Claire
“Hot plate,” Simone said, her back to Claire, hands covered in hot mitts to her elbows. She slid the steaming loaves off the tray onto the butcher-block countertop.
Claire was convinced Simone had a third eye or something, because otherwise there was no accounting for how she knew exactly where everyone was at any given moment. Claire was groggy and thankful that she didn’t have the early shift in the bakery for once.
Grace was standing at the stove, pouring pancake batter onto a skillet.
“What was going on last night? You were so noisy,” Claire asked.
“We have a new resident,” was all the explanation Grace gave her. As a rule, they never told the other residents about what situation each had been in. Their experiences were their own to tell or not.
“Yeah, well I saw a hot guy going up and down Simone’s staircase at all hours last night, so I figured it was either a new resident or Simone was finally getting some action.”
Grace snickered. “I can tell you for sure that she wasn’t getting any action.”
“Too bad,” Claire said in her wry monotone.
“Our new resident doesn’t speak English, though, so it’s going to be a bit tricky.”
“Interesting story there no doubt,” Claire gave Grace the side eye.
“She’s fragile and young. Hopefully older than eighteen, or it’s really going to complicate things.”
“The plot thickens,” Claire said. “I’ll try to care.”
She grabbed a pancake off of the stack Grace was making.
“It’s good to support each other.”
“What is it my therapist said I have again? Traumatic narcissism? That says it all; doesn’t it?”
“You don’t have to live into it, Claire. You can become anyone you want to be. It’s called healing.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she gestured toward the stack of pancakes with her fork.
“What’s the magic word?” Grace asked only half kidding.
“It’s ‘give me a pancake.’”
“I’m pretty sure it’s not that.” Grace moved the plate of pancakes further away from Claire but smiled at her all the same.
“Fine. P l e a s e,” she intoned with saccharine sweetness.
“Now you’re talking, sister,” Grace passed two pancakes over to her plate.
“Whatever.”
“Group therapy this morning,” Grace reminded her.
“I hate group,” she said. “We all just lie about our pasts anyway.”
“Well, here’s a crazy idea: don’t lie about your past. Your past is what happened. It doesn’t make you a bad person. It just makes you someone who was in a bad situation. Don’t judge them; they won’t judge you.”
Grace sat down across from Claire but didn’t look at her. Instead she focused on companionably eating pancakes for a few minutes before she then said, “You know, there’s nothing you’ve done that’s so terrible that it makes you a lost cause.”
“Come on, Grace. Isn’t being preachy Simone’s department?” Claire got up, set her plate on the counter, and then walked away, thinking: If she only knew. But those were secrets she’d never tell.
Simone
Streaky sunlight filtered through glass panes. The tops of the verdant leafy trees, in view from Simone’s window, moved gently first in one direction and then another as the breeze blew against the branches. In Simone’s opinion, one of the best things about being on the third floor was looking out at the ever-changing sky. This morning, the fog that had crept over the hills the previous night was still in, although it was thinning now to allow in a few touches of sun. Yet, in spite of the stray beams, it still hung heavily enough to give the city a hushed, misty aspect.
Simone awoke early, stiff from sleeping on the couch. She tiptoed down the hall to peek into her room and smiled, relieved to see Suda still asleep—nestled deep under the down duvet in her bed. She jumped in for a quick shower, dressed, and was down in the bakery kneading dough to Mumford and Sons before it was full light. A restless sleep had left her tired, so she put an extra espresso shot in her morning coffee. As she took a large sip of the milky latte, she fretted. Was she nuts to trust Chai? After all, he was from the very country where Suda had been trafficked. What if he was in some way involved and only posing as a police officer to gain her trust? On the other hand, she sighed, why would he bring Suda to a safe house if he had some sort of nefarious intent? Yes, he showed up out of the blue, but to rescue her, right? She wished she could be sure.
She picked up her phone and dialed.
“I’ve already checked in on her, and she’s fine.” Grace started talking before Simone had a chance to get a word in. “Don’t be such a worrier. She’s still completely zonked. And probably will be for a while, I would think.”
“Good to hear it, but that’s not why I called actually.”
“Oh, what’s up?”
“Do you think we’re nuts to trust this cop? What if he’s in on it?”
“I’ve been thinking about that, too, but if he was in on it, why would he bring her here? Wouldn’t he bring her to some brothel or somewhere to fatten her up before putting her back on the street?”
“That’s the direction my thoughts were taking me as well, but I needed to hear it from you. I was afraid I was being an idiot.”
Grace snickered. “You’re a lot of things, Simone, but an idiot isn’t one of them.”
“Thanks, I think,” she paused, brows furrowed wondering what “things” Grace was thinking about.
She hung up and went back to work, relieved to have gotten a second opinion about Chai. She hoped he would come by soon because she realized in all the chaos of the night before, she’d forgotten to get his cell number.
By the time she turned the sign on the bakery door to “open,” she had finished baking the requisite loaves of bread as well as the croissants, muffins, and pastries that would shortly be gobbled up. She pulled a large metal bowl from a lower shelf and started on the scones, knowing her early customers loved the fact that they were still warm. While she methodically cut butter into flour, she intently listened for any sounds from the floor above. She wondered whether Suda was awake or still fitfully sleeping. While her mind fretted, her hands continued by rote, no recipe needed. Simone hoped Chai would cross the threshold soon so Suda would have someone with her who spoke her language. Waking in a strange place would be terrifying enough without the added difficulty of being unable to communicate.
Her relief arrived in the form of not only Chai himself, but also a beautiful female version of him, who turned out to be his sister, Nittha. The siblings’ eyes were mirror images: both upturned and angular in shape and a light golden brown instead of the classic dark chocolate eyes of most Thai people. Their skin was smooth and light, and their hair fell dark and wavy.
“I hear you could use an interpreter,” Nittha said after introductions.
“Yes, that would be great,” Simone nodded. “Why don’t I get you each a coffee and pastry, and then Grace can meet you and bring you up to my apartment? I left Suda sleeping, but I’m guessing she’ll wake up soon, and I think it would be a relief to her to be able to communicate with someone when she does. I don’t want her to be scared.”
Simone handed each of them a coffee and current scone.
“Before we go up, can I ask you a question or two?” Chai asked.
“Of course,” Simone gestured to an empty table. “Grab a seat. I’ll be there in a minute,” She turned her attention to a customer who had just entered. A couple of minutes turned into a few more, and by the time she was able to sit down at the table, Chai was cleaning the last few crumbs off his plate with his index finger after having demolished his scone.
“I love those,” he told her.
“So good. Thanks,” Nittha agreed.
“Than
ks,” Simone smiled. “We make them right here. It’s part of our learning skills preparation to help the women enter the workforce.”
“I’m glad you mentioned that,” Chai looked serious. “I realized in my, uh, hasty decision to bring Suda here that I failed to get a few requisite details about your program.”
“Just thinking about that now, huh?” Simone good-
naturedly chided him. “Fortunately for you—and Suda—you’re in luck because Hope House is a fully accredited facility for trafficked people who have been traumatized.”
“Wow.” Nittha looked at her brother. “I’ve gotta believe that’s no coincidence.”
Simone thought that was an interesting thing to say and wondered if Nittha was spiritual and about to quote the universe knowing that Suda should be there, or something like that. Instead she surprised her further with her next question. “Are you a Christian?” Nittha asked, taking Simone off guard. It wasn’t often that people in San Francisco asked others questions about their religious beliefs.
“Um, yes, actually,” Simone answered, cautiously, not knowing where the situation was leading. “I generally don’t mention it, though, because I want the people I’m around to feel comfortable saying whatever they need to say, and I think sometimes some Christians give off a vibe that can discourage that. Besides, I’ve been known to drop an F-bomb here and there, and I am far from perfect.”
Chai guffawed. “You and I are two peas in a pod on that one.”
“Same,” Nittha agreed, “I like to think of it as being accessible.”
Simone laughed, liking them both right away.
“So,” she pivoted back to the subject at hand, “about Hope House: we’re full service in that we provide room, board, counseling, and job training. Suda will be our first non-English speaker, though, so that’ll be an added challenge.”
“I just have to gather enough evidence to nail these guys and then …”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Simone held up her hand. “For now, let’s just get her what she needs.”
“I have a discretionary budget when I’m undercover, so I can get some money to you for her.”
“If you can do that on the up and up, great. Otherwise don’t worry about it for now; we’ve been fortunate to have some amazing private donors, so we’ll be fine for a while.”
“Thank you. I can’t begin to express how grateful I am.”
“You’re welcome,” Simone waved her hand dismissively and got up from the table to head back behind the counter, another customer having just walked in. “Oh,” she turned back to them, “please feel free to make her breakfast if Grace hasn’t had a chance yet, ok? Just make yourself at home, open the cabinets at will.”
Chai and Nittha found Grace waiting at Simone’s open apartment door as they walked up the stairs.
“Hi!” she called to them even before they reached the landing. Her eyes warmed at the sight of them, relief spreading through her nervous system. Her animated face was warm and inviting in spite of the slightly dark circles under her eyes from getting to bed so late the night before. She wiped her nervously damp hands on her soft, faded jeans and reached out to meet Nittha’s. “I’m so glad you’re here. Suda just woke up, and she’s understandably freaked out. I keep telling her that she’s safe in a soothing voice, but she doesn’t understand. Hearing it in her own language will be so much better.”
They followed Grace through the door and found Suda standing in the kitchen, rumpled, in too-large pajamas. Her eyes looked wild and frightened, reminding Chai of a cornered animal.
“Sawadee khrup.” Chai said “hello” calmly, trying to give her a sense of safety.
“Sawadee kha,” Nittha touched her pressed-together palms to her forehead, giving the feminine form of the same greeting, and smiled at Suda.
“This is my sister,” Chai told Suda in Thai, pointing to Nittha. “She’s here to help.”
Nittha smiled at Suda. “You’re safe here,” she told her, speaking calmly in Thai. “This is a safe house,” she explained in case Suda hadn’t understood the previous night.
Suda eyes moved between Chai and Nittha, but she didn’t speak.
“Tell her she doesn’t have to worry. No one is going to hurt her or force her to be with men,” Grace said, and Nittha translated.
“Come on,” Nittha gently held out her hand, touched the top of Suda’s arm, and then led her toward Simone’s room. “I brought you some clothes.”
Grace followed them and helped unpack the bag of clothes Nittha had brought with her. The jeans looked practically child sized. Chai had obviously done a good job of explaining how emaciated Suda was because Grace thought the pants actually had a chance of fitting her. She brought out a few long-sleeved cotton tee-shirts, a hoodie, and two cotton crewneck sweaters—one turquoise, the other a soft pink. She pulled undies and a bra out of a bag as well as some thick, snuggly socks and slippers.
“Once we know what shoe size you are, I’ll pick up some shoes for you, too.”
“Kop khun kha,” Suda said to Nittha and bowed her head.
“We’ll leave you to get dressed,” Grace said, and Nittha translated.
Chai, meanwhile explored the kitchen, feeling surprisingly at home in Simone’s space.
“Ask her what she wants for breakfast,” Chai yelled, and Nittha relayed the question in Thai.
“I have a hard time eating,” Suda explained, eyes cast down.
She told them in the briefest terms about being kept above a restaurant and how the smell of food now made her nauseated, and then Nittha relayed the information to Grace.
“Hmmm,” Grace mused and then had the perfect idea. “I’ve got it: I’ll just pop downstairs and grab a croissant, a muffin, and a scone. Hopefully she’ll like at least one of them, and they definitely don’t smell like Thai food.”
“Perfect,” Nittha said. “Let’s try it,” and yelled the plan back to Chai.
“I’ll go,” he offered and was back a few moments later with the pastries on a plate and a cup of Thai tea to go with them. He brought it to the coffee table in front of the couch where the three women were sitting.
He gave them space to talk while pretending to keep busy in Simone’s kitchen, but after about a half hour, he decided it was time to leave them on their own. He didn’t want to disturb any progress they were making, so he nodded to Nittha, and quietly slipped out. He peeked into the window of the bakery as he walked by, seeing Simone inside, amiably chatting up a customer while she made coffee.
He couldn’t help but be intrigued by her. She was beautiful inside and out. Not a striking beauty that would make a person pause when he saw her, but she had some sort of sparkling loveliness that he’d noticed when he’d been in the bakery before. Kind of a vibrancy, he thought, trying to put his thumb on it. It wasn’t the combination of her brown hair, fair skin with a smattering of freckles, or green eyes, because any of those features on their own wasn’t necessarily beautiful, but it was the combination of them and … what?
He paused thinking and then opened his car door, realizing what he was doing and correcting his direction of thought. This is no time for complications, he told himself and drove toward work.
Claire
“Well, isn’t this an interesting confabulation?” Claire said with a snarky tone as she walked into Simone’s apartment and saw Suda, Grace, and Nittha sitting together.
“Hey, Claire,” Grace said and waved her in to join them. “You know, for someone who dropped out of school in ninth grade, you have an awfully sophisticated vocabulary.”
“And do you know why?” Claire asked, as she brazenly opened one of Simone’s cupboards, helped herself to a tea bag, and then continued what she was saying before Grace had a chance to answer. “It’s because drug dealers and johns don’t think to look in the library for young girls—especially
ones who sit at a table right in front of the librarian’s desk and keep their noses in books.”
“Genius!” Grace closed her eyes visualizing a young, vulnerable Claire there, “If only I’d thought of that, I would have been a corporate mogul by now.”
“Ha!” Claire smirked. “It’s never too damn late. Isn’t that the mantra you all are always pushing?”
“Language, darling. Would you talk to a librarian that way?”
“Depends on which one. The head librarian at the main branch is pretty saucy.”
Grace snorted and shook her head. She couldn’t help loving the secretly tenderhearted girl who kept such a hard shell around herself.
Claire hadn’t been joking about the library as a safe haven. It had been and still was the place she felt safest in the world. The dusty smell of the stacks, the reverent hushed speaking tones, and all those words. How many pages of words were in any given library? When she entered a library and smelled that unique combination of paper, glue, and dust, she felt safe and at ease.
One of the things she had loved most about her mom was that she had enjoyed a good book. The woman had nary a maternal bone in her body, but damn it if she didn’t love to read. In her case it was thrillers. She was a voracious but broke reader, and because she didn’t have two dimes to rub together, purchasing a book was rare indeed, so it was the library for her. She would dump little Claire in the massive children’s section of the San Francisco main branch and then meander through the stacks looking for the perfect escape read until the librarian—who by then knew her well and had a soft spot for the young mother—tracked her down with Claire in arms and explained, once again, that she couldn’t leave her toddler to fend for herself.
By the time Claire was in kindergarten, she was walking to the hallowed halls of her safe haven alone after school because home had become a scary place. Their apartment was filthy and devoid of food, and her mother “napped” on the couch all day and had “friends” over at night.
Across the Deep Page 6
