A marriage about to end. A custody battle probably about to start. A 15-year-old son in a juvenile detention center. A kidney stone operation coming up. A rental home and most of her possessions badly damaged by murky floodwater. Almost no money to deal with it all.

"Do you have a place to stay?" interrupted an unfamiliar male voice.

Hardiman raised her head and looked into the dark brown eyes of the man stopping to take her hand and talk. It was Gov. Charlie Crist offering reassurance that a lot of people were working hard to make sure that victims of last month's floods would get help.

"You don't need to worry. It'll be OK," Crist told her.

But the 36-year-old Daytona Beach woman walked back out into the sweltering heat that afternoon with little more than a plastic bucket filled with cleaning supplies.

"This is too much," Hardiman said on that day almost two weeks ago. "This is one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. We didn't have that much to begin with."

That was May 26. Things haven't gotten much better since. She and her 5-year-old daughter Alexis are still living in a friend's mobile home, which is already crowded with four other people.

Floor tiles in their temporary quarters are cracking and buckling, as are sections of the faux wood wall paneling. The ceiling leaks and the toilet overflows. A thick stench of stale cigarette smoke hangs in the air.

A well-worn couch doubles as a bed for both her and Alexis -- when it's available. She came home from work late Thursday night and the three couches in the living room were all claimed, with Alexis on one. So she spent the night in her truck, soaked in sweat and cramped up.

The next morning Alexis awoke in a panic on the couch, wondering why her mother had disappeared. Pretty soon, that roof over their heads could disappear, too.

The man who owns the mobile home, Richard Loughlin, manages the Ormond Beach trailer park on Nova Road, and he was just fired. Loughlin, who has also allowed Hardiman's 19-year-old son to stay with him the past few months, said he'll help as long as he can.

"I couldn't say no," Loughlin said. "She had just clawed her way back after her husband left, and then the floods hit. I wouldn't have had it any other way. She's my friend and she's had a rough time."

Hardiman has signed up for assistance from the Federal Emergency Management Agency, and that could bring her help with rent for two or three months. But she doesn't know if she can go back to her rental home off Bellevue Avenue, which has been gutted of everything -- even the tub, sinks, counters and drywall.

There's emergency housing, but that has to be re-approved every three days, and that makes her nervous. Some of the only solid help she has received is a voucher for gas from Goodwill and some clothing for her and her daughter, $30 worth for each. But she's grateful for it and a few agencies that have tried to help.

"If it wasn't for Project Hope, the Red Cross and FEMA I'd have nothing," she said. "Someday I'll donate to them, even if it's 50 cents."

Right now, she doesn't have 50 cents to spare. She normally works six days a week at a fast food restaurant, but she was forced the past two weeks to reduce that to two days to deal with her troubles.

The few belongings she has left are stuffed in big black garbage bags in the back of her truck and in the mobile home park storage unit. If she has to leave the trailer park, she doesn't know what she'll do with the few pieces of second-hand furniture and flood-soaked toys in there.

"What kills me most are the kids' beds," she said. "No matter what I always wanted to make sure they had a place to sleep."

She salvaged some clothing, most of which was caked in mold by the time she was able to get it out of the house. She washed it and hopes she and her daughter won't get sick from it. Most of her 15-year-old son Austin's clothes had to be thrown out.

She, her older son and her mother, who has a lung disease, all became ill after moving her things out of the flooded home.

"I couldn't believe all the stuff she had to throw away," said her mother, 55-year-old Connie Johnson. "She was just getting back on her feet. I try to talk to her every day now. I've never seen her so distraught."

Most of Alexis' toys were destroyed in the flood, but one day last week she still had a Rubik's Cube she bought for $1 at a flea market. The little blond girl played with it for no more than 10 minutes before it broke apart into dozens of pieces. She was left with a sheet of paper and pen to write her ABC's.

"I've tried to talk to her," Hardiman said. "But mentally and emotionally I'm not here. I don't know how to handle it myself much less explain it to someone else."

Hardiman's food stamps were yet another flood casualty. So when Alexis is hungry, that frequently means a trip to the Sonic restaurant on Ridgewood Avenue. Hardiman works there, and she can get a 50 percent discount.

She's grateful for the discount and the job. But she's having trouble rebuilding her life on $7.50 an hour. She's hoping to become an assistant manager.

"I just want to feed my kids and take them to the doctor," she said. "I'm so overwhelmed now. I can't do nothing about my son, my health, my belongings. I just don't know how I'm going to do any of this. I don't want a pity party. I'm trying to do everything by myself, but it's just not working."

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