By eight o’clock in the morning, the sun shone brightly through the blinds at the Sweet Lime Café, and the sharp smell of coffee filled the air.
As I laid out silverware on tables, I kept my eyes on the notecard I had taped to my sleeve. I had a quiz on the Rise of Greek Civilization in one hour, and my boss had given me permission to study as long as I wasn’t neglecting any of my tables.
Working at the café was perfect, because it was right next to Cal State, and my boss was willing to give me morning hours which worked great with my class schedule.
I could work at the cafe, go to class, then make it over to Bella’s school in time to get her. Usually tips weren’t nearly as good at a morning shift, but when the customers saw me studying, they usually wanted to talk about school. They’d ask about my major, what I wanted to do after I graduated, and if they were an alumni, they’d ask about what professors I liked best.
I enjoyed the conversations. They made me feel normal, like a regular college student, and if we talked for a long time, the chatty customers would give a bigger tip and wish me well. Even when I wasn’t feeling quite so social, I pushed myself to engage with them, to ensure that I would get that bigger tip. I wasn’t completely comfortable having such calculated thoughts about people I liked, but I had no choice. Besides, it was much better than the stories I’d heard from a few friends who’d worked as bartenders.
Even though I felt a little guilty about chatting for tips, those exchanges made me feel a little more optimistic about the life I was providing for Bella. With enough extra money, I could get Bella a winter uniform. The charter school she attended was free, but the uniforms weren’t.
I took a sip of the orange juice I’d stashed behind the counter. We made it freshly squeezed, and it helped get me going in the morning. I got tired of the smell of pancakes and syrup, but the smell of orange juice was always welcome.
I finished the first row of tables and glanced at my notecard. “Polis is the Greek word for a city-state. They called it Synoikismos. Which means ‘a gathering together’ in Greek,” I muttered to myself. I hoped I had it straight.
As I was frowning at my notecard, one of my regulars sat down.
“Want me to quiz you?” he asked.
He was around seventy-five years old, and he met his friends for breakfast every Tuesday and Thursday. He’d been a high school chemistry teacher for forty years. He said he didn’t miss teaching, but I suspected otherwise. He was always the first to arrive at the cafe, and my boss said it was so he could talk to me about school.
I dug the rest of the index cards out of my apron pocket and handed them over. “I’d love that.”
“I’ll start at the top,” my customer said. “Why is Greece called the cradle of civilization?”
“Because —” Before I could get my explanation out, my boss appeared in the doorway.
“Chrissy,” he said. “I need to talk to you.”
I took a step away from my customer. I’d never seen my boss’s face look quite so serious. He’d never minded me getting involved with the customers. He even said some of them liked feeling like they were a part of my life, and it made them relive their college days. He’d even let me bring Bella in on her days off school, and she’d drawn pictures for the customers. Surely he hadn’t changed his mind.
In the seconds before he spoke, I prayed he hadn’t.
I could not lose this job.
“Excuse me,” I said to my customer.
I went to stand in front of my boss.
His face wasn’t red and splotchy with anger like it was when a server was late, or when the hostess deliberately gave grouchy clients a table they didn’t want.
He looked … concerned. His eyes were wide and watery, and his brows were drawn together. “Someone’s on the phone for you. Come with me.” He motioned for me to follow him to the office.
My shoulders slumped.
The good news was that he wasn’t upset about me hanging out with the customers. The bad news was that someone had probably called about my mother. Unfortunately she’d followed me here one morning and she’d seen the name of the place where I worked.
On her more lucid days, when she could remember my name and the name of the café, I’d received calls from her, although she usually called my cell phone. I’d gotten calls a few times from the jail, when she’d been arrested. I’d gotten one from the ER when she’d had an overdose. My boss was probably scared that I’d be upset. Most people would be, if their mom was in jail or overdosing.
For me, it would only be one more irritant in a sea of disappointments with my mother.
It would also be humiliating, but I’d deal with it. I had been dealing with it for my entire life.
I’d only been seventeen when I’d come home from school, hand in hand with Bella, who had just started Kindergarten, to find three unfamiliar adult men with my mother in our apartment, all of them passed from drugs.
I’d locked Bella in the bathroom with a coloring book and called the police. I snapped a few pictures of the pills for proof. And then I took Bella and left. The social worker had advocated for me to have her, and the judge agreed. I was emancipated, free from my mother’s control, and Bella was mine to raise, as long as I could take care of her.
Losing her to foster care was a constant fear. I tried to do everything I could to make a stable home for her. It had been an uphill battle when I was a senior in high school, but we pressed on, and once I turned eighteen the social workers seemed to relax, especially once they visited me at my jobs, and at our apartment.
I lifted my chin as we reached the office; I didn’t want my boss to see my rage. I took an extra deep breath as my boss handed me the phone. I’d need all the patience I could get to cope with my mother. “Hello?”
“Ms. Evans,” a slightly familiar male voice said.
“This is she.” My mother had always mocked the way I answered the phone, but I persisted. A sweet junior high teacher had taken me aside and explained that I was smart, and I was driven, but if my grammar wasn’t great, then no one would take me seriously. She’d told me to read non-stop, anything I could, and she gave me several etiquette and grammar books. I had taken her advice, but my mother had thought it was a waste of time.
My boss didn’t leave, but lingered nearby, hovering in the doorway, blocking it from anyone who might be trying to listen in.
“This is James Jordan, the principal at Evergreen Charter Elementary. You’re the guardian of Bella Evans, correct?”
I was immediately alarmed. This wasn’t about my mother. Not unless she’d decided she wanted Bella back. And even then, she’d show up ranting and raving. She wouldn’t have the forethought to file the paperwork or call the caseworker, or even go to the school.
This was not normal. I’d gotten plenty of calls from the school. I’d had a call from the nurse, saying that Bella had a fever and it looked like strep. The secretary had called, saying Bella fell in the mud, asking me to bring clean clothes. The teacher called, saying Bella forgot her field trip permission slip and she asked me to write a note so Bella could go to the zoo.
The calls were never very formal. And they were never from the principal.
Was she in trouble? She’d never even been written up before. Her report cards always said, “Bella is a great listener and always follows directions!”
What could she have done to warrant a call from the principal? When she was three, she’d bitten someone at her daycare. The director hadn’t been too upset, because the other child had shoved Bella first. They hadn’t even called me for that.
She was too young to have drugs, we didn’t have any weapons. And surely she hadn’t hit someone.
“I wanted you to hear from us first. Bella has been taken to the hospital.”
I gripped the edge of my apron in my fist. “What?”
At that moment, I wished Bella had been in trouble. I’d have liked to get a call that she drew on the desks with a permanent marker, or she flooded the bathroom on purpose.
Bella’s safety was a constant concern. I worried about her nutrition, about her getting enough sunlight, and enough sleep. I worried that our mother would try to take her back. I worried she’d try to walk home from school and be hit by a car. If she got the flu, I worried that she’d be taken away from me, and moved into foster care.
Now she was sick enough to go to the hospital.
I peeled the index card from my sleeve. It floated to the floor. “What happened?”
“She was in music class. They were doing a lesson on drums. She fell forward, but she didn’t hit her head. She was only out for about thirty seconds. When she woke up, she was able to talk, but she couldn’t stand up. We got the nurse and she wanted her to go to the hospital immediately.” The principal cleared his throat. “So we called an ambulance and they arrived a few minutes ago. She’s not alone. Her teacher is riding with her. They’re taking her to Children’s Hospital Los Angeles.”
My boss moved closer. The principal must have told him it was about Bella.
“Is there someone who can take you to the hospital?”
“I don’t have a car. I’ll get to the bus stop now. I’m on my way.”
My boss had already removed his apron. “That will take too long. It’s about eleven miles away. I’ll take you.”
“I’ll come over to the hospital as soon as I’m done at school,” the principal said. Some distant part of my mind took note of how fortunate we were to have school staff who cared this much about my sister.
“Thank you,” I whispered as my boss took the phone and put it back on the charger. He took my arm and led the way out to his car.
I had just been thinking how hard my life was. It was a constant refrain in my head. Guilt washed over me. I would do anything for Bella, even if it meant quitting school so I could pay for whatever treatment or doctors she needed. I could go back to college in ten years, when she was older. I’d be thirty. That was young enough to start over.
Please let her recover from this, whatever it is.
I would do anything to make sure she was okay.
Hours passed.
Children’s Hospital Los Angeles was nice. Clean. Instead of white cinder blocks that resembled a prison, the walls were made up of huge windows. The floors were a shiny checkered tile. Green, blue and yellow tones were splashed everywhere, and cheery murals decorated the walls.
I’d taken Bella to the health clinic before, when she needed shots for school. That had not been so nice.
My boss paced in front of me until Bella’s teacher appeared.
Her teacher, Mrs. Johnson, took over. She told my boss to go back to the café. He squeezed my shoulder and left, promising to check on us tomorrow.
She made me drink a bottle of water. “Bella’s tough. Just like you. She’s going to be fine. And whatever it is, we’re going to be there for you.” She pressed my hand between hers. “You aren’t going to do this alone.”
I nodded.
Staff came to talk to me. There were no real updates, just the news that my sister was awake, and she was having a CT scan, an MRI, and a blood test.
I knew enough to know that if she’d had the flu, they’d have already sent us on our way. If she had strep, or mononucleosis, or meningitis, they’d probably have some idea by now. But they kept doing tests.
Finally after a few hours a nurse approached us. “We have her in a room. You can sit with her now.”
They had given her some kind of medicine that made her loopy, so she wasn’t distressed but pleasantly chatty.
Mrs. Johnson sat next to me. She held my hand while I held Bella’s. Every now and then Bella would smile at us and launch into a story.
“Mrs. Johnson,” Bella said. “I finished the book about the pioneers. I think I would have liked to live back then, but I don’t like being cold, and they didn’t have any heat in the winter. Except fire.”
“That’s fabulous that you finished. And you’re right about the fire,” Mrs. Johnson replied. “I’m proud of you.”
Then Bella would doze off, only to repeat the process fifteen minutes later.
Dinnertime arrived, although none of us had any interest in eating. Not long after, the doctor showed up. When I saw his light blue scrubs, my heart sped up. I was desperate for news, but I was terrified of what we’d learn.
He spoke to Bella, putting her at ease, but the wait only made my anxiety intensify. Once Bella had dozed off again, he pulled a chair close to us and leaned in. “It’s her kidneys. They’re failing. She needs a transplant. Because of her age, and her overall health, she’s going to be moved to the top of the transplant list.”
Time stopped. I was glad the doctor was direct and made the information easy to understand, but this was impossible to process, and he’d given us no lead up. Just bam! Her kidneys don’t work.
This was far worse than I’d expected. Kidney failure? Transplant? These were the dire situations that made up dramatic movies and telethon fundraisers. I had to swallow a few times to be able to speak. “Will she recover?”
“If she gets a transplant within the next six months, she’s got a great chance.”
I couldn’t think about the what-ifs. “What could have caused this?” Bella had always been healthy.
The doctor exhaled. “Was Bella exposed to drugs in utero?”
“Our mother is an addict.” I tried to keep my voice steady. “She never stopped using. Not even when she was pregnant.”
“That’s what I thought. Testing showed the drug exposure in utero caused this deterioration. I’m sorry,” he said. “We’ll do everything we can.” He nodded at us. “Someone from admissions will be here soon.”
Admissions? She had already been admitted.
Ah. It dawned on me that they meant insurance. Something we didn’t have. I didn’t have the kind of job that offered benefits. I couldn’t afford to pay the premiums for my own plan, and because I worked so much, my overall income meant neither of us qualified for free government insurance. It was an impossible situation, and one I’d managed to mostly avoid by taking Bella to the free clinic at the local public school or the state run health clinic. I’d gotten by using cheap walk-in clinics and getting my flu shot anytime one of my bosses offered to pay.
This was the first time either of us had been in the hospital.
The woman from admissions arrived before I was ready, and I was soon awash in a sea of bad news. As I predicted, they wanted proof of insurance. They wouldn’t release Bella; she’d receive any necessary treatments to save her life, short of the transplant.
The transplant was going to cost money. A lot of it. And they wanted to know how I was going to pay for it.
I didn’t have the answer to that question.
My last hope was that I could get my mother to apply for free government-run insurance for Bella. She was still her parent, and my mother’s income was usually zero.
But getting my mother to do anything was a longshot.
As if she could sense my distress, Mrs. Johnson hugged me. “We’ll start an online fundraising campaign. I’ll get the word out. We’ll raise money. We’ll do anything we can to make this happen for Bella.”
I nodded. “Thank you,” I whispered, barely choking the words out. Her compassion was priceless. Bella’s teacher wanted to save her life. Because that was what was on the line.
Her life.
My breathing picked up in spite of Mrs. Johnson’s embrace. If Bella didn’t have this transplant, she would die. After everything I’d done to try to keep her safe, it hadn’t been enough.
My cruel, selfish mother had damaged her own daughter before she was even born.
“Chrissy.”
It was 2:00 a.m., and there was someone standing outside of my apartment door, someone who knew my name. I squeezed my hands into fists.
I hadn’t wanted to leave the hospital. But Lily, ready to help as always, had shown up and insisted that I go home and take a break. The doctor said that Bella was stable, so I finally gave in.
Now I was staggering to my door, and someone was here, waiting on me.
It was too late to be a DHS social worker. They usually came right before bedtime.
Please don’t be a bill collector.
I didn’t think I was behind on anything. I’d paid the rent, water was included, and I’d paid the electricity just last week. I had one credit card for emergencies, but the balance was only forty-five dollars.
It was a sign of how my life usually went that at 2:00 a.m., I assumed someone outside my door meant I owed money, not that they were there to rob me. Of course, I didn’t have much worth taking. The most valuable things we owned weren’t worth a lot of money. They were more symbols of the future we were working toward: my textbooks, and Bella’s school uniforms.
I hadn’t had a collector come after us since we’d left my mother’s house. It could be worse than a debt collector.
Please don’t let her have a warrant for my arrest.
It had happened before.
When arrested, my mother had given the officers my name, and my social security number. She was released, then proceeded to not appear in court.
I had been hysterical. I knew enough about law school and becoming a lawyer that I knew an arrest or a conviction could hurt my chances. I could not stand the thought of my mother being able to ruin yet another part of my life.
The prosecutor was sympathetic, and she said she’d seen it before. The prosecutor’s office had put a note in both of our files that my mother would attempt to use my identity. The judge had scolded my mother for the transgression. She’d spent two nights in jail. But I wasn’t hopeful that she’d even remember that moment.
That was not a pleasant memory, and it was one I didn’t need right now. I blinked at the woman in front of me.
She was too composed to be one of my mother’s ‘friends.’ One time, I had made the mistake of giving my mother fifty dollars. She’d claimed she was sick, and needed it for a penicillin shot. Of course that had been a lie. After that, her friends had shown up, asking for money.
This woman was also too clean, too clear-eyed and too sophisticated to know my mother. She wore a long scarlet skirt, and a black blouse with a silky black caftan draped over her shoulders. Her hair was long and sleek.
“I would like a moment to speak with you.” Her voice held a hint of an accent, but I couldn’t place it. I hadn’t traveled anywhere, but there were a lot of international students at Cal State, and I’d gotten much better at identifying less common accents.
“Now?” I asked. This had been the worst day of my life. I was wrung out. Depleted.
I liked to be able to take action. I liked to solve our problems. But Bella’s illness was a problem I couldn’t fix, no matter how hard I tried.
I couldn’t stand to consider that it might not be fixable at all. Or that lack of money or insurance would be the reason my sister died.
“I think you’ll want to hear what I have to say,” the woman said. She wore her sophistication well, giving off the aura of nonchalance while also expressing urgency.
Her words snapped me out of my despair for a few seconds. “Come on in.” Other than a stack of clean laundry, the apartment was picked up. I’d had enough surprise DHS visits that keeping it clean had become ingrained in me.
I hoped she wasn’t a serial killer, because I was too tired to even call 911.
A small smile curved across her mouth. Her jade eyes sparkled. “I have a proposition for you.”
“Please, have a seat.” I let her have the chair, which was newer, and I took the couch. Our apartment was tiny, but it was clean and bright. A place to sit was the most hospitality I had to offer at this point. I wasn’t sure who this woman was, or if I’d even be able to stay awake long enough to find out.
“I won’t waste your time,” she said. “I know that you are raising your younger sister, and that she is very ill. I know the medical bills will be astronomical. I know that you have very little financial security.”
I found the energy to push myself to my feet. “How do you know all that?” Pounding wasn’t enough to describe what my heart was doing. Was she one of my mother’s friends after all? Was she a drug dealer? My mother’s acquaintances had offered me jobs as a drug runner more times than I could count. “Get out.”
I tried to slow my breathing. On top of everything else, now we’d have to move. I couldn’t let this type of scum follow us around.
“Chrissy. I have nothing to do with your mother.”
“I didn’t mention my mother. How do you know about her?”
“You didn’t have to mention her. Your fear is written all over your face.” She moved to the sofa and patted the cushion where I’d been seated. “Sit.”
I sat. She could have a gun. She could have someone spying on Bella. I had to see what she wanted.
“I didn’t mean to alarm you. Let’s just say that I have access to information. If it’s been recorded anywhere, then I can access it. Hospitals, schools, courts, clinics, universities, workplaces. They all record data. I access it. I compile it.”
That did not sound legal, but I was too tired to ask.
The woman continued. “As I said, I have a proposition for you. If you are willing, you could have access to a significant sum of money if you’re willing to become the companion of a very rich man here in L.A.”
This was a job offer? What kind of shady job offer came at two a.m.? An illegal one, that’s what kind. “What? A companion? Like a caregiver?” Maybe the person in need was a mob boss, or a drug addict, and didn’t want official caregiver involved.
“No. Not a caregiver. A girlfriend.”
I didn’t think I had the energy to open my eyes that far, but they almost fell out of my head. My mouth twisted with disgust. “A girlfriend? For money? You mean an escort.” I knew all about escorts. My mother didn’t have the patience to work as one, even in her younger days, but plenty of her cohorts were escorts, which in my world was a fancy word for prostitute.
“No.” The woman shook her head. “I see you recoiling. But this is not what you’re thinking. I said ‘have access’ to money. Not be paid.”
“How is it different, then?” I was probably a fool to keep listening to this woman talk, but I had one priority, and that was to save Bella. If I ended up in jail, but she was safe, it might be worth taking the chance. Before her illness I wouldn’t have agreed. I wouldn’t have taken that chance. But this was life or death. Surely even a judge wouldn’t fault me.
And if a judge did fault me, I was certain Lily would raise Bella once she’d recovered.
“Think of it like being a trophy wife. You aren’t paid to be married to a rich man, you just have access to his accounts.” The woman stood. “Think about it, Chrissy. This could solve all your problems.”
“Who is he? Is he a thug? I can’t be around drug dealers. That’s a hard no.”
“I can’t tell you who he is, although I can assure he is not a drug dealer, nor is he a drug user. I can’t give you many details at all, unless you’re serious. You’d have to come to my office, and sign a lot of non-disclosure paperwork. You’d have to keep most of the details secret.” She handed me an ivory card with a phone number on it. Otherwise, it was blank.
“What’s your name?”
“You can call me the Wish Maker.”
With that, the woman swept out of my apartment, leaving behind the scent of her rosemary perfume.
For the first time since I was seventeen, I woke up to the sun streaming in through my blinds. I had been getting up at dawn since I’d gotten guardianship of Bella. I swore and grabbed my phone. It was on silent, which was a stupid thing to do. What if I’d missed a call from the hospital? I didn’t have any missed calls, but I had a text from Lily that said Bella was doing okay.
I also had a voicemail from my evening job at the Blackstreet Diner.
Fabulous. Thanks to my “unexplained absence” last night, my employment was being terminated. Effective immediately.
I dropped the phone onto my bed.
There was a solution to my problems. A solution that could help Bella. A solution that could replace the income from my lost job.
Even if I hadn’t been fired, I couldn’t cover the cost of the transplant. After the admissions staff member left, the hospital social worker had come in. Along with setting us up with group therapy and counseling resources, she’d also delicately mentioned that Bella didn’t have insurance, and we’d have to pay for the transplant.
We got the message.
No money, no cure.
No matter how many jobs I got waiting tables, I’d never be able to cover that kind of cost.
Did I want to accept the Wish Maker’s offer? I didn’t seem to have a lot of options now. I could quit college, find another job. Work all day and night, and barely spend time with Bella while she was in the hospital.
Or I could call the Wish Maker.
What kind of name was that? Maybe it was supposed to make me feel like I was Cinderella, and she’d make my dreams come true. We all knew my life wasn’t that story. I couldn’t wait for someone to rescue us. Bella’s teacher would do her best, but communities, especially those struggling like Bella’s school, couldn’t raise enough to cover a transplant. There were a few middle class families at the charter school, like Mary’s mother who brought the birthday cupcakes, but even they didn’t have a lot of disposable income.
I was going to have to figure this out. What if ignoring the Wish Maker was a death sentence for Bella?
When I thought about Bella, lying in the hospital with failing kidneys, the choice was easy.
I picked up my crappy flip phone and dialed. “May I speak to the Wish Maker?”
She answered the phone herself. “Chrissy. I’m glad to hear from you.”
“I’ll do it. I’ll sign up to be a companion to a rich man.”
She didn’t respond to the snark in my voice. “That’s wonderful to hear. We’ll send someone to pick you up. Come as you are. I’ll see you at my club in one hour.”
Exactly one hour later, I was standing inside the club she’d mentioned. I had no idea where I was. I’d ridden in a luxury car with windows tinted dark as we wove through the streets of downtown Los Angeles. The driver escorted me into what looked like a hotel. There was no name on the outside of the building.
I’d never seen a club like this, with light stucco and jasmine vines clinging to every surface.
The inside was dark and cool, with a rustic feel. I didn’t see the Wish Maker anywhere. I was met by a young woman whose name was Loren. She led me down a long hallway to a hotel suite.
She took me by the shoulders. “You’re gorgeous. Absolutely beautiful. I won’t have much to do, but I’m excited. Come on.”
After that, I let my mind wander while she led me to a steaming bath and washed my hair. She handed me a razor and told me to shave my legs. After I bathed, she dried my hair, and smoothed gel that smelled of peppermint through it until it shone. Then she curled it with a wand I’d seen on a commercial. She had me brush my teeth with whitening toothpaste. She gave me a facial with a cleanser, and massaged my head, neck and shoulders. I could have melted into a puddle of goo at that point. She plucked my eyebrows, which woke me up a little after the massage. She rubbed perfume over my wrists and applied makeup to my face.
“You have the best cheekbones,” she said while swiping blush over them.
She handed me a new set of matching bra and panties.
She pushed me into a chair, and tucked a plastic cape around my neck. “I’m only going to take off an inch, so don’t worry.”
“I’ve never had my hair cut professionally.” I’d always wanted to, but it seemed like a waste of money when I could do it myself. I’d always turned my head to the side and cut it with a pair of scissors I sharpened with foil. I cut Bella’s hair too, and I’d cut my mother’s back when she cared about her appearance at all.
“Really! Well, you’ve done a pretty good job.”
She combed and cut and combed and cut, and my hair looked and felt thicker.
“You’re all done. Girl, you could be on a runway somewhere. Look at you!”
I stood in front of a mirror in a set of silky underwear that probably cost more than my rent for the month. I did look different. Polished.
The Wish Maker breezed into the room. “You are truly exquisite. And I do not use that word freely.” She handed me a robe. “Put that on.” She pointed at a desk in the corner of the room. “Sit. We’re going to go over the terms of your contract with us. Think of it as a job, just like any other. There are rules. The most important rule is that you never speak of the club to anyone besides Richard.” She guided me through several papers, mostly non-disclosure agreements. I signed my name to all of them.
“One last thing. Are you on birth control?”
“Yes.” I’d started taking the pill a year ago when my period was causing extreme cramps. It had been hard to work through them.
“Excellent. As part of the terms of your contract here, you’ll need a birth control shot. Continue taking your pills for seven days. We have a nurse here who’ll do a quick blood test, and then give you the shot if everything’s okay. For your next doctor appointment, we’ll cover the cost.”
I knew I’d need birth control, but hearing it stated so openly was a wakeup call. Very soon I was going to be having sex with a stranger.
This was step one of my new life. I hoped I could handle it.
