Three days and endless applications later, I still have no job and I’m feeling more desperate than I ever have in my life.

It’s time to do something I hoped I’d never have to do.

Sam’s Pawn Shop is about half a mile away from downtown in an aging strip mall, between a nail place and a sad little coffee shop that never has any customers. It’s the only place in town I can think of to do this. I hate the thought of coming here, because I know Sam from when I was a kid. Back then, he used to own an appliance repair place, and my dad swore he’d never buy his appliances from anywhere else. Of course, when the big box stores started moving into Tanner Springs, little places like Sam’s shop couldn’t compete, and he had to close down. So now, he does this instead.

I take Noah with me to the pawn shop. Partly it’s because I don’t have anyone to leave him with. But partly it’s because I’m hoping Noah will distract Sam from asking too many prying questions.

I pull into the parking lot of the strip mall, and easily find a spot right in front of Sam’s shop. After helping Noah out of his car seat, I square my shoulders and put on a bright, carefree smile. Then I push open the door and say a quick prayer.

Sam is sitting at the counter clipping his fingernails when I walk in. He looks up, startled, like he’s not all that used to having people walk into the shop. It’s clear he doesn’t recognize me, though he’s eyeing me like he’s trying to figure out if he knows me. Granted, he hasn’t seen me in many years. Plus, my hair is a different color now. My heart jumps a little: maybe I can get through this whole thing without him realizing who I am. Then I realize that I probably have to give him my name and my ID if I want to be able to get my pawned item back, and my heart sinks a little again.

“Hi,” I say. I decide not to give him any hints yet. “I have something I’d like to pawn.” Duh. Of course I do. What a dumb way to start. I smile, too wide, to compensate for sounding like an idiot. “It’s this ring.”

Reaching into my pocket, I take out the small box where I’ve put my mother’s engagement ring. It almost broke my heart to take it off the chain around my neck. I was afraid I’d start crying in the pawn shop if I did it here, so I left the chain at home and brought the ring like this instead.

Sam is still peering at me curiously, his head cocked, when he takes the ring from me. He breaks my gaze and looks at it, holding it up to the light. “Nice,” he remarks. “Wedding ring?”

“Engagement,” I correct him. “Not mine.” He looks at me sharply. “I mean, it was my mother’s,” I stammer. “The ring belongs to me, though.”

A flicker of something crosses his features. Recognition? If it is, he doesn’t say anything. For a moment, he says nothing. Then: “Hold on just a second. I’ll be right back.”

He leaves the ring on the counter in front of me and disappears into the back of the store. I wait for two minutes, three minutes, trying to be patient. Noah gets tired of waiting by my side and wanders off to stare at the rows of chain saws, guitars, amplifiers, and electronics.

Sam comes back out. “Stay put,” he tells me. “I’m having an appraiser come to look at the ring.”

I frown at him. That seems odd. The ring is a fairly nice one, but not so nice that I’d think he’d need to have someone else take a look at it. Then again, what do I know? I’ve actually never pawned anything before. And maybe this means the ring is worth more than I thought.

I put the ring back into the box for safekeeping, and slide it back into my pocket. Wandering over to Noah, I tell him in a low voice to stop putting his hands on the glass case in front of him. I try to figure out some sort of small talk that I can make with Sam, but when I glance back in his direction, I see he’s gone back to clipping his nails.

Five more minutes pass. I’m getting kind of antsy, and Noah’s asking when we’re going to leave. I start to ask Sam how long it will be before the appraiser gets here, but as I do, the low sound of a motorcycle approaching stops me.

Before I know what’s happening, I see that Angel is outside the shop, parking his bike in the spot next to my car. Open-mouthed, I look over at Sam accusingly, but he refuses to meet my gaze.

My heart sinks as Angel storms into the shop. “What the fuck, Jenna?” he explodes at me. “What the hell are you doing?”

Well, I guess now I know Sam recognizes me, I think bitterly. Shooting him an angry look, I hiss at Angel, “Can we please not do this here?”

“Fine. Come on.” He takes me by the arm and starts to lead me out, but I shake him off. Picking Noah up into my arms, I nod stonily toward the front entrance and follow Angel out of the pawn shop, shooting daggers at Sam’s bald head as I do.

“Why didn’t you tell me you needed money this bad?” Angel barks at me when we’re out on the sidewalk. “Sam said you were trying to pawn Mom’s engagement ring?”

I don’t know if he’s mad about the ring, or just mad that his sister went to a pawn shop instead of to the family, or both. “Angel, I…” I begin, but I don’t know what to say. I don’t want Noah to hear any of this. Not that he’d understand, exactly. I know he’s too young. But I don’t want him to hear that we need money. I don’t want my little boy to worry.

“Look, can you just let me put Noah in the car first?” I ask. I open the back door and set him down, and Noah climbs obediently into his car seat. I grab two of his toys, a plastic dune buggy and his stuffed monkey, and hand them to him. Leaving the door open so he won’t get too hot, I come back to Angel on the sidewalk.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Angel repeats as soon as I’m back. “Shit, Dad would have given you money. All you would have needed to do was ask. I still don’t get why you didn’t just move in with him.”

“You know what he’s like, Angel. I can’t.” I shake my head in frustration. “I just can’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that once again, his daughter is a failure who can’t stand on her own two feet.” All the frustration and worry of the past few days wells up inside me, and for a second I think I’m going to cry. “It’s bad enough I had to come back here at all. Bad enough that I had to have him put a down the security deposit on the apartment. I just want to make it on my own,” I say, closing my eyes against the swell of emotions. “I just want to pay my own way.”

I open my eyes again, and heave a deep sigh.

“I don’t even know why I’m here, Angel,” I say helplessly. “I don’t know how things got so… hard.”

For a few moments, Angel doesn’t say anything. We’re not exactly close, and it’s not my habit to confide in him about my problems. He seems to be struggling for the right words to say. Finally, he breaks the silence.

“Jenna,” he begins slowly, “If you need money this bad, then come pour drinks at the club bar. We’ve got an opening, and the prospect that’s been doing it is shit.” He cracks a small grin then. “You’d be doing us a favor, frankly. And the pay’s not bad.”

My eyes widen. “Are you seriously suggesting that I take a job slinging drinks for an outlaw motorcycle club right now?”

He shrugs. “You need a job. We need a bartender. Why not?”

“No,” I blurt out. “No, no, no. I don’t want anything to do with the Lords of Carnage, Angel.” My temper’s rising, but I know part of the reason is that deep down inside of me, there’s a tiny little voice inside me saying It’s a lifeline, Jenna. Take it. I take a deep breath and push the voice away. No.

Angel rolls his eyes and tries again. “Jenna. Look. Just please come by. At least check it out before you blow me off.” I open my mouth and he cuts me off. “C’mon, don’t be like that. Come to the club. Just see it for yourself. Whatever you’re thinking, it’s not that bad.”

I snort.

Angel smirks. “You know, some of the brothers have old ladies and children. We even do charity stuff.”

“Yeah, right,” I sigh. “I’m sure it’s a regular Rotary Club over there.”

His laughter is easy. “You’ll never know unless you come check it out for yourself. Come on, let’s go.”

“What, now?” My eyes grow wide. “Are you forgetting that I’ve got Noah with me?”

“He’ll be fine. Trust me. You think I’d bring my sister and my nephew there if you wouldn’t be safe?” Angel glances toward my son, who’s making his stuffed monkey, Chip-Chip, do back flips. “You can nail my balls to the wall later if anything bad happens,” he promises.

Against my better judgment, and muttering to myself about what an idiot I am the whole time, I end up agreeing to follow Angel back to the club. The whole way there, Noah is chattering to himself in the back seat and making monkey sounds, and I wonder to myself if I’m making a huge mistake.