Chapter 13
The deputy was gone but his card stayed. White, county seal embossed, a phone number in bold and a name handwritten on the back. The man set it on the edge of the desk and slid it toward me with two fingers. He didn't push.
I stared at it. My coat was still wrapped around my shoulders. The office heater clicked and hummed.
"You don't have to call," he said. "But if you do, you should know what it actually is."
I picked up the card. The edges were soft. My hands were cold enough that I couldn't feel the paper right away.
"I've stayed in places like this before," I said. It wasn't quite true. I'd never stayed in a warehouse. But I'd stayed where I wasn't supposed to be and called it temporary until it wasn't.
He leaned against the filing cabinet, not the desk, giving me room. "Informal stay here isn't a plan. It's just a floor with lights that turn off."
I knew what he meant. He'd let me finish the inventory. He'd let me sleep one more night if I asked. That was kindness, but it wasn't a way out. The knock from five minutes ago proved that. Someone had seen my shoes by the back door.
I turned the card over. Intake line, 8am to 5pm.
"Do you have a phone I can use?" I asked.
He unlocked his desk drawer and set a chipped office phone on the desk. He dialed the number for me when I nodded, then hit speaker and stepped back.
It rang three times. A woman answered, "County Housing Resource, this is Carla."
My throat went tight. I cleared it. "Hi, Carla. My name is Margo. I got this card from a deputy. I needed to ask what happens if I come in."
"Of course, Margo," she said. Her voice was even, like she'd taken this call a thousand times. "Are you safe right now?"
I glanced at the man. He gave a small nod.
"Yes," I said. "I'm inside. I'm safe tonight."
"Good. What's your situation? Are you without housing tonight?"
I swallowed. "I slept in a warehouse last night. I don't have an apartment. I've been staying with people, then not."
"Okay. Thank you for calling," she said. "I can set you for an intake appointment tomorrow morning. We don't do same-day beds from this line. Intake starts at nine. You'll meet with a caseworker, we verify ID, we go over address history for the last six months, income, any documentation you have. Then we see what programs you qualify for. It could be emergency shelter referral, or rapid rehousing waitlist. It depends."
I looked down at my hands clutching the charcoal coat. "If I come tomorrow, do I get a bed tomorrow night?"
"Not automatically," she said, honest and not unkind. "We assess first. If we have emergency shelter space, we place that day. If not, we give you day shelter access, mail service, and keep you on call list. Bring your ID if you have it. Social, birth certificate, anything. And a list of where you've stayed, even approximate addresses or cross streets."
"How long does the appointment take?" I asked.
"About ninety minutes. Sometimes two hours."
"Do I need to bring anything else?"
"Just yourself and your ID. If you have proof of income or a pay stub, bring it. It helps."
I felt my eyes sting, but my voice stayed level. "Okay. Can I come at nine?"
"Yes. Nine o'clock at the county building on Main. Second floor. Ask for Carla."
I nodded even though she couldn't see me. "Thank you, Carla."
"You're doing the right thing calling, Margo. We'll see you tomorrow."
The line clicked off. The office was quiet except for the heater.
I sat with the dial tone for a second before he reached over and hung up the phone.
"You asked good questions," he said.
"I needed to know it wasn't just a cot for one night and then back outside," I said. My fingers traced the county seal. "It's not instant. But it's real. It's a file with my name on it. Not just someone's floor."
He sat on the corner of the desk now, closer but not crowding me. "You want to go?"
I thought about the coat, the heels by the door, the inventory half-finished on the clipboard. Staying felt easier for one more night. Leaving felt like stepping off concrete onto something I couldn't see yet.
"I do," I said. "I need to. If I stay here, I'm still hiding. Even if you're kind about it."
He didn't argue. He didn't look relieved either. "Then I'll drive you to the county building in the morning. Not to stay forever. Just a ride. Nine o'clock intake means we leave at eight-thirty. That give you time to finish what you started?"
I looked up at him. "The inventory?"
"Yeah. You started it. You should finish it. Proper handoff."
That mattered more than he knew. To leave a place having done a job, not just having been found in it.
"And the coat?" I asked. My voice was smaller. I'd lived in it for two nights.
"You return it when you're done needing it," he said. "Not as rent. Just returned."
I folded the card and slipped it into the pocket of the coat. My beige heels were tucked neatly by the office door where he'd placed them that first morning. They were still dusty.
"Eight-thirty," I said. "I'll be ready."
May you like
He stood and checked the office lock, businesslike again. "You can sleep in the office tonight. Door locks from inside. I'll be early."
I nodded. The decision was made. It wasn't rescue. It was an appointment, an ID check, an address history. It was a ride to Main Street, not an apartment key. But it was a direction that wasn't the floor.
