“Excuse me, Maisie?” I interrupt.
“Hmm?”
“Where can I get rid of Phoenix’s dirty diapers?”
“Oh,” I she says, looking up at me for the first time. “The bathroom has closed trash cans that are emptied out regularly. You can use those.”
“Thanks.” I turn to leave, but before I get far, she stops me.
“Just one thing before you go…” Maisie says.
“Yes?”
“I need a couple of your personal details.”
The blood starts pounding in my ears. “Oh, right… um, my name is Emily,” I say casually.
She smiles sardonically. “I already know that,” she says. “But everyone has a last name.”
“Yeah, of course, silly me. It’s, uh, Emily… Kovalyov.”
“Kovalyov,” she repeats. “Can you spell that for me?”
Idiot. Fucking idiot. Why did you have to use his last name!
I nod, hands trembling, and spell it out for her.
“Great,” she nods. “And some type of identification. A driver’s license, passport, or social security number?”
I bite my lip. “I don’t have anything.”
“Nothing at all?” she asks with raised eyebrows.
I shake my head and stare pointedly at the ground between my feet.
Maisie just sighs. “All right then. Lunch has already been laid out. You look like you could use some nourishment.”
I scurry away as fast as I can.
Once I’ve disposed of Phoenix’s diaper, I go to the dining room, which is basically a large rectangular room set up like a poorly conceived cafeteria.
There are narrow tables arranged across the room, with two long benches flanking each table. There’s already a long line for food and I join the line.
It takes nearly ten minutes to get up to the front where the food is being served by volunteers. They’re all men and women with kindly faces who still manage to avoid everyone’s eyes.
Lunch comes down to two options: a vegetable stew and a chicken pasta. I get a ladle full of both, a cup of water, and a plastic fork, and head to an empty table to eat.
The educated part of my brain is aware that the food is not good. It’s lacking in flavor and body.
But it’s hot and it fills my belly and that’s enough for me to believe that’s the most delicious thing I’ve ever put in my mouth.
It’s also the only real meal I’ve had in two days, so that probably factors in, too. Either that or Gordon Ramsey is now working at this grimy women’s shelter south of Carlsbad.
I clean my entire plate in a minute flat. With a full stomach, I can start to visualize a plan for the future.
Staying here can only be a temporary solution. I will not allow my son to grow up in a place like this.
I take a deep breath.