There were already bullet holes in her bedroom window, but every time the police would intervene, Bailey’s abuser would find a way to pay his bond.
He was no longer the beloved partner who fathered her children — the man with whom she believed she would spend the rest of her life.
Addiction had transformed him into a “monster.”
And when, one night, he started pouring gasoline around the windows of the home he once shared with the mother of three and prepared to set the house ablaze, her protective instincts took hold.
“It was either me throw my kids in the car or us in a body bag,” Bailey said. “We had, maybe, a backpack.”
At first, they slept in her car — a red Kia Forte that was a far cry from the spacious home 2-year-old Riley, 3-year-old Cayson, and 6-year-old William had just fled.
But then, her abuser notified Child Protective Services that Bailey was likely homeless.
“So, we ended up here,” she said, standing outside a room at Goldsboro’s Super 8 by Wyndham. “If I didn’t come here, I was going to lose my kids.”
For many Wayne County residents, the face of their community’s homelessness crisis is Tent City — an encampment nestled just beyond the tree line along the railroad tracks that run down Royall Avenue.
But Bailey would tell you the few dozen people living in the woods — many, suffering from mental health and substance abuse issues — represent only a fraction of those, like her, without a roof over their heads.
“I have met so many people like me — single moms who are doing the best they can, but can’t afford anything more than this right here,” she said, standing in a small hotel room packed with clothing and toys donated by Tommy’s Foundation, a local non-profit that has been serving the city’s homeless population for the last several years. “It’s got its ups and downs, but for us, it’s better than nothing. It’s better than sleeping in a car.”
Just then, 2-year-old Riley looks up at Bailey and lifts her arms.
She doesn’t like going long without having physical contact with the woman she got her eyes and nose from.
“Some days, I’m dark. Some days, I look at them and I’m like, ‘I just can’t.’ I think about the possibility of losing myself, losing my children. Am I failing as a mother?” Bailey said, brushing back Riley’s hair and laying a soft kiss on her forehead. “But no matter what happens, I have to do whatever I can to provide. I’m going to give these babies what they deserve and what they need. And I’m going to get back on my feet — back to where I need to be.”
•
Less than a mile away, Tyrone extends his arms as 4-year-old Ty’Asia tumbles toward him inside the family’s room at the Irish Inn.
“Pick me up,” she says, a sly smile creeping across her face. “Pick me up.”
The father chuckles and grabs his little girl by the waist — lifting her above his head before placing her on his lap.
“Girl, why you gotta be so demanding?” he says. “You’re bad.”
In that moment, it doesn’t matter that Tyrone woke up at 5 a.m. and rode his bicycle to his job — that he is tired from a long day at work and the grueling trek to and from the Wayne Memorial Drive business.
That little girl has her “daddy” wrapped around her finger.
“I’ll be riding that bike to work at 5:30 in the morning. Down the highway. It’s cold. Shoot,” Tyrone says. “Sometimes, I don’t even want to, but I’m not trying to let these kids down. I’m not going to let them down.”
Not letting them down means coming up with a way to pay the $250 a week it costs to live at “the Irish.”
“It is kind of tough. My whole check is going to the room … and I’ve got to try to find some money to help with other things. And if I miss a paycheck, I don’t want them out in the cold,” Tyrone said. “One week, with the hours they had me working, I couldn’t even cover the room. I was $37 short. They didn’t even want to take my money. They were like, ‘Either you get the whole thing by 2 o’clock or you’ve got to be out.’ It was tough, but I (figured it out) in the end. I’m not going to let them go without, and I definitely don’t want them on the streets.”
They have been there before.
Tyrone and his partner, Monique, were living in Kinston.
They rented a house.
They were not flush with money, but they had enough to get by.
And then, Monique’s mother and brother passed away within a few months of each other.
“It wiped us out,” Tyrone said.
Somebody had to pay for the funeral expenses. And without a nest egg, it took everything they had to do right by their family.
“Then, right around that time, the landlord, she sold the house. She gave us five days to be out,” Tyrone said. “I tried to tell her, ‘We just paid you. We need a little more time to find another house.’ She said they wanted to remodel and all that.”
So, without the knowledge that a five-day notice was illegal or the means to hire an attorney — and with nowhere else to go because the funeral expenses had cost them what little savings they might have had for a security deposit at a new place — the couple “did what we had to do.”
“We were living in abandoned houses,” Monique said. “Anywhere to keep a roof over these babies’ heads. We don’t ever want to go back to that.”
Tyrone looked across the room at a woman he said he would “never let down” and nodded his head.
“Sure don’t,” he said. “And we won’t. I won’t let that happen. I’m going to keep this job and build — to save my money — so they don’t ever have to go without.”
•
Kellie Floars hands a cookies and cream Pop Tart to 1-year-old Javaince and watches as the little boy stuffs pieces into his mouth.
The pastry quickly deteriorates, sending a chocolatey drool to the little boy’s bare belly, hands, and the floor of his hotel room “home” floor.
“Ooo,” she says. “Your mama is about to be mad at me.”
The Tommy’s Foundation founder is aware that many in the community associate her non-profit solely with Tent City — with the dozens suffering from mental illness and substance abuse issues that her organization feeds every Tuesday evening from a parking lot across the street from the tree line that guards the encampment from the train tracks running along Royall Avenue.
But the truth is, Tommy’s serves as much of the homeless population as it can afford, including six families across three hotels.
“We’re paying right at $3,000 a month right now for our single moms,” Kellie says, looking down at Javaince. “For two beds and four walls.”
And the help she and her team provide goes beyond rent.
They collect and distribute donations — everything from snacks and bottles of water to clothing and diapers.
They ensure the school-aged children in their hotel program are enrolled and attending classes daily — even providing them rides to Wayne County Public Schools campuses when the bus driver shortage leaves them without transportation, as it did for several weeks in November.
They even take them to Bible study and community events, like the recent Downtown Lights Up.
“We’re all a family with Tommy’s Foundation,” Kellie said. “We’re all in this together.”
They support one another when Social Services puts a single mother on a waiting list for a childcare voucher.
“She’s 105 on the waitlist,” Kellie said, talking about how Bailey had to leave her job at Pizza Inn, in part, because she did not always have a reliable babysitter for Riley and Cayson. “It could take two years until it’s her turn. And it’s hard, because it’s on our contract — making sure they’re working. But trying to get our little ones in daycare, it’s been impossible.”
And they pick each other up when there are setbacks as the foundation transitions a family from a hotel into public housing.
Kellie even offers emotional support to women like Bailey — telling her “she’s done good” and that “she’s a good mom” — and fathers like Tyrone she says are “doing great” and “providing the best life possible for his babies.”
But for this particular Good Samaritan, witnessing the dramatic increase in homelessness in her city is heartbreaking.
“If I had the money, I could fill this hotel. Every single room,” she said, standing outside the Super 8. “And there would still be more single mothers without. There would still be so many more.”
Bailey hopes the community will continue to support people like Kellie — by donating their time and money to help organizations like Tommy’s Foundation continue their mission of “blessing” families with second chances.
“Without Kellie, we would have been in Tent City and my kids would have been taken,” Bailey said. “But thanks to her, at least my kids are here with their mom. We’ve made the best of it. And when I get back on my feet, I’m going to help her out. What she does is amazing.”
Down the road, Tyrone and Monique shared a similar sentiment.
“I sure appreciate you,” Tyrone said, looking up at Kellie as a wave of emotion took hold. “You’re like family.”
Monqiue smiled.
“It really is a blessing,” she said. “She’s a blessing.”
But their shared stories are far from over.
In the coming days, thanks to Tommy’s Foundation, Bailey and her children will sign a lease and receive their keys in one of Goldsboro’s public housing communities.
Tyrone and Monique are next on the list.
“My oldest, he said, ‘Mama, all I want for Christmas is a home,’” Bailey said, tears forming in her eyes.
Kellie smiles and grabs Riley by the waist — lifting her in the air and tucking her close to her chest.
“He’s getting his wish,” Kellie said. “Your family is getting its wish.”
A tear falls out of Bailey’s left eye.
“It could happen to you. You could lose your job tomorrow. You could find yourself being abused. This could be you,” she said. “It’s hard. I worked so hard for everything I had down there and then it was just gone. I lost all of it. What do I do? You start over. These kids are what’s important. You keep going for them.”
