Susie peeked up over her computer and smiled. “Hi, Claire. Love the sweater.”
“Thank you. How are you this morning?” What a delicious false sense of normalcy. Three days each week for eight hours I could forget. I would stroll along the brick walkway, greeting folks with casual talk. People didn’t know, so there wasn’t an unspoken awkwardness hanging over every word.
Until I stepped in my car to return home.
Then it all flooded back to me. That awful day when brakes screamed, sirens shrieked, and tears flooded. Three weeks later came the succinct, gut-wrenching note. Would there ever be a time when I walked through a day without the knowledge that Andrew lived somewhere out there, beyond my reach?
I reached my cubicle in the back corner of the office complex. Not many people stopped by my desk, mostly professors leaving some job for me to do. I reviewed my to-do list for the day and sequenced the tasks—file syllabi, work on supply inventory, and run a bulk mailing to the post office. As I worked, I drank in the smiles from Drew and Isabella captured in the framed photo on the side of my desk.
To avoid unwanted questions, I didn’t display a family picture. Instead, I filled the other empty space with a plaque of quirky plant life and a Ralph Waldo Emerson quote: The earth laughs in flowers. Andrew and I had purchased it from a souvenir shop on our honeymoon in Key West. He used the word quirky for the cubism flowers fashioned in brilliant hues. Then I flashed a quirky grin to match. The plaque served as my remembrance of him. I could peek at it and remember our laughter.
“Morning, Claire. I missed seeing you yesterday.”
I turned my head toward the voice. Jonathan Payne took a seat in the chair beside my workspace. We had forged an early bond since both of us were new to the university, although he taught and I served as a part-time, tucked-in-the-back-of-the-room errand girl.
“Hi there. Oh, I don’t work on Tuesdays. Remember, I’m three days a week. Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.”
“Oh, yeah. Forgot.” He pointed toward my cork board. “Hey, I feel honored. You have a picture of me above your desk.”
I had printed a website page that showed photos of all faculty in the Department of Education so I could begin to match names and faces when someone came in to see me. “I have a copy with all the faculty above my desk. You’re one of many.”
He placed his hand over his heart. “You wound me. Does that mean I’m not special?”
I laughed at his antics. “You’re all special. What can I do for you today?”
He broke eye contact and fingered the buttons on the cuff of his sleeve. “I wanted to see if the schedules are ready for the spring semester.”
“Uh, I don’t have anything to do with schedules. Stephanie does all of that.” I placed a question in my tone to indicate he should have known that. Schedules were always a big deal for the whole department.
“Oh, sorry. Temporary brain freeze.” He flashed a delightful, boyish smile that melted his features into a charming youthfulness. He hummed or whistled while walking with the fluidity of an athlete, and he had the ability to make me laugh. Levity was so rare these days. I savored those moments, enjoying the taste of it again.
I cut him some slack, although everyone knew who created the schedules. “I’m with you. It’s hard being a newbie. Too much to remember.”
Glancing at my children’s pictures, he settled back in the chair, making no move to see Stephanie.
“Your little girl reminds me of my niece.” He began to tell me about the impetuous four-year-old named Hannah. A master storyteller, Jonathan brought laugher throughout the exchange. I found myself joining in and talking about Isabella and Drew. After about fifteen minutes, I stole a glance at the clock and at the paperwork in front of me. I wasn’t paid to socialize, even with faculty.
Jonathan must have seen me peek at the clock, because he did likewise, glancing at his watch. “Goodness, it’s almost noon. It’s beautiful outside. Why don’t you grab your lunch and join me down in the courtyard?”
He stood as if it were a settled decision. The pulse in my neck throbbed. I started to decline but hesitated. I had to eat my lunch somewhere, and it would be refreshing to get some sunshine. I took a deep breath, my muscles tensing. Relax, Claire. It’s only lunch with a colleague in a public place. Just someone to talk with while we eat. “Sure. I’ll be right down.”
Thankful that Jonathan didn’t wait for me, I arched my back, stretching away tension. I reminded myself what this was and wasn’t. We were colleagues who happened to be a man and a woman, a fact that shouldn’t matter among friends. I slipped my jacket over my arm and opened the desk drawer that held my thermal lunch pack. As I stood, my hand brushed against the colorful flowers blooming on the plaque. The earth laughs in flowers. I shut my eyes, took a deep breath, and walked to the elevator.
The cool air and brilliant sunshine created a perfect fall day. A smell of cut grass drifted in the breeze—the scent of fresh and new. Jonathan waited on a bench seat. Scanning the arrangement, I could choose to share the bench or sit across the walkway from him which would prohibit comfortable conversation. What to do?
Jonathan solved my problem before I reached him. “Let’s go on over to that table.” He pointed toward a concrete structure with surrounding benches. “I didn’t think you’d see me if I waited there.”
I breathed a silent thank you. We sat at the table and each opened our packed lunches.
Andrew and I always gave thanks at mealtime. I closed my eyes and sent up a silent word of thanks.
“So, Claire, what do you enjoy doing when you aren’t helping faculty at the Rock?”
What did I enjoy? Had I enjoyed anything in the last year? I had to think back. I measured everything in my life in terms of before and after.
“Well, I enjoy cooking. And I used to do a lot of scrapbooking and paper crafts.”
“Paper crafts being?” He tilted his head.
Thoughts of the things I had created brought a smile to my face. “Cards, gift boxes, gift bags, tags, flowers. Once I made a full flower arrangement from tissue and crepe paper. Wait, I think I still have it in my photos.”
I retrieved my phone and clicked on the photo app. As I swiped through them, a knot caught in my chest as Andrew smiled at me through a thumb-sized icon. I paused only a moment before scrolling to find my flowers. Clicking it to enlarge, I turned it for Jonathan to see.
“That’s paper?” He widened his eyes. “No way!”
Pride crept into my voice. “Yes, sir. Everything except the vase and ribbon.”
White daisies with bright yellow centers interspersed with pink carnations and red roses. Green stems with tiny leaves and delicate green fern accented the colorful blooms. A soft green ribbon surrounded the tinted base to provide a finishing touch. The slow process to add such intricate details to each piece proved to be tedious work. Jenny had pleaded with me to make one for her. Three of her flowers were completed. But that was before.
The cloud in my spirit must have crossed my face. “So why the sudden sad look?”
I couldn’t talk about it. Wouldn’t. “So many of my things are tucked away in storage. I’m going through some temporary changes right now.”
Jonathan nodded, and I made an abrupt subject change. “So, what does Jonathan Payne enjoy doing when not teaching wannabe teachers?”
“You’ve already heard about my precocious niece, Hannah. I love visiting her and spending time with family. Hobbies? I’m an amateur photographer. Love camping, taking scenic pictures, and, when I can, pictures of wildlife.”
“Photography? I’d love to see some of your work.” Why did I say that? The words just blurted out. I can’t encourage a personal relationship here.
“I’ll bring some in to show you. Better yet, I’m headed to Lake Arthur this weekend to do some photos. Why don’t you join me, and we’ll make it a picnic? You can see how I set up a photo shoot.”
A heaviness settled in my chest. “Jonathan, you kno
w I’m married?”
He hesitated before responding. “I heard you’re not together.”
Tears welled in my eyes. So, I had become the topic of whispered conversation. What else did he know?
“That’s also a temporary situation. I can’t go to Lake Arthur with you.” I spoke with decisiveness, allowing no misconception.
Jonathan nodded and appeared to be measuring his next words. “Are you certain about that? How long have you been apart?”
None of your business. I shifted on my concrete bench. My gaze darted, looking for a reason to escape.
I felt a touch on the back of my hand before he folded his hand under mine, holding it with gentleness. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
It had been so long since a man touched me, other than familial hugs with Dad. My hand burned with the pleasure of resting in his while my heart swelled with guilt. I allowed it to remain for a few sweet moments before I lifted it from his. Then I touched his arm with a gentle pat so he wouldn’t think he’d offended me. I couldn’t speak. I didn’t trust my voice, and I wouldn’t have known what to say anyway.
“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.” Gentle eyes replaced his usual cheerfulness. “I’d like to spend some time with you and get to know you better. I can’t imagine how hard this is for you. But be careful that you’re seeing things the way they are and not what you wish they were.”
An argument perched on my tongue, but he looked so sweet I couldn’t give the words life. I already missed the warmth of his hand.
“And may I keep asking until you’re ready?”
I was ready to shake my head, but he lifted his brownie to me like a peace offering. I broke off a tiny corner and ate it while he ate the larger piece. Our shared brownie, my unspoken assent.
~*~
That evening, with the kids tucked in bed and my parents dozing in front of the TV, I climbed into my tiny twin bed. Lying in the claustrophobic room, Andrew and Jonathan competed for my thoughts. I hungered for human touch. I caressed my hand where Jonathan had held it, the warmth of that moment flooding my mind, refusing to leave. A scripture flashed through, interrupting. “Take captive every thought.”
I sat upright, reaching toward the nightstand. Lifting the wedding picture from my drawer, I gazed into the happy faces for a few moments before loosening the back latch to retrieve the note. Not sure why, since I had memorized the words.
It had been opened and closed so many times the creases began to come apart, defacing Andrew’s scribbled handwriting. The words had not changed. It still didn’t say, I love you, I’ll be back, Wait for me. It still contained the brief cryptic message, I have to leave. I can’t handle this guilt.
Anger boiled to the surface. My hand clenched into a fist as it held the slip of paper. “Well, guess what, Andrew. I can’t handle the loneliness. I can’t handle not knowing if you’re dead or alive. Did you think about that when you walked out? If these were your last words to me, couldn’t you at least have said you loved me?”
I crushed the note into a ball and pitched it across the room.
8
Scott Harrington
I sat on a bench a block away from Three Rivers Mission. For the past week, I’d spent most of my nights there talking with Tyler and now had more than enough information to write his bio.
During the daylight hours, I hung out with Pete. Although he talked freely, I had to dig for anything personal. Pete held that close to his vest. I’d have to spend a few nights at the parking lot shed hoping the bourbon would make him loose-lipped. I needed to figure out how to get by the gate attendant. Otherwise, Pete would be passed out.
But today, I had another undertaking. Tyler left the shelter every night to make a delivery. Sooner or later, he’d get caught. Even if he didn’t, I could no longer sit back and pretend I didn’t know what was happening.
I watched for Tyler. Maybe I’d see him outside of the shelter. It was impossible to talk about it within those walls.
I caught sight of him walking toward me, edging around slow-moving pedestrians. He either didn’t see me or hoped I hadn’t seen him. He’d been defensive the last time we talked.
“Hey, Tyler.” I stood up and called to him as he neared the bench. “I’ve been looking for you. Where’ve you been all day?”
He turned his head my way, but his gaze fleetingly circled the area. “Told you, I hang out in the library.” With jerky movements, he turned his body so he faced away from the shelter. “I was just headed to Stanwix Street for dinner.”
He had a facial tic. I hadn’t seen that before. “I have a better idea. I can’t handle that food tonight. I managed to get a little cash panhandling. Let’s go get a big, juicy burger. My treat.”
He scanned the area again. “I don’t know. I need to see Jim by seven thirty.”
“Plenty of time. Didn’t you say he’ll save you a bed?”
“Yeah, but not for you.”
I waved my hand dismissively. “I told you. I can bunk with my old friend, Pete. Hamburger, French fries, ice cold Coke?” The words hung between us, temptingly.
He bit his bottom lip, rubbing his hand over his neck. “I guess.”
He took a few tentative steps away from the shelter, and I fell into step beside him.
We walked two blocks and entered Larry’s Diner. Within minutes, we were sipping on soft drinks and waiting for our order.
“How you been, Ty? You look a little stressed today.”
He took a long drink through the straw in his Coke. “No, I’m fine.”
“You upset with me about something? You seemed a little abrupt yesterday.” Maybe he would talk about his night deliveries without getting defensive.
“I’m just trying to get off these streets. I save every penny I earn and put applications in everywhere I can. But nothing happens. No family. No friends. I’m just tired of being alone.”
Tyler’s wheat-colored hair and spattering of freckles gave him a youthful appearance, even less than his eighteen years. “You have one friend. I’ve enjoyed getting to know you this week.”
“Yeah, well, I need to be careful about…” His words trailed off and he cleared his throat.
“About what?”
“Nothing.” He sat back, putting distance between us.
“About making friends in the shelter? Does Jim have a problem with that?”
Tyler rested his head against the back of the booth, his shoulders sagging. “He doesn’t like talkative drivers. They can get hurt.”
My chest tightened. “He told you that? He threatened you?” I clenched my fists. “Let’s get you out of there. Come with me tonight and meet Pete.”
The conversation halted when the waitress arrived with our burgers. Tyler eyed the plate hungrily, raising it to his nose and breathing in the grilled aroma. He picked up the ketchup and squirted a stream of red onto his fries.
“So what about my question? Will you come meet Pete? We’ll get you away from that business.”
“You don’t get it. This city’s not big enough. The only way I’ll get out is to leave Pittsburgh. I have nothing holding me here. Maybe I’ll have better luck getting a job somewhere else.”
“Every delivery you make puts you at risk. Any one of them could end up in a bust. And every delivery puts more drugs on the street. Can you live with that?”
Tyler jutted out his chin and glared at me. “You’re always judging me. I didn’t choose this. Once I realized what was happening, I was in too deep. I’m trying to get out. And don’t blame me for drugs on the street. They’ll be delivered with or without me.”
We finished our burgers in silence, and Tyler’s temper appeared to cool. I paid our bill, and we stepped out to the sidewalk.
“Thanks for dinner. Two more deliveries. I figure then I’ll have enough money for bus fare out of here.”
“Unless one of those two gets busted. Change your mind and come with me tonight.”
“Can’t.” He beg
an to walk away.
“I can help you.” I called to his departing back.
Tyler turned his head, surprised. “You?” He eyed my frayed jeans and broken zipper. “How old are you, Scott?”
“Thirty-three. Why?”
“Well, I’m eighteen, and I don’t aim to be in this situation when I’m thirty-three.” He turned and merged with the crowd, heading toward Stanwix Street.
Once Tyler had disappeared from my sight, I walked toward Point Park. I had to get Tyler away from Three Rivers Missions at any expense, even if it meant blowing my cover. I couldn’t let him ruin his life while I pretended I didn’t know. Once was enough.
With that decision made, another question boiled inside my conscience. How would I expose this drug ring? How ironic that they used Three Rivers Missions to recruit when one of the three branches operated a drug rehabilitation center. Jim kept himself visible at the shelter. How could the director not know? Yet, an organization with a focus on rehab wouldn’t…but was the focus on rehab? Or could it be on profit? Were they feeding their own profit-making entity?
A sick feeling settled in my stomach. I would go to the police, but not before I got Tyler out of that mix. Not tonight, though. That might put him at risk. In the morning.
9
Scott Harrington
Hours remained before I’d see Pete and D.J. at the vacant shed. I had to find out how to get in that blasted place before 10:00 PM. and get Pete talking before he passed out. I headed over to the parking garage and loitered until they came.
The October air battered my lightweight jacket. How did the men under the bridge withstand the assault of winter? How would Pete and D.J. deal with it in the drafty shed? Even so, the writer in me began to formulate words to describe the adversities. How could I capture this reality for viewers? Could I transport them from their comfortable easy chairs to the hopeless hardships of these streets?
Standing across the street from the parking lot felt like a stake out. Technically, it was. A few spots offered a good view of the shed so I could move around while watching for Pete.
The Least of These. Page 6
