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“She would have been here in the past day,” I say. “If she was here at all.”
“Name?”
“Her name is Ingrid.”
“I meantyourname,” the woman says.
“Sorry. I’m Jules.”
She finally looks up from the photo and, with a gap-toothed smile, says, “Pretty name. I’m Bobbie. Not as pretty, I know. But it’s one of the few things that’s mine.”
She pats the space next to her, and I join her on the cot. “It’s nice to meet you, Bobbie.”
“Likewise, Jules.”
She plucks the phone from my hand to study the photo once more. “She a friend of yours?”
“More like an acquaintance.”
“Is she in trouble?”
I sigh. “That’s what I’m trying to find out. If she is, I want to help her.”
Bobbie sizes me up. Polite suspicion. I can’t blame her. She’s probably encountered a lot of people with offers of help. Ones with strings attached. As for me, I suspect she sees a kindred spirit, because she says, “I’ll keep an eye out for her, if you want.”
“I’d appreciate that very much.”
“Can you send me the picture?”
“Sure.”
Bobbie gives me her phone number, and I text her the photo.
“I’ll save your number,” she says. “So I can call you if I run into her.”
I want her to do more than just call me. I want her to tell me about her life. About the chain of events that led her here. Because we have something in common, Bobbie and me. We’re just two women trying to get by as best we can.
“You say you’ve been here a month?” I say.
“That’s right.”
“And before that?”
Bobbie gives me another suspicious once-over. “Are you a social worker or something?”
“Just interested in your story,” I say. “If you’re interested in telling it.”
“There’s not much to tell, Jules. Shit happens. You know how it is.”
I nod. I know exactly how it is.
“My family was poor, you see. Welfare. Food stamps. All that stuff some folks are always trying to get rid of.” Bobbie huffs with annoyance. “As if welikedepending on food stamps. As if wewantthat goddamn brick of orange cheese they give out. I told myself that when I grew up, I wasn’t going to let that happen to me. And I managed for a while. But then something unexpected happened, and I had to dig myself a little hole of debt to deal with it. Then to fill in that hole, I had to dig another, this one a little bigger. After a while, there were so many holes that I was bound to fall into one and not be able to get out. It’s hard.Lifeis hard. And too damn expensive.”
“Have you seen the price of oranges?” I say.
Bobbie laughs again. “Honey, the last time I had fresh fruit, Obama was still in office.”
“Well, I hope life gets easier for you very soon,” I say.