A few years back...

They say long walks are good for the soul.

They certainly were for me—not just for the soul but for my overall being. They took me out of the house and far away from a reality I constantly craved to escape. Some days, those walks would eventually take me back to the gnawing silence long after my father's drunken rant had faded into the night. Occasionally, the alcohol wouldn't quite take him down. Instead, it would wake the monster and God save whoever was within his reach.

Since home was not much more to me than just a box of wood and vinyl siding, it didn't make much of a difference when I sought shelter somewhere else for the night. Yes, the world out there was a dangerous place but so was home with a father who had no conscious thought that he was that—a father. I'd learned to take my chances.

And tonight, I was taking a chance at a little sleepover at Embers.

No, it wouldn't get any five-star rating from anyone who stayed there but they offered the advantage of lacking the usual policies. No one asked questions, no one called your parents or child services. I tried to avoid staying at homeless shelters because there were a lot of other people out there who needed it more than I did. I would often stay with Aimee, the nurse who used to work at my high school and became some kind of older-sister figure to me. She'd offered me a place to stay several times in the past, and even though I wasn't big on receiving charity, I took it. It was as much for my sanity as it was for my physical well-being. Aimee had an little girl named Rose and the evenings I'd spent with them making dinner or just sitting in front of the TV were some of the best in my life. But she took Rose out of town to visit her parents for the weekend and I had no choice.

Dad almost got me in the face with a boot. He'd been a little unhappy with me lately after I showed reluctance about his grand plans for me after high school graduation. To quickly summarize, I had grand plans of my own and they were nothing like his and lately, it'd become just another thing for us to argue about. His mood worsened tonight when I picked up the boot and threw it back at him, catching him on the shoulder.

I'm all for respecting your elders but age plays no role between an attacker and a victim. The numbers don't define them—just the part they play in the nasty dance of assault.

So here I was except—hmmm. Where is here?

The building I was looking at looked nothing like Embers. It had been about six to eight months since I last stayed in it but I couldn't have possibly forgotten where it was.

This was definitely where it used to stand.

But something else stood in place of it now—St. Martin House.

The shape of the new building looked similar to the old one but it somehow looked bigger and higher. It could be the fresh paint or the abundant amount of light spilling out from new windows. For a second, I thought it had been converted into some kind of office facility for a charity group or something like that but the six people who were lined up outside confirmed my suspicion. Winter definitely brought in a larger number of people seeking somewhere warm to stay in. As the weather got nicer, less people wandered in but today was a rare, cold and wet spring day and these folks waiting outside were definitely hoping for a free cot or lumpy mattress and maybe some food.

"What happened to the old place?" I asked the woman at the end of line as I took my spot behind her. "It used to be Embers."

The woman was around her mid-forties with scraggly hair, pock marks and  clothes that smelled a little too 'lived in'. She smiled at me, flashing chipped teeth. "Yeah, used to be. They cleaned it up pretty nice a few months 'go and gave it a new name and everythin'. 'Tis like the Four Seasons for you and me, ya know?"

She wasn't kidding. St. Martin House looked pretty world class for a homeless shelter.

Inside, the floors had nice industrial carpet instead of bubbling linoleum. The walls were a soft and soothing color scheme of teals and beiges. The furnishings all looked new and high quality. Even the air smelled fresh and clean. Whoever doled out the money for it probably never took into consideration the kind of abuse the shelter's facilities took with a constantly revolving door of transients. If they did, they would've opted for something clean and functional—not one that was pretty as well because staying pretty had a lot of upkeep costs.

But I couldn't complain because my stay here tonight would at least be comfortable. And it seemed like a safer, more cheerful place that made you believe, surely, better things would come in the morning.

"Dear, what are you doing?"

I stiffened, hanging on to my balance by the tips of my sneakered toes.

So much for not asking questions.

Well, Charlotte, you're bent over with your nose in a book, literally inhaling it. Can you blame the woman for asking questions?

I slowly turned my head around and grinned at Mrs. Gibson, one of the case managers in the shelter. She was a stocky older woman with clear blue eyes and a permanent kind smile on her face. She was already around when this shelter used to be Embers.

"I'm sniffing the books," I answered sheepishly as I closed the book in my hands and returned it to the shelf. "Don't you just love the smell of new books?"

Mrs. Gibson furrowed her brows. "I haven't really noticed what they smell like but you're right, these are new books. Everything in that whole shelf was delivered just this morning."

I stepped back and surveyed the wall of shelves that went nearly all the way up to the ceiling, brimming full of beautiful, wonderful books. "Back when this was still Embers, you had a banker box worth of books. Now, you've got an entire library."

The woman's smile was obvious in her voice. "Yes, well. Our benefactor is a great believer of reading and educating oneself. He's been sending a new load of them almost every month since we renovated the place. We have pretty much all of the classics and newer fiction for people who want to lose themselves in a story for a short time. We also have all kinds of reference books for anyone who wants to learn a new skill. There's a subscription to online classes as well, which anyone can access in the computer bay. You can learn woodwork, basic accounting, writing—whatever strikes your fancy. Or whatever gets you a better job and lets you live a better life."

I glanced over to the long table that ran alongside the wall across the room where about six desktop computers were installed. There were a couple people there watching a video tutorial of some sort. The shelter didn't just provide a roof over people's heads anymore. They had a program in place to connect people to support channels and job opportunities.

"Your benefactor's a good, generous person," I told Mrs. Gibson softly. "Do people know him or her?"

It was not unusual for some big philanthropist in the city to be behind a lot of these projects. They didn't always do it for selfless reasons but I wasn't going to split hairs if at the end, those in need would benefit from it the most.

"He would like to stay anonymous," Mrs. Gibson said with a quiet sigh. "I think he deserves all the praise in the world but that's not what he's doing it for."

I grinned. "That's good to know but that makes it nearly impossible for me to thank him in the future, you know, in case I ever run into him."

"Don't worry, dear, I'll pass it along," the woman said before she looked up at someone calling her name from the kitchen. "Well, I better go see what Nancy needs help with for dinner. Pick a book and sit by the fireplace. It'll do you wonders on a miserable day like this."

Since it was sound advice, I returned my attention to the books as soon as Mrs. Gibson left. I slowly walked along the row of fiction, my fingertips touching the spines of the books as I paused at every title to consider it.

Since I didn't want to start a book I wouldn't be able to finish because I was heading home tomorrow, I picked out an anthology of short romance stories.

Why romance?

Because it's a version of love I could still be hopeful for.

Love within a family was a concept that had become more distant for me over the years. What I knew of it, I learned from the other side of the glass window where I stood alone.

Just a few feet away from the shelves was a cozy sitting area with a long couch and a handful of armchairs. I curled up in one close to the window where lights from the traffic outside were slightly muted by dusk and the raindrops that clung to the glass.

Dinner was going to be served soon so I only had time for one story.

The first one was called Designs of Destiny and it was about a woman had all the time in the world, literally, but had nothing meaningful to fill it with.

And her name, to my surprise, was Charlotte as well...