She was three days past due on the rent and she didn’t have the money to pay the landlady, Mrs. Parsons. She eased open the door to her room, then closed it silently behind her. She leaned with her back against it, her arms at her sides, palms flat on the surface, in a posture of utter fatigue. Her eyelids dropped and she let her head fall forward. But her feet were throbbing too much for her to remain standing. Taking off her raincoat, Dominique went to the little pine table and chair in the center of the room. She slung the raincoat over the chair’s back and, without stopping, walked to a musty green sofa bed that dominated the cramped room. With a long sigh, she sank into it. Dominique knew she would be more comfortable if she took off her shoes, but she was afraid to look at the sore on her heel that had been festering for two weeks. It felt damp, so she knew it was oozing. And there was a scratchy, swollen sensation as though her shoe had worn a hole in her nylon and was in direct contact with the wound.
