Chapter 10: Haley

Wednesday, April 29th

I closed the motel door on my way out, hoping today would be my lucky day. After job hunting almost nonstop since arriving in Portland, without much success, I was trying not to get too discouraged. I wasn’t picky—I had scanned internet postings in the business center and visited almost anywhere with a “Help Wanted” ad—but without a resume or references, my options were fairly limited.

I pulled into the parking lot of a shopping center filled with a natural grocery co-op, several boutiques, a few restaurants, and a coffee shop named Percolate. It was early enough that most of the stores were still closed, so I started with the co-op. After striking out there, I entered the coffee shop, the warm, rich aromas washing over me.

The coffee machines hummed with activity, and I soaked in the cozy atmosphere. Customers sat at tables or on oversized leather chairs, chatting, reading, or working on their computers. A chalkboard menu displayed the specials for the day, including a list of baked goods. I took a deep breath and strode up to the counter, plastering a smile on my face.

The guy behind the counter looked up and grinned. “What can I get you?”

“Actually, I was wondering if there are any job openings,” I replied, thankful there was no one waiting in line behind me.

“I think John’s been looking for someone to help out. If you’ll wait at that table over there,” he indicated a table that was a little more secluded than the others, “I’ll send him over to you.”

“Great,” I said, hoping that this wasn’t another wasted effort. Several times over the past few days I had been informally interviewed only to discover my lack of experience or references was an issue. Stay positive, I thought, straightening in my chair and squaring my shoulders to project more confidence than I felt.

I glanced around the shop, observing the locals and hoping I didn’t stand out like a sore thumb. I had purchased a few items of clothing but was waiting to find a job and determine what, if any, dress code was required before selecting more. Still getting used to my darker hair, bangs, and more dramatic makeup, I frequently did a double take when I caught myself in the mirror.

A bearded man in his mid-forties approached and extended his hand when he reached the table. “I’m John, the owner. Noah told me you’re looking for a job.”

“Hi, I’m Brooke.” Using a name other than Haley felt unnatural, and I had to concentrate when introducing myself.

“What kind of job are you looking for, Brooke?” John asked as he took a seat across from me.

“Anything, really. I just need a job.”

“Well, we’ve been looking for another barista. Do you have any experience as a barista or in customer service generally?”

“No, but I’m a hard worker, I learn quickly, and have an open schedule,” I answered, not giving him a chance to reject me on the spot.

He chuckled. “Excellent. Any job experience at all?”

“Some, but none that’s relevant.”

“Hmm,” he said, appraising me while he rubbed his beard. “I have a good feeling about you, Brooke. I’ll tell you what—if you’ll give me a week on a trial basis, I’ll give you a shot.”

“Sounds great,” I responded enthusiastically, thrilled that someone was finally willing to give me a chance.

“Are you available tomorrow, say around four o’clock?”

“Absolutely.”

“Bring a photo ID and your social security card and we’ll get everything set up. Please wear closed-toe shoes and bring a hair tie, but otherwise, the dress code is pretty relaxed. We’ll train you, and if it goes well, we’ll make your position permanent and give you a cut of the tips.”

We shook hands once more before parting, and I walked out of the coffee shop with a spring in my step. I ran some errands, picking up groceries and a burner phone to use as my contact number for work. Back at the motel, I made a few calls about housing and even set up a meeting with a woman who had a small guest house she was looking to rent not too far from the coffee shop.

Several hours later, I drove to the house, surveying the neighborhood on my way. The area appeared older, but most of the homes were well cared for, as evidenced by their condition and lush gardens. There were a few outliers that were rundown, but on the whole, it seemed nice enough.

A woman with meticulously-styled silver hair greeted me at the door.

“Hi, I’m Brooke. I called earlier about the guest house.”

“Well, aren’t you darling,” she said, giving me a quick once-over. “I’m Helen. Follow me and I’ll show you the apartment.”

Helen gave me a tour of the cramped space, which included a kitchen, full bath, combined living and dining area, and bedroom. I was thankful it was fully furnished, even if the pieces were mostly outdated and rather worn. It definitely wasn’t the loft, but it could have been a lot worse and was a step up from my current, and very temporary, residence.

After an uncomfortable fifteen minutes of small talk, where I learned about Helen’s past and tried to dodge questions about my own, she asked me if I was interested in renting. We settled on the terms, I paid my first month’s rent in cash, and she handed me the keys. All things considered, the process was much less painful than I’d expected. Thankfully, Helen seemed pretty trusting and didn’t require a background and credit check.

I was looking forward to feeling more settled again, and I hoped that having a job and a place to live would help with my feelings of displacement. Unlikely.

*  *  *

Thursday, April 30th

After packing what few belongings I had in my car, I checked out of the motel and drove over to Helen’s. It didn’t take long to settle in, and I wasn’t expected at the coffee shop until late afternoon; it was time to ditch the car. Much as I enjoyed the freedom of having a car, and loathed the sunk cost of what I was about to do, I knew it was necessary. The Civic had served its purpose, and now it was one more way the guys could track me. The farther I could distance myself from it, from them, the safer we all would be.

The guys . . . I had purposely stayed busy to keep my mind off of them, to keep from dwelling on what they were doing or if they missed me as much as I missed them. Unfortunately, it didn’t work, and I found that they were never far from my thoughts, especially when I lay in bed at night unable to sleep. I wondered if the ache would lessen over time, but I doubted it.

Of course, when I wasn’t thinking about them, my brain was counting down the hours until the deadline Douglas set for my dad to contact him. Since I hadn’t heard a peep from the Batphone, and knew it was unlikely that I would in the next two days, I was attempting to mentally prepare myself for the repercussions. I had almost convinced myself that even if Douglas revealed my identity, no one would care. I was just a random girl, not someone the media cared about. What were the chances DuBois would even find out?

Driving to the other side of the city, I hunted for a destination within walking distance of a bus station that would take me back to my new place. After about thirty minutes, I found a secluded parking lot and left the keys in the unlocked car, hoping that it would be useful to someone else.

I watched the passing scenery out the bus window as I contemplated how drastically my life had changed in such a short time span. It was like déjà vu, but instead of waking up in the cabin or at the loft, I was completely alone in a new city. As much as I longed to wake up from this nightmare, I knew wishful thinking would only lead to disappointment. My one consolation was that my self-imposed waiting period to contact Jess would end soon.