by Robyn Carr
“I bet you have, but never mind that,” he said. “You’ve been feeding people for years and I’d like to know how it happened. I’m going to be looking for options pretty soon. There are lots of things I can do to keep the rain off my head. They’ll probably let me sweep out the rectory and polish pews until I find a proper job, but I’m interested in meeting some more basic needs. Like you do. If you’re willing to talk about it...”
She stepped closer to him, her pretty brow wrinkled, her eyes narrowed. “Talk about what?”
“How you found your calling? How you began your food bank? What other work you’ve done? What bureaucracy you battle—”
“God isn’t going to be mad at you for leaving the priesthood, Father. Are you looking for a way to make it right with God?”
“No. As far as I know, we’re good, me and the Boss. It’s what makes my heart beat.”
“Then I will ask you this, Father. Have you ever been really hungry? So hungry that hunger no longer has a feeling? Have you ever fled your own home in the dark of night? Been chased by police? Run out of your house and slept on the cold ground for days? Had no one to help? Begged for food or clothing? Been afraid you would not live another day? Dios! Ach.” She stopped and rubbed the back of her neck. “My apology, Padre, I didn’t mean to unload on you.” Then she continued. “That is how I found my calling—in my anger. I am angry that in a world as plentiful as ours there are hungry children. Isn’t it bad enough that there is disease we can’t conquer? Isn’t it bad enough that no matter how hard we work, there is still poverty?”
He was respectfully silent while she calmed herself. Finally he said, “I’m sorry, Angela. For what you must have endured.”
She jolted in surprise. “Oh no, Father—I wasn’t talking about me! We did all right. We were immigrants and field workers but we had family. It’s the people I’ve come to know. A large number of them are veterans, alone or some with families. If they have issues and can’t hold a job, they get evicted, live in shelters or on the streets or in their cars, if they have a car. And yes, I see quite a few families from south of the border—if they’re undocumented, they can’t get any government help, like food stamps. For some of them the pantry is essential to their survival.
“When the shelves in this warehouse are full, I sleep so well, even though we can’t cure the problem. But there are days I’m so sad. Like the day I sent a woman, a young mother, away with one dented can of cream-style corn. I don’t do this because it’s good. I do it because I’m driven, not always in a good way.”
“I was going to ask you to coffee after the holidays, when our rush is over, but I think we should meet for a drink instead.”
“I would like that. I think we have stories to share. But I’m not going to be here long after the holidays. Mrs. Bennett is going to take over the pantry when I leave. She’s run food banks before and she knows this one.”
“Where are you going?” he asked, instantly sad.
“I’ve been accepted by an international rescue charity. I’ll be in training for months before I find out where I’m going. I offered to go to Syria but they’ll send me to a refugee camp in Greece until I get my sea legs. They can’t afford to have an inexperienced volunteer in a dangerous place.”
“Let’s get one of your volunteers in the warehouse to help us unload and watch for your trucks. Then, let’s take an hour. I have to hear about this! Please!”
“Oh Father, what is that strange light in your eyes?”
Without thinking, he reached for her hand and held it briefly. “I’m not sure where I’m going to land but every day I spend in an office is one day too long.”
“There’s a special job for everyone, Father. In every neighborhood. I know you’re needed there...”
“Of course,” he said. “I’m proud of the work we’ve done at Divine Redeemer. People who aren’t starving are sometimes hungry in other places. We all have needs. But there are a lot of priests standing in line to get that job. I’ve been praying for years for an opportunity to go somewhere very few people are willing to go.”
She looked at him in shock, her mouth hanging open. “I think you already had that drink...”
He laughed. “How dare you make fun of me! Look what you’re planning to do!”
“Yeah, my mother has blisters from working the rosary beads over me. If I’m not in a terrible neighborhood, I’m on a waiting list to go to a war zone...”
“Let’s get these boxes inside and see if we can find someone to cover for you for a while. If I don’t corner you now, I might miss my opportunity! I’ll make it up to you—I’ll get the Boy Scouts rounding up nonperishables for your holiday rush!”
“You’d better,” she said. “I’m holding you to that promise!”
* * *
Lauren handed out Halloween candy for the first time in years. She had decorated her porch. She hung a ghost in the tree out front, carved a large pumpkin and sat a scarecrow in her porch chair. She dressed up like a witch, a friendly witch with a pointed hat, no warts, all of her teeth. She didn’t want to scare anyone, especially not the little ones, but she wanted to get into the spirit of things. She lit a few tall orange candles inside and made a big fuss over every costume from spaceman to princess. It was a good time to say hello to the neighbors as they brought the children around.
She tried to remember the last time she handed out candy or the last time her girls went trick-or-treating. Cassie was probably only ten. Brad had shamed her out of it. It’s for little children, he would say. And it’s a stupid, dangerous undertaking. It made him furious when people brought kids from other neighborhoods to theirs, but Lauren stubbornly bought piles of candy and handed it out generously. Brad was either at the hospital or kept to his home office, refusing to answer the door. By the time the girls were in junior high, he insisted they keep the front of the house darkened, front light off. They never had many children come to the door anyway, tucked away as they were in their wealthy gated neighborhood. Even before there was a guard at the gate, there had been a gate.
But on this night in her new neighborhood, she had a wonderful time, trading stories with young mothers, asking small children about their costumes, handing out fistfuls of candy. She visited with her neighbors and to her satisfaction, no one seemed to look at her strangely or ask her about the night of the police cars and paramedics. It was so social and entertaining, she hated to see it end. But the little ones were scuttled off home where their parents would check their candy and run them around a little bit to burn off the sugar.
After eight there were only a few older kids, but she left her light on. She was going to ride it out to the end. She wasn’t sure how she could have done things any differently, but it made her wonder what her life would have been like had she left Brad years ago. There would have been friends, spontaneous and happy times rather than only the perfectly orchestrated events. She would have had such a different life.
The doorbell rang and she plopped the witch hat on her head and opened the door. There stood Beau, grinning, holding onto a bottle of wine by its neck.
“I ran out of candy,” he said. “So I came over here. To see what everyone was talking about. I heard the sexiest witch in Alameda was here.”
“Clever,” she said, but she loved it. “Did you have a lot of kids?”
“Dozens. Darla was at our house and Drew looked thrilled when I said I was going out for a while. Should I open this?”
“Absolutely! There are only a few stragglers left.”
“I thought about the pub but I passed it and they’re having way too much fun. It’s loud.”
“It’s not loud in here. Nice and quiet.” She went to the kitchen for the corkscrew and a couple of glasses. “Did you have fun tonight?”
“Sure.” He opened the wine. “I’m not as into Halloween as some people but the boys always have been. I could ha
rdly convince them it was time to stop when they were in high school. Drew answered the door as a pirate tonight. I remember when they went through a stage of the bloodier the better.” He handed her a glass. “You do make a spectacular witch. Cheers.”
She smiled fondly. “Cheers, my friend,” she said, clinking his glass. “Tell me about your week.”
“Nothing much of interest. A few new clients that I’m drawing up plans for but we’re not going to execute during winter. I’m planning a couple of rooftop gardens and some yards for new construction, but planting will be minimal until March. Then we’ll blast through months of being swamped. That’s my favorite time of year.”
He talked about the catching up he would do, designs he would create, bids he would prepare over the winter. Taxes, there were always taxes to take care of, though he had a trusted accountant. Running a business meant the accumulation of plenty of paperwork.
The doorbell blessedly did not ring. They talked about his work slowing down when the planting season grew less hectic. Her business, on the other hand, grew more hectic as the holidays approached. “Food is a very big business right up to January. I look forward to things slowing down a little bit. But I’m enjoying work so much more than ever before.”
“What was the big change?” he asked.
“The change was me, and it was a complete accident. I always felt like I didn’t really belong. I felt apart, as though I wasn’t like the other women in the food lab. As though I didn’t have the same kind of struggles. You know—because I had a cleaning lady and a successful husband. It was an embarrassment of riches. Then I did the most unexpected thing. I stopped protecting myself and told them the truth. That my husband was abusive, that I was separated and filing for divorce. And they swarmed around me with comfort and support that had been there all along. I was the one who held myself apart. We started socializing—lunch now and then, going out for happy hour after work sometimes. I am friends now with people I’ve known for years.
“In the spring, I’m going to have a garden,” she went on. “I’m going to plant flowers and vegetables. Maybe you can give me a few pointers. I’ve never had anything to say about the yard. I’ve never had a garden of my own.”
“I can help with that.”
“At your busiest time?”
“There will always be time for you,” he said. He put his wineglass on the coffee table. Then he slid his arm along the back of the sofa and rested it gently on her shoulder, giving her a squeeze. “Come a little closer, Lauren.”
She didn’t hesitate. She slid toward him just as he leaned toward her. He touched his lips softly to hers.
“We’ve managed to go very slowly but we’re both feeling it. I’m definitely feeling it,” he said. “And I think you are, too.”
“I thought it would be safer and less complicated if—”
“If all the legal crap was behind us? If that’s what you want, I can do that, but there’s a good chance our exes are going to drag this out as long as possible. And there is absolutely no possibility I’m ever going to live under the same roof with Pamela again. I’m pretty sure you’re finished with the doctor, too. If you’re not, all you have to do is tell me...”
“Oh, I’m finished. But I wouldn’t want anyone to think...”
“That we had an affair?” He took her glass from her hand and put it beside his on the table. “There’s almost nothing we can do to control what people think no matter what we do. But the truth is, I fell for you the minute I saw you. Way back in the church garden, before we knew anything about each other. If you hadn’t been so vulnerable, I might’ve been a little more aggressive. That’s not because that’s in my nature. It’s not. But I wanted to get to know you better right away. I wanted to spend time with you. Then he hurt you and I had to keep a safe distance from you, to protect you. I knew you couldn’t deal with your issues plus a rambunctious guy. But no matter what we do or how long we keep a polite distance, people will think what they want to think. Just like your husband did.”
“This really wasn’t in my plan,” she whispered. “I wasn’t looking for a man.”
“I know. And I was planning to be a lonely old bachelor. And anyone with a brain or anyone who has read an advice column will tell you, don’t move very fast because the rebound lover usually doesn’t work out. But that hasn’t changed how I feel. I want to take you up into the hills to see the fall foliage before it all freezes off and there isn’t much time left. And in the spring, I want to take you to see some special gardens. I want to go places and do things...and I also want to walk down to the pub for sliders. On those rainy San Francisco nights, I want to build a fire and stay in.”
“What special gardens?” she asked, her lips still close to his.
He rubbed a thumb along her jaw. “There are so many. But we should go to Victoria, British Columbia. The Butchart Gardens for one. The whole town is beautiful and there’s always something in bloom. They have a perfect climate.”
“Victoria?” she whispered. She would love to go to Victoria with him. “I wasn’t hoping to find a man,” she said again. “What if this is just infatuation because of what we’ve both been through...”
“Then I guess we deal with it,” he said. “But what if it’s not? What if it’s real? And good? And right?”
“I’ve made so many mistakes,” she said, letting her eyelids fall closed.
“Welcome to the club,” he said.
Then he covered her lips in a searing kiss. Her arms reached around his neck and his went to her waist, pulling her closer. She moaned softly because she had wanted this for a lot longer than she cared to admit. She returned his kiss, opened her lips for him, held him so close she felt like they’d be bonded together forever. She loved the sound of his sigh as his lips slid to her neck, his hands running up and down her back. Then they shared a deep and open kiss, tongues playing. It lasted for a minute, at least. Then two. She loved his scent and the taste of him. She could detect a manly cologne and something like freshly turned, rich soil...or perhaps she imagined that because he was so comfortable in a garden.
She held him close, letting her fingers wander into the short hair at the base of his neck, kissing him deeply for minutes. And minutes. Their breathing became labored. She broke from his lips and rested her head on his shoulder, holding him tightly, as if he might slip away.
He held her and stroked her hair. “You have no idea how much I wanted to do that,” he said.
“Have you been practicing?” she asked in a whisper. “Because you’re very good at that.”
“You’re pretty good yourself. If it matters, I haven’t kissed a woman in well over a year. But I sure wanted to kiss you. I want to do it some more, too. But maybe I should go. I don’t want you to feel pressured.”
“You don’t have to go,” she said, snuggling closer.
They stayed that way for a little while, silent and comfortable. Finally he kissed her again, almost desperately. God, it felt so good to her to be wanted with this kind of passion. Tender but strong. She yielded completely, finally unafraid of where this might be going.
He broke the kiss. He looked into her eyes. “I should go,” he said. “I probably shouldn’t get any more worked up. This...us...we could move a little too fast and go off the rails.”
“Okay,” she said.
“You did say you thought it would be best if we got our legal shit handled before we—”
She nodded. She still thought that would be the smart thing, except she wanted to be less smart right now.
They stood. They hugged. He held her face in his hands and kissed her again. Then he went to the door and she followed. He stopped before opening the door. He paused. Then he turned and grabbed her around the waist, turning her so that her back was pressed against the door. He kissed her again. “I don’t want to leave,” he whispered against her lips.
“Good,” she said. “I don’t want you to.”
“Even if it’s not smart?” he asked.
“It’s the smartest thing I can think of at the moment,” she said.
“I want to make love to you,” he said. “For three days straight.”
She laughed softly. “I think we’re going to have to start off slower than that. I have to work tomorrow.”
“But now?”
“Now is good,” she said.
He leaned his head against her shoulder. “I promise. I’ll take good care of you,” he said, his lips against her neck.
“I know,” she said.
He lifted her up into his arms. “Time to undress the witch,” he said. And he carried her to her bedroom.
* * *
Standing at the side of the bed, they shed their clothes quickly, leaving everything in a heap on the floor. “Condoms,” he announced, putting a couple on her bedside table. She didn’t stare at him, though she wanted to. What she could see without looking down was his beautiful chest and strong shoulders. He was so fit and strong. She was feeling shy suddenly. It had been a long time since she’d seen a naked man. It had been a long time since she’d been hopeful about sex. Fortunately, he pulled her into his arms so quickly, she didn’t have to struggle with her awkwardness. His lips on hers gave her confidence.
He stared at her, however. “Oh God, you’re perfect,” he said, running his hands down her sides, brushing over her breasts and down her rib cage and over her hips. “This has been so crazy, this friendship,” he said. “I’ve told myself to be careful, to not come on too strong, but every time we said goodbye, I missed you. I thought about you all the time we’ve been apart.” He fell on her gently, holding his weight off her. He kissed her deeply and she could feel the strength of him pushing at the apex of her thighs. “And soft. And so long,” he added, running his hand as far as he could down her legs.
All her height was in her legs, she knew that. But Beau had quite a huge erection there. The way he was pressing at her and kissing her, she was quickly filled with urgency, but she slowed herself down, taking the time to touch him. She ran her hands down his arms, his back, his hips. She wound her legs around his; she could match him for length. His skin was soft and smooth, his hands a little rough. His hands felt so good on her breasts, on her hips. But his mouth was amazing, kissing her in a way that seemed like they’d been kissing for years.
