Page 70
Story: The Haters
1999
When Orchid first arrived in Chicago, she stayed at a shelter. For the first two weeks, her morning routine was the same. She walked to a church down the block that handed out day-old pastries donated by a bakery that couldn’t serve them to paying customers. And then she went to the newsstand around the corner and bought the LA Times. She walked two blocks south to a small park, where she sat at a picnic table, spread out her paper, and ate her stale breakfast. She looked like any other person enjoying their morning. No one could tell what Orchid was searching for in that paper.
She needed to know if Star was dead. And if she’d survived, had she been arrested for attempting to murder Carol? When Orchid had told the disabled woman that her husband wanted her killed, had it sunk in? Carol was likely in shock, perhaps unable to process the fact that her mild-mannered husband wanted her to burn to death in her bed. But if Carol had understood, had told the police, then Star would pay, too. If she was alive.
But Orchid never found any news about the fire. Nor were there any articles on the arrest of a badly burned woman, or a shady pharmacist. Carol had either blocked out the information or chosen to stay silent, to protect the man who would have killed her in the cruelest way. And people like Star weren’t worth the ink. No one cared if she lived or died. No one but Orchid.
For weeks Orchid fretted about the girls she’d left behind. But there was no way to contact them: no phone in the single-room apartment, and a letter might have given away her location. Their days in the apartment were likely numbered. Without Orchid, they wouldn’t be able to make rent; they’d end up back on the sidewalk. She’d abandoned them to their sure demise. But even if she’d stayed, the girls were slipping away. Lucy and Tracey were both using. And Star, if she’d survived, if she wasn’t in constant pain or badly disfigured, was a loose cannon, incapable of making smart life choices. Eventually, Orchid stopped buying the newspaper.
She got a job at a seedy bar owned by a woman with a deeply creased face, a bad back, and a soft heart. She let Orchid sleep in a storage room until she saved up enough for a deposit on a small apartment. Orchid worked the bar at night, and during the day she went back to the shelter. She volunteered at their drop-in center, serving meals, washing dishes, and listening. Because she knew what drove people to the streets. And she knew what it took to get off them.
A pastor ran the center, a Mexican American man with an easy smile and the patience of Job. He made Orchid feel valued and appreciated. She assumed it was just his Christian duty, but one day he made a suggestion.
“Have you considered getting a degree in social work?”
No, she hadn’t. She’d gotten her GED in juvenile detention, but further education had never seemed like an option.
“We have some funding,” he said. “We could sponsor you. You could work here while you studied part-time.”
“Why would you do that for me?”
“You have a gift. You connect with these people. They open up to you more than they do anyone.”
Life on the streets had taught Orchid to seize opportunities when they presented themselves. So she accepted the pastor’s offer and went to college. It was exhausting but fulfilling. And sometimes it was even fun. Orchid began to let her guard down. She made social connections that could even be called friendships. The warm environment smoothed away her sharp edges, blunted her feelings of suspicion and mistrust. Orchid could almost pass for a normal co-ed.
One day, when Orchid was in the last year of her degree, a young man in a suit came into the shelter. He was rushed and frazzled, but his good looks and charisma shone through his rumpled exterior. “Who’s that?” Orchid whispered to her colleague Nell.
“Legal aid,” Nell said. “Apparently, he’s a rich kid with a heart of gold. Wants to change the world and all that.”
“Impressive.”
“And adorable, don’t you think?” Nell winked at her. “Let me introduce you.”
They waited until the handsome man had finished chatting to a client, then they approached. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet,” Nell said to him, proffering Orchid like a prize.
“I’m Michael Carder,” he said, taking her hand. She loved the way his hair fell across his forehead, the lines around his mouth. “And you are?”
“I’m Orchid Chambers.” Their eyes connected then, and Orchid saw warmth, comfort, and promise. In a breath, she saw a future with this man, one she had never dared dream of: love, family, purpose… For the second time in her life, Orchid reinvented herself and became a new person.
But the people she’d abandoned on the streets had not forgotten her. And they would not stay silent. As Michael’s political profile grew, as Orchid stood demurely by his side as First Lady of Chicago, the ghosts of her past—Lucy, Mal, even Star—would return. And once again, Orchid would be driven to desperate lengths to survive.
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