A Season For Family
The point of an elbow poked against his ribs. Amos’s scowl indicated that Heath should bow his head, somebody was praying. He dipped his chin but slanted his eyes toward the others. He recognized a few faces from dinner, when he’d kept mostly to himself. During the meal he’d risked a glance across the room at Olivia. Her eyes were already fixed on him, affirming what he expected; she was keeping him under scrutiny.
And she should. He was a stranger, new on her turf, and as far as she knew he’d been convicted of a cyber crime. Yet he hadn’t seen any judgment in her eyes, only kindness.
The closing prayer droned on, so Heath’s gaze wandered back to the front of the room and homed in on Olivia. As if he’d tapped her on the shoulder, she looked up, gave him a brief smile and lowered her eyelids again.
“Shame on you,” Amos hissed when the meeting was dismissed.
“For what?”
“For lookin’ around when Bruce was praying.”
“If you’d been minding your own business you wouldn’t have noticed.”
“I was just checkin’ to make sure you were participating.”
“I agreed to attend. I never said I’d participate.”
“That’s true.” Olivia came to his rescue. “Heath is meeting all the requirements and he’s done an okay job.” She looked his way, her eyes wide with expectation. “So far.”
“It must be tough to get an atta boy around here,” he mumbled.
Olivia watched a sullen glaze settle in Heath’s eyes, like that of a brooding boy who longed for approval.
“Well, it’s a bit soon for praise, don’t you think? Give me a few days to see how you fold laundry and make beds.”
Heath’s shoulders slumped forward. He shoved his fists deep into the pockets of his baggy jeans, hiding and folding in on himself in one motion.
Olivia couldn’t wait to get his enrollment forms and study them in her personal quarters upstairs, the only truly private area of the shelter. Something was up with this guy and she planned to figure it out during the time he’d be completing his community service.
“Come on, sugar cookie.” Velma appeared at Heath’s side. “I’ll show you the rest of the place.”
“I’ll take over from here,” Olivia was firm. She looked from Velma to Amos. “I need the two of you to get a final head count before we lock up for the night.”
“Alrighty, then.” Velma fanned her fingers in a goodbye and tugged at Amos’s sleeve to ensure that he was close behind.
“Thanks for joining us this evening.” Olivia acknowledged Heath’s presence in her Bible study.
“I didn’t think I had a choice.”
“You didn’t. But you attended without an argument and that’s appreciated.”
“Do you get much backtalk?”
Olivia couldn’t hold in a smile. The guy seemed clueless about the streets. Maybe his tough look was all for show and he really was a nerd in skater boy clothing after all.
“What’s so funny?” His brows drew together.
She motioned toward the coffee station and moved away from the conversation couches of the big room. She poured a cup and turned her back to the others as she offered it to Heath.
“Homeless folks can be unpredictable.” She kept her voice low. “Sometimes they’re so worn down by their circumstances that there’s no fight left. It’s all they can do to put one foot in front of the other each day looking for shelter and food. Other times they’re like cheap firecrackers. The fuse is already short and it’s just a matter of time before they explode.
“And, sadly, we get our fair share of clients with mental problems. We do the best we can, referring folks where better resources can meet their needs.”
He nodded. “So, if nobody melts down or blows a gasket it’s a good day.”
“That’s it in a nutshell.” Olivia tore off several sheets from the wall-mounted paper towel dispenser and began wiping up drips and splashes around the coffee urn.
Heath leaned against the wall, crossed his arms, shook his head. “Isn’t there a smarter way for a single lady to make a living? I mean, where’s your chance for advancement, your five-year plan?”
“Thoughtful questions from a guy spending his vacation in a homeless shelter because he was too shortsighted to consider the consequences of a prank against city government.”
Olivia couldn’t resist dishing it right back when Heath had the nerve to question the wisdom of her professional decisions.
“My bad.” Heath lowered his eyes, tapped the toe of his sneaker against the linoleum of the big room.
Was hanging his handsome head a sign of humility? Or shame? Or just an act?
Olivia planned to figure out which one it was but she didn’t need to get in a hurry. Heath still had about ninety-five hours left on his sentence, plenty of time for her to decide what made him tick.
Chapter Four
Even though Heath’s question could have been posed more diplomatically, he’d been straightforward in the asking. He deserved an honest response, and he was watching Olivia now with expectation in his brown eyes.
“You’re not the first person to inquire about my ambitions,” she noted in response. “As a matter of fact I had to justify myself to the zoning commission and then again to some local churches who give us financial support. Table of Hope is my calling, but it’s also my sole responsibility.”
“I heard your father funded this place.”
Her hands stilled, her gaze met his.
“Is that supposed to be some kind of cruel joke?”
He pushed away from the wall, stood tall. “No, and I’m sorry ’cause I can see I’ve offended you. Detective Biddle said you were the boss lady and I thought he mentioned something about your father.”
“He probably did.” She closed her eyes for a moment, wondering if she’d ever break free of the past. “I forgot you’re not from around here and you don’t know the Wyatt family history.”
She dropped to one knee to unlock the cabinet beneath the coffee bar. As she pulled the double doors wide, he moved closer and bent low to peer inside.
“Can I give you a hand with that?” Heath offered, his eyes glancing toward the contents of the storage shelves.
“Sure.” She moved aside, gave him access. “This area needs to be restocked a couple of times a day with just enough for a few hours. We can’t leave the supplies sitting out or they’ll walk away.”
“It’s the same where I work. People on the honor system always develop sticky fingers.”
“I’m afraid that’s been my experience, too,” she admitted.
“What happens if you catch somebody stealing?”
“We haven’t had to face that situation yet, but I’d remind the person we require honesty and accountability for our supplies. The clients have to respect that if they want to remain at Table of Hope.”
“A reminder is good, but removing temptation is still the best defense.”
She nodded in agreement. “That’s why we keep a close watch on our pantry and almost everything goes under lock and key at nine o’clock.”
“Want me to close this back up for you?” He opened his palm. Olivia removed the keys from her neck and dropped them in his hand.
“It’s the one with the black plastic tag, the same color as the dot beside the lock.”
He stood, returned her keys. “So everything’s color-coded?”
“You got it.” She moved toward the door, motioned for Heath to follow as she headed for the check-in area. “I hope you’re an early riser. The newest resident always gets the first shift.”
“I don’t sleep much, so that’s no problem. Midnight to four is about the only rest I can count on. So sign me up for crack-of-dawn duty.”
Passing into the front lobby, Olivia took the clipboard from Velma, blocking any chance for her to pounce on Heath. “Amos will love you for being an early bird.”
“First he has to get over hating me for being clueless in the kitchen.”
Olivia ignored the concern and motioned toward her office, a head-high cubicle that shielded a metal desk and two chairs.
“Amos is a wonderful person and I couldn’t get by without him.” She felt the need to explain. “But he lost everything at an age when a man should be enjoying life. I hope we can turn it around over time, but he’s become a glass-half-empty kinda guy.”
“The last time I heard somebody use that term they were talkin’ about me,” Heath offered as he settled into her creaky desk chair.
“Would you agree that’s true?”
“Pretty much.”
“Doesn’t that bother you?” Olivia pressed.
“Should it?” His head hitched to one side, a challenge in his eyes.
“I suppose not if you’re okay with your perspective being defined by lack instead of abundance. It seems sad, choosing to limit your possibilities in life.”
“I didn’t say I was okay with it, but I can’t help the way I’m hardwired,” he insisted.
“Sorry, but I don’t accept that excuse from you any more than I buy it from Amos. We may be predisposed to certain behaviors, but God gave us free will for a purpose. Every moment we’re awake presents a new choice with different consequences. The pessimist’s life is bound by doubt and doing without. James says we have not because we ask not. When we reach out to God with unselfish motives, He listens.”
“You sound like my mother. She’s always quoting the Bible.”
“Then I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It’s a waste of time for her and it will be for you, too.” He pushed the words through clamped teeth. “The day my folks moved to a retirement community was the day I was freed from their efforts to give me religion.”
He lowered his eyes and his head, took up a pen and began scribbling answers on the questionnaire. The finality in Heath’s words was like a blanket smothering the potential for fire in his spirit. Olivia’s heart was sad for him.
Her own sainted mother had lost the battle with diabetes in her thirties. But in the fourteen precious years they’d had together Anne Wyatt faithfully discipled her only child, as if knowing Olivia would be alone one day, needing the Truth as her anchor.
And here this foolish man sat complaining about his mother’s desire to give him a spiritual upbringing. Well, maybe he’d escaped the efforts of his parents, but for a short while anyway he’d be seated at Table of Hope where the glass was perpetually full because the Holy Spirit was always present.
Olivia watched him pressing pen to paper, probably giving as little information as possible. She’d check his answers first thing in the morning. As he wrote, she silently prayed for her personal witness to somehow have an impact on his heart. Heath hungered in a way that resonated more profoundly than a desperate client’s need for food.
“Hand the clipboard to Velma when you’re finished and she’ll assign you to a bunk in the men’s dorm and give you a welcome kit. That should get you through the night, and then we’ll cover the rest in the morning.”
Heath could tell from the determined set of Olivia’s jaw that he’d just become her new cause. Good. That meant she’d stay close to him. She’d learn soon enough he was a lost cause, but that was her business. His business was to dig deep beneath the surface of this place and its owner until the core was exposed.
“So, that’s it for tonight?” He tapped the pen against the metal clip on the board. He hadn’t made much progress so far. “I thought you wanted to review my form?”
She cupped her right hand behind her neck, squeezing as she tipped her face forward. “That was my plan until my head started to throb a couple of minutes ago.”
“I have that effect on people.”
She raised her face, a tired smile in her eyes.
“You get partial credit, but mostly I suspect the barometric pressure is dropping along with the temperature. I’m gonna call it a night, go upstairs and settle down with my favorite old quilt.”
“Should I slip this under your door when I’m done?”
“Thanks for offering, but there’s a locked stairwell between my apartment and the first floor of the shelter. A male resident always works the back exit and he keeps an eye on my entrance, too.”
“It’s smart you take precautions. A woman alone in this world needs to guard herself constantly.”
“I volunteered and studied missions for years while I planned Table of Hope and I gave a lot of thought to my personal space. So don’t worry about me.” She locked her desk drawer and pushed out of her chair. “Get a good night’s sleep because we have a busy day tomorrow.”
She disappeared around the wall of the cubicle, then several seconds later poked her head back into view. “And I look forward to reading about your family so don’t scrimp on the answers.”
With Olivia out of sight and Heath alone behind the small desk, he smacked his palm against his forehead.
What on earth made me mention my parents? Now I have to make something up about them.
Or did he? This could be a golden opportunity to test the waters, discover how it felt to be himself instead of some version he concocted as he went along. He pondered it for a moment. Nope, he shook his head. Not a good idea to start unearthing the truth when a lie worked perfectly well.
Heath’s shoulders slumped lower as he accepted how easily fabricating a background came to him, along with each assignment. It seemed the obvious way to protect his real family history. He was the only child of adoptive parents, but he had two natural sisters out there who wanted their brother to be part of their lives. Considering it seriously had always been too risky. And how would he deal with it if his sisters turned out to be dominated and abused like their birth mother? Or worse, what if they were single-minded, Bible-verse-quoting women like the one who had just lectured him about his pessimistic attitude?
“Lord, I sure hope my sisters fall somewhere in the middle of those two extremes,” Heath muttered.
“You need somethin’ over there, sugar cookie?” Velma called across the panel.
“Sorry,” he answered. “Just thinking out loud.”
Hearing folks praying tonight must have dredged up that old habit of talking to God. What was it Olivia had said? We have not because we ask not. Heath had stopped asking for stuff a long time ago. It occurred to him that the comment Velma just overheard kinda resembled a prayer.
If God’s likely to grant me a prayer request I should probably spend it on something of value, namely a good-paying job in Silicon Valley that lets me create software instead of lies.
Enough time wasted on introspection.
He was here to study Olivia Wyatt like the key to a final exam. He needed answers hidden somewhere in this building. They had to be uncovered before more college kids died. And before Heath could get on with his new life.
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