She had been having the silliest dream. She and Mommy were riding pretty horses. But now her eyes were beginning to focus on the ceiling fan in the middle of the room. Snug beneath the ample covers of her bunk bed, Melinda traced her finger along the patterns of the itchy Indian blanket that was the uppermost layer of her nest. Below she could hear her mother snoring softly. It was a comforting sound. At her young age, comfort was at a premium. She didn't know it yet, nor could her 4-year-old mind comprehend that this was only the latest in an innumerable series of homeless shelters she and her mother had called "home" since she was born just outside Cleveland.
The fitful sleep Maria Oliver enjoyed came after many miles of walking with two worn duffle bags gripped in one hand, Melinda's tiny fingers in the other. Every car that went by that didn't have some suspected pervert in it, she would stick out her thumb and hope to God the driver didn't proposition her or pull a gun on her if he pulled over. If asked, she couldn't quite place a name on the town they were staying in, but she knew they were still in Indiana. This shelter was nice, not as smelly as the last one and was run by Baptists or Methodists or somebody like that. It was good to be in a new place... That meant 30 days of temp jobs and apartment looking with not a lot of hope, because when day 31 rolled around, it was likely time to move on. The main thing was that for Melinda, there were 30 days of the same bed, 30 days of the same play room, and 30 days of some semblance of normalcy. This, combined with a certain amount of exhaustion, helped Maria to get the rest she hadn't had in a while.
All Melinda knew was that Mommy takes care of everything. That's what allowed her to clutch Dolly close to her chest and drift back off to sleep, without a care in the world.
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