Six months later Kirsten was still working at the restaurant. The money she was making in tips was just too good to walk away from and a lot of it was...cash. Tips that were put on credit cards she didn't get until she got her paycheck on Friday, but she was averaging sixty bucks a day in cash that she was able to bring home right away. The bills we were behind on slowly disappeared and we were able to pay off one of our credit cards, but outside of that most everything else sucked.We didn't. He'd hit her a few times that Sheila knew of, and probably lots of other times she didn't. It was sad, and we changed the subject.Next thing we knew, the wine was gone, and it was too late for Sheila to make the dinner she'd planned. We thawed something, then turned on the TV just in time to catch a bulletin on the gathering snowstorm. We opened the curtains and could see snowdrifts on the porch. Stan called from his cell—he was at Sue's, the phone lines were down, and he'd be stuck there at. She then added that at least her company would have to pay her off big time. We talked for a few more minutes and I could tell that she was trying to sound more confident than she was actually feeling.Paul listened to my end and after I put the phone down he offered to drop the charges, assuming that it was her boss who had hit him. Jenny was having none of that, stating very firmly that if he did then the man was getting away with blackmail. Plus she reckoned, probably accurately, that Marion. The sound returned and the single father blinked, setting his half-empty beer down on the end table between the recliner and sofa. It seemed to come from the hallway between his daughter's room and his own. George grimaced, wondering if the blond-haired woman had played hooky from school with her boyfriend, a young man he had taken an immediate dislike to. Idly, he fingered the plain steel band on his ring finger, a recent purchase from a decrepit old homeless woman. George had ignored the.
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