“It gets easier, I swear. This is a safe place.”
“Thanks.” Lucky forced herself to eat a tomato from her salad. She spooned a little soup into her mouth. Janet looked satisfied with this. Then the conversations in the room paused for a moment, as if a vacuum had been turned on. She raised her eyes and saw Priscilla entering. Her dark hair was shorter now, not swept back severely the way she had worn it years before but feathered around her face. She had on jeans and a cable-knit and homey-looking sweater. She turned in a slow circle, smiling at everyone in the room, meeting their eyes, nodding encouragingly at the shy ones. You are Jean Fantine. She doesn’t know you. You have to believe that. A dog barked outside in the yard.
Lucky realized she was gripping her spoon so tight her knuckles were white.
“You okay?” Janet asked.
Lucky put down the spoon. “Sure. Totally fine.”
“I see a few new faces,” Priscilla said, addressing the diners. “Welcome to Priscilla’s Place. As some of you know, this is a safe haven for women experiencing homelessness in Fresno and the surrounding areas. Every woman here is treated with kindness and respect. And, of course, we ask that you do the same with each other. Understand, this is a family.” Priscilla continued to speak, walking slowly among the tables. “The theme of tonight’s talk is dignity,” she was saying. “And what it means to you.”
“She does a speech every night?” Lucky whispered to Janet.
“Not really a speech. More like… a sermon?”
“A sermon? Seriously?”
“She’s great,” Janet said. “Just listen.”
“The dictionary definition of the word ‘dignity,’?” Priscilla was saying, “is ‘the quality or state of deserving honor and respect.’ I make no secret of the fact that I wasn’t always the kind of person who deserved any honor at all, let alone respect—do I, ladies?” Some laughs and murmurs.
You can say that again, Lucky thought.
Janet leaned forward and whispered, “Did you see the documentary about her transformation?”
Lucky shook her head, gritting her teeth.
Priscilla continued, “There’s a second part to the meaning of ‘dignity.’ It’s about taking pride in yourself, respecting yourself. And that’s a hard thing to do when you don’t have a means to provide yourself with even the most basic of necessities. Shelter, especially. Food, of course. But, ladies, there is no shame in that, okay?” Her voice was rising, evangelist-style. “I’m here to tell you there is no shame in asking for help.” She was standing near Lucky’s table now, and Lucky could smell her perfume, the same scent she remembered from years gone by: Poison.
“She’s so fantastic,” Janet whispered. “Truly an incredible person.”
“Yeah,” Lucky whispered back, thinking about the dictionary definition of incredible: “difficult to believe.”
After a bit more fire and brimstone, Priscilla’s sermon was over. She then moved from table to table, chatting with everyone.
“I’m really tired,” Lucky said to Janet. “Think I’m just going to turn in early.” She smiled, apologetic, and stood.
“You’ll miss meeting Priscilla,” Janet said.
“Not tonight,” Lucky said. “I’m just… not up for it.” Lucky bused her plate and headed for the back door. She could hear the front door of the house opening and Sharon crooning, to Priscilla’s dog, she presumed. Just before she made it outside, someone touched her arm.
“We haven’t formally met yet. Do you have to rush off, or could you come up to my apartment for a cup of tea?”
Lucky turned and forced herself to meet Priscilla’s penetrating gaze, her deep-brown eyes. “Oh,” she said. “Well, of course, that would be—”
She didn’t get to finish her sentence. A large bundle of brown and white fur streaked into the room, Sharon following close behind, shouting. The dog jumped up on Lucky, barking joyfully and wagging her tail.
“Down, girl,” Lucky said, and the dog obeyed. Of course she did. She was Lucky’s dog.
September 1999
SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA
In late September, Lucky returned from school to Priscilla’s mansion—a place she was having trouble considering home—to find Cary waiting in the entryway, holding a short electric-blue cocktail dress on a hanger. The place was immaculate, the pool cleaned and glimmering, the backyard pergola strung with fairy lights. There were buckets of champagne on the countertops.
“They’re coming over. We’re having a party. For your birthday. You need to go change.”
“But it’s not my—”
He planted a kiss on her lips and took her book bag from her arms, dropping it to the floor. “Yes, it is. You’re turning nineteen. In Canada, where I’m from, remember—my name is Jonas Weston, and you’re still Alaina, but Parkes—you’d be of legal drinking age. And you’re a real party girl.” He shook the dress. “So, we’re celebrating with my new friends from school. You’re going to love them.” He laughed. “Okay, fine, you’re going to barely tolerate them, the way I do. They’re okay—a little boring and repetitive, but extremely generous and incredibly careless. And that’s important for us.”
“Remind me of the rest of the details?” This game was familiar to Lucky, but she still felt nervous.