Their Paid Girl

Their Paid Girl - Part 40

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                Augusta walked me to the door when I was ready to leave. Dinner had long been cleared, and Augusta and I had sat for a bit longer in the living room where kids of all ages had wandered in and out, watching TV and demanding Augusta’s attention. When the streetlights outside began to come on, I made my excuses.

            “Remember, my girl,” Augusta said in her quietest voice yet as I stood in the front hall, feeling as though I’d forgotten something. “Change never happens overnight. The realizations that came to you today may have made it easier to see the light, but the healing is still up to you. The past will always be just a memory away, but you get to choose which parts of it you remember.”

            I looked tenderly at the woman who had saved my life, who had continued to care, even though I’d moved away. The size of her heart was incredible.

            “I guess what I’m trying to say is, don’t be disappointed if the hurt takes some time to fade. Just let it go.”

            I smiled at her. “I understand. Thank you, Nunny.”

            Augusta returned the smile, before wrapping me in a parting hug. “Take care of yourself first, your family second, and don’t forget to leave room in your heart for others. Life is nothing if it’s without love and others.”

            “Honestly,” I said in amazement, “If you ever need the extra cash, I’m sure Hallmark would hire you to write their cards. You always know exactly what to say and how to say it.”

            Augusta gave me her signature unimpressed expression that made me grin. “Be off with you, and don’t forget to call me once in a while. Don’t visit too soon, though.”

            “Yes, Nunny,” I said, then impulsively leaned forward a planted a quick kiss on her lined forehead. “Thank you.”

            “You said that five thousand times already, now get,” she grinned, opening the door for me.

            I left the shelter, laughing, and waved one last time before the door closed. I descended the few steps and then looked up across the street.

            My heart skipped three beats, fumbled, then picked up again, racing at a crazy speed. I stared in complete shock at Adam, who stood beneath a streetlamp, frozen as we looked at each other.

            I gave some sort of unintelligible cry and stepped off the curb, rushing towards Adam. His face held a brief look of terror before he bounded toward me, and pulled me to his chest with enormous force. At the same moment that I crashed into Adam, I felt wind tear at my back and the blare of a car horn as a minivan narrowly missed me, driving past and still honking.

            Adam pulled me to his side of the road to the safety of the sidewalk, opposite the shelter, and closed his eyes. I stared, not sure what that meant.

            “Adam?” I ventured.

            “Shawna,” he breathed my name out with emotion, his eyes still closed, “do that to me one more time and I will personally flatten you out with my Porsche.”

            “Do what?” I asked blankly. Adam didn’t look so good – kind of pale and shaken underneath the lamplight.

            “Do what?” he repeated faintly, opening his eyes with a spark, and I observed some colour finally rising back into his cheeks. “What’s with you and constantly throwing yourself off the curb? Sweet baby Jesus, did your parents not teach you to look both ways before crossing a street?”