When I was a field social worker, I visited clients in their homes. They would cover tables and dressers and chairs with blankets, telling me that everything was a mess because they were packing to move to a better place. They would say they were living with relatives temporarily while looking for a place near where they planned to work. What was really under the blankets was drug paraphernalia and beer bottles, dirty dishes, clutter.
Jodi would meet Travis in a motel room so they could have privacy from grandparents for sex. She might even point out somebody else's house as her grandparents, who can't be disturbed because they are recovering from illness.
She would take Travis to church where she could introduce him to all her dear, dear friends, whom she hardly knew and who didn't really know her at all. This is how she would appear normal, having "work" and "church" and her profession as an artist and photographer.
By the way, when I did career counseling, virtually every single unemployed and drug-addicted pregnant woman told me what she really wanted to be was an artist. "So I could draw all day...."
Only one person had talent and actually was able and willing, with guidance, to gain skills and earn a living painting Persian rugs on hardwood floors for people with asthma.