“Oh? What is the underwriter’s name?”
“Monica Rochelle.”
“Monica Rochelle,” Leslie repeated with a smile. “I’ll be sure to send her a note of appreciation.”
“I’m sure she will like that,” he said, accepting the paper she had just signed and handing her a packet of papers in its place.
“There you go then. The packet contains some policy details, the cashier’s check and some things that were retrieved from the house by police. They were released to the insurance company for return to whatever family we were able to find.”
Leslie thanked him, laying the packet to one side and standing to walk him out. Though she wasn’t one hundred percent certain as to how all of this came about, she had a very good idea that the mystery guest that had led her to the agency had enlisted their help to see her through to the other side as fully as possible.
As soon as the man was gone, she closed the front door and leaned against it, looking at Tucker who seemed bewildered by what had just happened. They returned to the living room and sat down. He listened to her as she told him what she knew, then she opened the package and began looking through it. It was mostly keepsakes that she had left behind, photos of her family and personal documents from a life that was now officially declared ended.
As she sifted through them, she saw an envelope that was unfamiliar. It was a pale pink color with a white flower on one side. It was addressed to Constance. She opened it, thinking perhaps it was something received after she had left, but soon realized it was only meant to look that way. She smiled as she read it.
Dearest Constance,
A woman once helped me get through a very bad situation. She asked me only one thing and that was that I help other women in similar circumstances. If you are ever able to return the kindness I have attempted to give to you, I hope you will do so. Keep the enclosed card for that moment when you find yourself in a position to do so.
Your friend,
Kate.
Leslie pulled the black card clipped to the center side of the note free and laid it on top of her license, to put in her wallet.
“Kate? Is that from the woman at the agency?” Tucker asked, reading over her shoulder.
“No. There is no Kate. Just as there is no Constance.”
Tucker looked at her, puzzled, but didn’t ask anything further. Instead, he picked up a photo of her and the girls the day they were born. She smiled up at the camera, her face tired, a smile hiding the pain she felt at having given birth alone. It seemed so far away now. It all seemed so far away.
“Can I keep this?” Tucker asked.
“Why would you want that?”
“Why wouldn’t I? These four women changed my life. I’d have never found true happiness without them.”
Leslie kissed him and picked up the rest of the contents, pushing them back in the envelope - all except the check.
“What are you going to do with all that money?” he asked.
“I don’t know yet. Something worthwhile,” she told him.CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVELess than a year later, Leslie stood in front of a door. There was nothing special about it. It appeared to be the same as the rest of the brick buildings on the street, but entry revealed only a black room with no apparent exit beyond the front door. She held a small fob up toward a tiny round formation that looked like a miniature speaker and pushed a button on it. A door slid open and she slipped inside, walking down a long hallway toward an office there.
She sat down and waited for her appointment to arrive. There was a nervousness, a fear that she would be inadequate, that she would fail, but she tried to focus on the work that would need to be done. A buzzer going off caused her to startle and she pushed the button on the nearby phone.
“Yes?”
“Isaiah 43:2,” the receptionist told her.
“On my way,” Leslie replied.
She walked down the hallway and opened the door to find a tall, slender redhead standing in front of her. She was exceptionally thin and fidgeted with the buttons on her oversized dress.
“Constance?” she asked.
“Yes. Come with me,” Leslie told her, letting her pass and closing the entrance behind her.
“Are you a religious organization?” the woman asked.
“No. It’s just a code we use to identify recipients as to people cards were given to.”
“I don’t know where to start,” the woman said.
“It’s okay. I do,” Leslie replied to her.
Along the hallway was a dozen other rooms, occupied by other women identified only by the first names of women who no longer existed. This place did not belong to Leslie. It belonged to no one that could be identified, but it was a powerful network dedicated to helping women like the frightened redhead in front of her, a girl just like she had once been. She smiled softly at the woman and asked her to sit down across from her.