Chapter 14 - Kneeling in the Rain
A week before Christmas, the first winter snow began to dust the streets of
Manhattan.
I was walking through the plaza outside the downtown branch of the city library,
carrying a box of new books for the literacy drive.
Declan was parking the car across the street.
The wind was biting, swirling cold flakes of snow through the air.
Near the corner of 42nd Street, a woman stood holding a paper cup.
She wore a thin, threadbare winter coat with torn cuffs.
Her hands were red and raw from the freezing air.
Her boots were cracked, taped together at the heel.
She didn't look up at the pedestrians rushing past in their expensive coats.
She just held out the cup, her teeth chattering violently.
"Spare some change?" she whispered weakly.
"Anything helps... please..."
I stopped.
The voice was unmistakable.
It was Bianca.
Her community service had ended two weeks ago.
Her family had no money.
Her former friends from the country club had blocked her number.
Her socialite circle had treated her as if she had the plague.
She was completely, utterly destitute.
I walked toward her.
My boots crunched softly in the fresh snow.
She heard the footsteps and raised her paper cup instinctively, her eyes fixed
on the pavement.
"Please... just a dollar for coffee..."
"Bianca," I said softly.
Bianca froze.
She slowly raised her head.
Her face was gaunt, her skin gray and chapped by the freezing winter wind.
Her eyes were hollowed out by hunger and desperation.
When she recognized my face, the paper cup slipped from her freezing fingers.
A few pennies scattered across the dirty slush.
She took a terrified step backward, her back hitting the cold granite wall of
the library.
"Iris..." she gasped, terror flashing in her eyes.
"I'm not doing anything wrong!"
"I'm on a public sidewalk!"
"Please don't call the police!"
"I don't have anywhere else to go!"
I set the box of books down on a nearby stone bench.
I stepped closer to her.
She cowered, raising a thin, trembling arm as if she expected me to strike her.
Instead, I reached up and unwound the thick, warm cashmere scarf from around my
own neck.
It was cream-colored, soft, and warm.
I stepped forward and gently wrapped the scarf around Bianca’s freezing neck.
Bianca stopped trembling.
Her eyes widened in pure, disbelieving shock.
She stared down at the expensive cashmere resting against her ragged coat.
Then she looked up at me, tears instantly welling in her eyes, freezing against
her eyelashes.
"Why?" she sobbed, her voice breaking completely.
"Why would you do that?"
"I humiliated you."
"I ripped your clothes."
"I wanted to destroy your life."
"Why aren't you laughing at me?"
I looked into her tear-stained eyes.
"Because I know who I am, Bianca," I said gently.
"I don't need you to suffer for me to feel whole."
I reached into my purse and pulled out a small white business card.
It had the address of the Beacon Foundation's women’s shelter in Queens.
I pressed the card into her raw, freezing palm.
"Go to this address," I said.
"Tell the director, Delia, that I sent you."
"They will give you a hot meal."
"They will give you a warm bed."
"And if you are willing to work, they will help you find a job."
Bianca stared at the card.
She clutched it against her chest as if it were a bar of solid gold.
Her knees gave way.
She collapsed into the slush, weeping openly, her forehead resting against my
leather boots.
"I'm sorry..." she wailed into the winter air.
"I'm so sorry, Iris..."
"I'm so sorry for what I did to you..."
This time, her apology was real.
It wasn't spoken to Declan’s wealth.
It wasn't spoken to escape handcuffs.
It was spoken from the broken, humbled soul of a woman who had finally learned
what humanity meant.
"Get up, Bianca," I said softly, offering my hand to help her stand.
"Go to the shelter."
"Start over."
She took my hand, stood up on shaking legs, and nodded through her blinding
tears.
She turned and began to walk toward the subway entrance, clutching the warm
scarf tight around her neck.
Declan walked up beside me, slipping his heavy coat over my shoulders to protect
me from the falling snow.
He looked down the street at Bianca's retreating figure.
"You gave her a chance," Declan murmured, wrapping his arm around my waist.
"Everyone deserves a chance to rebuild, Declan," I said, leaning into his
warmth.
"Even the ones who tore us down."
Declan smiled, leaning down to press a soft kiss against my cold cheek.
"Let's go home, my love."
May you like
"Yes," I smiled.
"Let's go home."
