by Teagan Kade
She leans against the counter. “On the contrary, I find it incredibly sexy, would take off your pants and go to town right here and now if I didn’t think it was somehow important you keep going.”
“They’ll be fifteen minutes in the oven.”
She presses up to me from behind, her body warm and soft against my back, hands snaking around my waist. “And that’s all you need? Fifteen minutes?” She looks past me into the mixing bowl. “My god. You baking for an army?”
“I may have miscalculated.”
“Can I give out the extras with the sandwiches tomorrow?”
My mood, precarious as it is, swings in the opposite direction. I place the last doughball down and pull away from her to find a fork in the cutlery drawer, my frustration growing when I can’t find one. “I don’t think it’s a good idea you going down there anymore.”
“Not this again, Phoenix. I told you—”
“You’re risking serious trouble, Heather. It’s a bad idea.”
I see the irritation my words cause, and it only makes me angrier.
I slam the drawer shut. “Where’s a fucking fork when you need one?”
She passes me one from the dishwashing rack, holding it firm when I go to pull it away. “I’m not going to bite, Phoenix. I know this has nothing to do with sandwiches, or the stupid mayor. It’s about basketball, isn’t it? You’re still deciding.”
I don’t think I’ve ever known someone to read me so well. It’s disconcerting, makes me even more uncomfortable.
She lets the fork go and approaches me, reaching out. “You don’t have to do what everyone else wants you to do. You should choose the path that will make you happiest. Forget about your father, your brothers, your agent, even me. Do what’s right for you.”
Something snaps in my head. “Fuck. It’s not that easy. What do you think is going to happen in this magical fairytale land? You think I’m going to give it up so we can what? Work together in a kitchen, live in poverty just to do the right thing?” I sneer at her. “You know how it sounds right?”
Funny thing is, I know I’m being unreasonable, coming across as the world’s biggest asshole, but I want a fight. I want the distraction.
“You’re being unfair. I know you’re angry, but—”
“You know nothing,” I snap, pointing at her with the fork and my right brain, all the emotion and pain taking over completely.
“Where’s this coming from? Because it’s not you.”
“How would you know? You said yourself. We’re worlds apart, aren’t we? You couldn’t even begin to conceive what it’s like to roll out there every weekend with a smile on your face looking like you love the one thing in the world you’ve come to hate. It’s fucking soul-destroying.”
She looks close to tears, eyes glossy and wet, but I can’t stop. I’ve gone too far. I know it, but I can’t rein myself back in.
I can see her holding back the hurt, but when she speaks, she’s calm and patient. “Like I said, do what makes you happy, Phoenix, not what I or anyone else wants you to do.”
“You’re talking like a broken record.”
She comes forward. “I just want to help.”
I don’t know why, but I push her aside, slamming the fork down on the kitchen counter. “I need some fucking air.”
“Phoenix!” she pleads, but I’m already walking away.
As soon as I close the front door behind myself, I’m filled with regret. I know I should turn around and backpedal as fast as I can, but the will isn’t there. I’m tired and exhausted and sick to high heaven of trying to please everyone. I know what Heather is saying is right, but it doesn’t make the decision any easier.
Fuck it.
I walk away back to the car, getting in and slamming the driver’s door closed, forehead pressed to the cold leather of the steering wheel.
I’ve never felt this divided or so unsure of myself, and right when Heather comes along and seems to change everything. I might not be sure of what’s happening in the rest of my life but it’s clear I want her to be part of it.
So why are you moping down here in your car?
A valid question.
I look out the window, consider once more going back up and doing my best to explain.
I decide to wait until morning, starting the ignition and pulling away.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
HEATHER
I find Tina, the dining hall manager, in her office at the back of the kitchen. I tap on the window.
She waves me in and directs me to the sole chair. “Take a seat, hon.”
I shouldn’t be this nervous handing in my notice, but it somehow feels like I’m betraying this place, letting them down.
Tina puts down what she’s doing. “What’s on your mind?”
I place the letter I wrote up this morning on her desk. “My notice.”
Tina doesn’t move to pick it up, smiling instead. The lines on her face say a lot. She’s lived more than one life. “I figured as much, hear you’re getting that soup kitchen up and running again.”
“In a few weeks, actually. It’s going to be all-new, three times bigger than the last. There’s a lot of prep work to get through first, though, which is why…” I gesture to my notice. “So, you’ve got me for two more weeks, I guess. Sorry.”
“Eh,” she says, waving her hand in the air, “don’t worry about it, and don’t worry about the two weeks either. I’ve had a bunch of students knocking down my door about part-time employment.”
“Really?”
“You go do what you need to do. I wish you well. I really do.” She looks around. “You’re far too good for this place. Just promise me one thing.”
“Anything.”
“You’ll watch that King boy. Don’t let him go breaking your heart, hon, ’cause I’m sure he’s got a pocketful of them already.”
There’s a physical pain at the thought of Phoenix, a blunt object digging around inside my chest, but I refuse to let it sidetrack me. “I will.”
Tina extends her hand over the desk. “I’ve always thought you could handle yourself anyway.”
I take it and shake. “You bet, and thank you.”
“Pleasure. Now get out of here before I change my mind.”
I stand. “Yes, ma’am.”
I’m feather light as I exit the dining room, practically skipping my way outside. I didn’t expect to be freed so soon. I’m excited to get started on the soup kitchen, but I also need a distraction after the argument with Phoenix the other night, as one-sided as it was. The last thing I want to do is go home and have that on my mind.
I call Gordy instead.
He answers as he always does. “Yes, my girl. How can I be of assistance?”
“Actually,” I tell him, “how can I be of assistance?”
“I’m not sure I follow. Don’t you have a shift?”
“I got off early, thought I’d come around and help out. That is, if you need my help.”
He laughs. “You know me. I’ll take whatever I can get.”
*
Gordy has somehow managed to maneuver himself under the kitchen sink, all that remains of him is legs. His voice comes muffled from the deep. “You got that wrench?”
I hand it over, can hear him working on the pipes and struggling with the effort of it.
“How’s that King kid working out for you?”
I lean against the counter looking at a photo of Gordy and I up on the windowsill. It was my seventeenth birthday and he decided to take us to this crappy theme park in Jackson County. It was my first time on a Ferris wheel. I was panicking the whole time thinking we were going to fall.
I snap out of it. “He’s, ah, a little stubborn, I guess,” realizing that’s not really the right word. “Confused, maybe.”
“About you? He’s a damn fool then,” says Gordy, straining as he works. Handyman stuff like this is not his strong suit.
“It’s not me, or at least I don’t think it is.
”
“Whatever it is,” continues Gordy, “he should be treating you like a gosh-darn goddess. I won’t accept anything else.”
“He’s having a hard time. There’s a lot of pressure on him, and he did get the soup kitchen rolling again. Do you know how much money that auction raised? It’s going to be incredible.”
“Yeah, yeah, he’s a saint, but he hasn’t walked in your shoes.” He hands the wrench back. “I think that will do it.”
Suddenly, water blasts from under the sink, Gordy’s legs kicking around on the floor like he’s being defibrillated.
“Wrench! Wrench!” he shouts.
I hand it back, copping a face full of water in the process and trying not to laugh.
With a grrrr the water slowly subsides, and Gordy’s legs relax, but the kitchen’s a mess.
“Pull me out,” he says.
I take his legs and slowly drag him out onto the kitchen floor. He’s soaked, the hair he does have left is plastered to his forehead.
“There are easier ways to take a shower, you know. I could have grabbed the garden hose—”
“Enough, you,” he laughs, folding his arms over his chest. “And yeah, I should have called someone. You were right, yadda, yadda, yadda.”
“I always am,” I smile back, head high. “What’s next, and please don’t tell me it involves anything like fixing the roof or replacing the alternator. Wet is one thing, but a hospital trip is quite another.”
With a grunt he pushes himself up off the floor, teetering there before me. “Yeah, yeah. You’re relived.”
I pick up my backpack. “It’s been fun, Gordy.”
He reaches for a nearby cloth, toweling off his face and neck. “Watch that boy, H.”
I roll my eyes. “So people keep telling me. I can handle him just fine.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I,” I wink, waving as I head towards the front door. “No more DIY, got it?” I shout.
“Oh, I think I’m quite done for the day, maybe the decade,” comes the reply.
I’m smiling as I leave, but it slips when my thoughts wander to Phoenix. They blast through my head in a kaleidoscope of our dates, helping me out in the kitchen, baking, the sex… God damn, the sex. I quiver there on the spot thinking of the heat of his hands against my skin, the perfect way he pressed inside me, unrelenting until all I could see were stars. It’s almost enough to forgive his recent sins.
Almost.
Get a handle on yourself, Heather, I warn. People are counting on you.
Priorities refocused, I make it home and prep another batch of sandwiches, box up the leftover cookies and dump it all into the back of the car, nodding once in satisfaction before I close it and head off.
*
There’s light rain as I unload the car near the bridge. It’s cold out and people start to emerge wearing blankets, holey jackets, old Jack wearing a work sock as a beanie—whatever’s on hand. It’s not a fashion show down here. It’s survival.
And it’s not even winter, I think.
It’s odd being here without Phoenix, but as I hand out the sandwiches and cookies, I start to smile again with the knowledge at least the new and improved soup kitchen will be running soon. That’ll be a hell of a lot better for everyone around here.
“Looking good, Heather.”
I hand the old man in front of me a sandwich. “Thanks, Knobby. How you doing?”
Knobby’s been here as long as I can remember, once had a penchant for getting his you-know-what out. He’s a bit more subdued these days, used to panhandle around town until the authorities sent him packing.
He smiles and I don’t think he has a tooth left. “Eh, you know the life of a bum. Keeping warm and keeping fed. That’s about all there is to it.”
“I remember,” I say, and I do. It’s hard to describe to someone what it’s like having an empty belly for a week if they’ve never experienced it themselves. It eats at you, that hunger, turns you into something less than human.
“Where’s that strapping young man of yours, hey? You shouldn’t be out here alone.”
It’s really turning into déjà vu day. Most people down here have stopped asking about him, but Knobby’s got the memory of a goldfish these days.
“Oh, he’s busy picking out a pro basketball team. Going to be quite the star.”
Knobby chews on his gums. “I used to whirl and twirl the skinsack myself, even snuck in to see the Harlem Globetrotters.”
“I bet you were real good,” I smile.
“You know much about it, basketball?”
I shake my head. “I know you throw a ball through a hoop and that’s about it.”
“That’s about it!” shouts Knobby, far too loud for normal conversation and doing a jig on the spot. “That’s about it!” he repeats. “Girl, you’ve got a lot to learn.” He gets close, whispering. “It’s a gentleman’s game, physical chess.” He pretends to put up a shot. “You’ve got to have all the moves.”
With that hip-shaking I bet Knobby had some moves back in the day.
He goes off daydreaming while I shake my head, reaching into the box for another sandwich when I see a patrol car snaking its way down the road.
It parks and I prepare to wave to Teddy, but he’s not alone.
Teddy’s there all right, but so are two others with buzzcuts and a look on their face that says this is no social visit.
Shit.
The homeless scatter. I place the box down as the cops approach, the two newbies muscling in front of Teddy, a wall before me. Even the aviators are cliché.
The one of the left talks first. “Ma’am, do you know what you’re doing here is illegal?”
I notice the one of the right has his hand on his weapon, Teddy looking like he wishes the ground would open up and swallow him whole.
I fold my arms and try to remain calm. “I don’t believe it is, officer.”
Teddy tries to step forward, but he’s blocked. “Why don’t we hand out a little warning here and be on our way, boys. Lunch is on me.”
They ignore him, the left one stepping over and looking into the box. “This food in here?”
“It ain’t gold,” I reply.
The officer smiles at that. I see myself in the mirror-like lens of his sunglasses, I look kind of badass, actually.
That’s shafted fast when the officer raises his foot and stomps down into the box repeatedly, squashing the twenty or so sandwiches left.
By reflex I go to push him away. “Hey!” I shout. “That’s good food there. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
I see the officer on the right move, the left one continuing to slam his foot down, crushing everything until the box is flat and broken, what’s left of the sandwiches completely unusable.
I go to shove him again but this time the officer on the left takes out his gun, taking a defensive stance with the thing pointed right at my chest. “Back, now!” he shouts.
I put my hands up and step backwards, Teddy leaping between us with his hands out. “Whoa, whoa. Let’s not let this get out of hand.”
“Step aside,” says the officer. “She’s coming with us.”
I keep my hands raised, trying to look at Teddy for what to do, but he seems as clueless and powerless as I am.
I do my best to steady myself while the second officer takes out his cuffs and reaches for my arm, twisting it around behind my back and slamming me over the trunk of my car.
“Easy now,” pleads Teddy, definite panic in his voice.
“I’ll remind you the Supreme Court ruled feeding the needed is protected under the First Amendment. I have a right to be here,” I tell them, but the only reply I’m receiving is a Miranda warning.
I grimace as the cuffs are pulled tight into place, my shoulder blades pressed awkwardly together. There’s no use arguing with these boneheads, even with Teddy here.
The cop with his gun raised leans right over to my ear. “I don’t like your attitu
de, miss. I don’t like it one damn bit.”
Teddy’s still trying to intervene. “I think she gets the picture. Why don’t we let her go and we can kick back? What do you say? You really want the paperwork? It’s going to be a shitshow.”
The cop behind me yanks me so hard away from the trunk my arms are almost pulled from their sockets. “Hey!” I shout.
I notice the people I’ve come to feed have started to surround us, more and more of them coming over in a silent mass.
Now both cops have their weapons drawn.
This is going bad—fast.
I’ve got to do something.
Teddy’s pleading away, but even he looks scared. It’s three against sixty or more. One shot and…
Think, Heather.
“It’s okay,” I tell the homeless. “I’ll be fine. I know you want to help, but it’s fine,” I repeat. “Let them do their jobs. I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”
“Listen to her,” says the cop leading me to the patrol car, his gun waving from person to person. “Don’t give me a reason.”
Slowly, they back away, their hollow eyes watching closely as I’m pressed into the back of the patrol car, the door slammed closed and nothing but a cage in front of me.
You did the right thing, I tell myself. I could have argued, whipped them into a frenzy, sure, but I don’t want their blood on my hands. These people have been through enough.
So, I let them take me.
It’s all I can do.
CHAPTER TWENTY
PHOENIX
Nolan jumps over the back of the couch, landing beside me and taking the remote. “What’s got you so down in the dumps?” He notices what I’m watching. “Is this fucking Jersey Shore? You’ll get cancer watching that shit.” He changes the channel to hockey. “Better.”
I couldn’t care less, was barely paying attention until he arrived.
“But seriously,” he continues. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you brooding around the place. It’s like I’ve got a wet mop for a brother.”
We both continue to stare at the TV.
“Can’t say I’ve seen you ’round much,” I say.
“Don’t you worry about me. I’m doing fine, baby.”
