voice breaks and she looks down.
“It’s not all you have; you have me.” I wrap my arms around her in a fierce hug. “You can move in with me if you need to, and I can get you a job at Magnolia.”
She laughs bitterly, still staring at the floor. “I’d have to wear a turtleneck to hide my scars.”
“You’ll do no such thing. You have nothing to be ashamed of. It’s the other way around, and you know it. Don’t let this set you back emotionally. Please.”
Tears shine in her eyes as she looks up at me. “I’m in a good place, Reese. I love it here. I feel safe here. But the thought of working with men again, of having to be close to them and take orders from them…it makes me feel sick.”
“I won’t let that happen. You can work under me, okay?”
She nods. “Yeah. But if I have to ride the El train to work, I’m carrying a goddamn machete.”
Angelia lives about a block from the shelter now, and she walks to and from work every day. Some nights, she sleeps in a cot in her tiny office. The elimination of her job at the shelter will affect more than just her. I’ve seen many women come through this place and draw their inspiration from this woman who survived an acid attack, testified against her abuser and helped send him to prison.
I move my chopped celery into a bowl, saying, “There has to be something we can do. How much money are we talking about?”
“I don’t know the exact number, but it’s around two hundred grand.”
“Well, shit.” I lean back against the kitchen counter, crossing my arms.
Angelia lets out a deep breath. “We’re funded through the end of October. Let’s not worry about it right now.”
“Okay. As soon as the chickens cool, we need to debone them.”
“Your chicken noodle soup is my favorite.”
“Thanks.”
“It’s better than my mama’s—but don’t tell her that.”
I smile. “Hey, I brought you one of the mini pineapple upside down cakes I made at the restaurant yesterday.”
“Thanks, girl. That’ll be a perfect way to drown my sorrows at the end of the day.”
“We’re not giving up yet.”
Angelia’s smile is wry. “I could sell all my belongings, and then we’d have our first eighty bucks or so.”
“I’d sell my furniture if it would help. All I really need is my bed. But my stuff’s not worth much, either.”
“I should’ve known it wouldn’t last.” Angelia looks down at the chicken she’s pulling the meat from. “This job, this place…it was too good to last.”
“Don’t say that.”
“It’s true, though. More and more people just don’t believe in giving others a hand up anymore. They don’t care if people are out on the streets—they think it’s their own damn fault anyway.”
“Not everyone’s like that, my cynical friend.”
“You know what I’m saying, though.”
I hate to admit it, but she’s right. I nod solemnly.
“This place may not be much,” she says, looking around the kitchen with a hodgepodge of donated appliances and mismatched counters. “But for the residents here, three meals a day and a warm bed is a fairytale come true.”
“Isn’t it funny how relative fairytales are?” I say, passing her another bowl to fill with chicken. “I used to think marriage and kids and a home of my own was the fairytale. But I love where I am now.”
“You might end up having it all, you know. A good man, kids and work you love.”