beds where I hear crying children and see women and enter the medical clinic area. There’s already a line of women outside the door.
“Are you good with needles?” Gianna asks, her Jersey accent clear and thick.
“Uh, no.”
“That rules out helping the nurses. I don’t guess you know how to clean?” the question is accompanied by a wink.
“Not really.”
“We’ll probably put you in the office. You can type?”
I nod.
We walk through the quiet building to an office area with six cubicles, four of which are occupied. Gianna leads me to one of the two empty ones.
“This is Lorena’s desk. She’s on maternity leave, so you can take her spot.”
I look at the messy desk. There are crumbs on the keyboard, a coffee cup with mold growing in the murky liquid, an ancient monitor caked with dust and grime, and papers everywhere. I’m afraid to touch the filthy desk. There’s no way in hell I’m sitting there. Then I look into the warm gaze of the sister to the man who saved my life, he man who wants me to do the right thing, because he’d never let anything bad happen to his sister. What’s it like to have someone who loves you?
I hate my life.
“Okay,” I say.
“You may have to run errands in the building every once in awhile. Our operation tries to save money by keeping a small staff,” Gianna explains. “We rely on support from the Catholic dioceses and private sponsors, like your father.”
“Let me guess. He had to bribe the Church so they’d let the daughter of a Southern Baptist politician come here.”
Gianna laughs. “We prefer to call them donations.”
I roll my eyes. That explains what else Chris had to arrange.
“Come on. I’ll show you the supply closet and break room then get you started,” she says.
I follow. Gianna seems really happy for someone who works in a place with sagging walls covered by depressing signs about abuse statistics and biblical quotes. We go to the break room, with its ancient refrigerator and stained microwave, rickety table and mismatched chairs. Gianna sits down and pats the table in front of a chair across from her.
“A little bit about me,” she starts. “I’m married with three kids. Monsters, all of them.” Her smile is contagious. “I’m a certified counselor with a master's in social work. I’ve been in this field for years. Something about helping other women and kids that makes me feel like I’m contributing to the betterment of the world. It’s a rough job at times. You’ll see a lot of pain but a lot of hope, too.”
“Your family is all about bettering the world,” I say when she pauses. “Your brothers are cops.”
“Yes! Dom told you.”
I nod.
“And you? What’s your background?” she asks.
“My family destroys the world,” I reply dryly.
Gianna smiles.
“I don’t know. I’m the product of a politician and a French actress. My older siblings want nothing to do with me, because my mother replaced theirs in the family. My daddy’s lawyer and publicist babysit me while my parents are … uh, doing what they do. I go to school and hang out with friends. In a year, I can leave this all behind me and do what I want with my life.”
Gianna’s smile has faded. “What is that?”
“Not this,” I say, glancing around. “Maybe something with animals. I lost my faith in humanity.”
“Dom told me you’d been through something awful recently,” Gianna says.
“I lost my faith in humanity before that.”
“Many of the women here have been through experiences similar to yours. Dom couldn’t tell me why you are serving community service. I was pretty angry when he said a rape victim was given one hundred hours. I just want you to know, if you need to talk or if something you see here upsets you, please let me know. I talk to women who have gone through rape and abuse on a daily basis. There’s nothing you can tell me that I won’t be able to handle. Okay?”
I look away and nod.
“Let’s get you
“Are you good with needles?” Gianna asks, her Jersey accent clear and thick.
“Uh, no.”
“That rules out helping the nurses. I don’t guess you know how to clean?” the question is accompanied by a wink.
“Not really.”
“We’ll probably put you in the office. You can type?”
I nod.
We walk through the quiet building to an office area with six cubicles, four of which are occupied. Gianna leads me to one of the two empty ones.
“This is Lorena’s desk. She’s on maternity leave, so you can take her spot.”
I look at the messy desk. There are crumbs on the keyboard, a coffee cup with mold growing in the murky liquid, an ancient monitor caked with dust and grime, and papers everywhere. I’m afraid to touch the filthy desk. There’s no way in hell I’m sitting there. Then I look into the warm gaze of the sister to the man who saved my life, he man who wants me to do the right thing, because he’d never let anything bad happen to his sister. What’s it like to have someone who loves you?
I hate my life.
“Okay,” I say.
“You may have to run errands in the building every once in awhile. Our operation tries to save money by keeping a small staff,” Gianna explains. “We rely on support from the Catholic dioceses and private sponsors, like your father.”
“Let me guess. He had to bribe the Church so they’d let the daughter of a Southern Baptist politician come here.”
Gianna laughs. “We prefer to call them donations.”
I roll my eyes. That explains what else Chris had to arrange.
“Come on. I’ll show you the supply closet and break room then get you started,” she says.
I follow. Gianna seems really happy for someone who works in a place with sagging walls covered by depressing signs about abuse statistics and biblical quotes. We go to the break room, with its ancient refrigerator and stained microwave, rickety table and mismatched chairs. Gianna sits down and pats the table in front of a chair across from her.
“A little bit about me,” she starts. “I’m married with three kids. Monsters, all of them.” Her smile is contagious. “I’m a certified counselor with a master's in social work. I’ve been in this field for years. Something about helping other women and kids that makes me feel like I’m contributing to the betterment of the world. It’s a rough job at times. You’ll see a lot of pain but a lot of hope, too.”
“Your family is all about bettering the world,” I say when she pauses. “Your brothers are cops.”
“Yes! Dom told you.”
I nod.
“And you? What’s your background?” she asks.
“My family destroys the world,” I reply dryly.
Gianna smiles.
“I don’t know. I’m the product of a politician and a French actress. My older siblings want nothing to do with me, because my mother replaced theirs in the family. My daddy’s lawyer and publicist babysit me while my parents are … uh, doing what they do. I go to school and hang out with friends. In a year, I can leave this all behind me and do what I want with my life.”
Gianna’s smile has faded. “What is that?”
“Not this,” I say, glancing around. “Maybe something with animals. I lost my faith in humanity.”
“Dom told me you’d been through something awful recently,” Gianna says.
“I lost my faith in humanity before that.”
“Many of the women here have been through experiences similar to yours. Dom couldn’t tell me why you are serving community service. I was pretty angry when he said a rape victim was given one hundred hours. I just want you to know, if you need to talk or if something you see here upsets you, please let me know. I talk to women who have gone through rape and abuse on a daily basis. There’s nothing you can tell me that I won’t be able to handle. Okay?”
I look away and nod.
“Let’s get you
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