of time until it was really over. As long as she could avoid saying anything at all, maybe there was a chance he’d take her back. The messages were getting colder, though. All she could do was hope that a few more days wouldn’t cost her everything.
Just before she went to the meeting, she finally sent him a text. It said, ‘Please give me just a little time to get my head straight. I still love you. Whatever happens, don’t hate me.’ She found Lisa and Nat watching a movie in the living room, and told them where she was going. They’d supported her quest so far, but now Lisa sat up straight.
“Alex, do you really think that’s a good idea? I thought you said these guys were bad news. Murderers, maybe. How can you be sure you’re safe?”
“They didn’t recognize me last time. They think I’m Misty Jenkins, and I don’t look anything like the picture I used to have on my blog, do I?”
Lisa gave her a critical stare. “Well, no. But still… ”
“I’ll be okay, Lise. I’ll be careful.” She gave them the address of the meeting, just in case she didn’t make it home, and went out the door with more confidence. Lisa agreed she didn’t look like herself. That would be plenty, wouldn’t it?
There were fewer people at this meeting, and those who were there seemed to be more serious. The rhetoric from the previous meeting was still there, but it no longer sounded like lip service to a catch phrase. These people really hated what the unchecked stream of illegals crossing the border had done to the economy of southern Arizona.
She had to admit, there was some justification for their attitude. These weren’t highly trained or professional workers. They were carpenters, whose wages took a blow every time an undocumented worker offered to do a job for a lower price. Unskilled laborers pushed out of the job market by people who weren’t content to take one job each for low salary, but would often work three, foregoing rest for the opportunity to support a family back home and save to bring them to the land of plenty. They were landscape artists whose businesses failed because they couldn’t afford to compete with a family of gardeners able to work for next to nothing because they all lived in the same house and shared expenses.
The handful of other women there had similar stories. Housekeepers in hotels, cleaners for small businesses, servers in restaurants, all laid off because illegals would work for less. Alex hadn’t realized the other side of the story. She could see their despair, and she agreed it was unfair. None of it justified the tactics the group used, of course. But she didn’t have an answer, either. Even if she had, putting it forward while surrounded by angry men and women wouldn’t have been the way to get agreement.
Before she realized what was happening, everyone was staring at her and it became clear almost too late. They wanted her story, and she didn’t have one. “I-I’m a student,” she said, stalling for time while her mind raced.
Then she had it. “I was denied a loan because an older woman had been using my Social Security number to get medical and financial assistance.”
Stop right there. No need for more.
She closed her mouth abruptly and dropped her head as a tear of fright escaped. Thankfully, the next person took up the refrain and her lame story didn’t excite any more comment. Mentally, she apologized to Dylan for using his mom’s situation like that. At least it had saved her, at best, some embarrassment. At worst, her lack of a reason for being there could have spelled disaster.
When the opportunity to state their issues had gone around the whole room, the leader, a man Alex hadn’t seen before, stood up and spoke. “We’ve all been screwed by these illegals. What are we going to do about it? I don’t know about you, but I’m mad as hell…”
To Alex’s surprise, the audience took up a refrain as one. “We’re not going to take it anymore!”
Again, the leader shouted, “I’m mad as hell…”
Now the group was standing, and a few individuals had climbed onto their chairs and were waving their arms as they took up the refrain, “We’re not going to take it anymore!”
Even as she joined in from a sense of personal preservation, a small part of her mind was busy analyzing this development. She recognized the