by Lois Richer
Ty had lost too much not to fear.
He couldn’t afford to lose any more.
Tomorrow he’d begin formulating a new set of rules for the Haven. It was the only way he knew to combat the worry and fear that filled him.
What about God? a voice inside his heart asked.
God? Where was God when those soldiers—He slammed the door shut.
It wouldn’t be as bad if they had some rules. A few. To keep things safe.
He hoped.
Chapter Six
Cassidy almost groaned at the series of neon-orange signs littering the hallway walls Monday morning. Twenty-five new rules.
“Good morning.”
It had been.
“Morning.”
“I see you’ve noticed our rules.”
“Hard not to.” She sidestepped Ty, hustled downstairs to get the coffee on. She needed a large cup—extra strong—before she opened her mouth again.
“I thought perhaps you wouldn’t bother coming in today.”
Cassidy twisted her head to frown at him.
“Why would you think that?”
“Well, with the storm and everything. I’m not sure the delivery trucks will be able to get through the drifts.” The blue cashmere sweater did good things for his eyes.
“Uh-huh.” Cassidy concentrated on measuring the grounds, poured in the water and inhaled deeply as the first fragrant drops filtered through.
Ty lounged in the doorway as if waiting for congratulations. But she refused to utter one word until coffee had percolated through her brain and taken off the edge.
“Did you have a good day off yesterday?”
“Fine.” Visiting with her sister’s two hyper kids always drained her. But Cassidy loved their lack of inhibitions, envied the freedom they enjoyed. What she hadn’t enjoyed was her sister’s news about their father.
“Is something wrong?”
“Why?” She kept her back to him, poured a dollop of cream in her mug, tapped the side of the coffeepot as if that would hurry it. Don’t say a word.
“Because you’re doing it again.”
“Again?” She did turn then, scowled at him. “Doing what?”
“Fiddling. Fidgeting. Trying your best not to look at me.”
“Oh.” Unable to wait a moment longer, Cassidy slid her cup under the dripping spout while she poured from the half-full carafe and filled her cup. With the carafe back in place she took a swig of the fresh brew and closed her eyes, waiting for it to rein in her temper.
Her determination to stifle her criticism cracked. She set the cup down as gently as possible, then turned to face him.
“What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing.” Ty frowned, glancing down at his clothes as if they were the problem.
But then maybe they were. Maybe his need for control was an attempt to keep himself clean, to make sure nothing negative or distasteful touched his antiseptic world.
After a moment he seemed to realize he’d missed the point.
“I think I’m going to need one of those, too.” He poured himself a cup, walked to a stool and perched on the top. Once seated he studied her with a pensive glance.
“You look like you want to hit me. Unclench your fingers and tell me what I’ve done wrong now.”
“What are those hideous signs?”
“Ground rules for the Haven.”
“No running.” Cassidy shook her head. “What is this, kindergarten?”
“With all the snow, the floors get wet and with that tile—” He held his palms up. “It gets slippery.”
“No pets?” She slapped her hands on her hips and squeezed, trying to temper her anger. “Are you telling me someone actually brought an animal inside this shelter?”
“Not yet but—”
“Lights out at eleven o’clock?”
His face actually brightened. “That’s for when we get the beds open. So that everyone will know what time—What?”
“If we finally get someone in the door, I doubt they’ll stay after reading your rules.”
“We have to have some rules, Cassidy. You must recognize that.”
“Of course. But do we have to plaster them all over the walls? This place is supposed to welcome people and when I walked in and got smacked in the face with all those ‘do nots’ I nearly turned around and left.” She took another drink. “And I work here!”
“You never approve of anything I do.” He picked up his cup and headed for the door, hurt by her disapproval.
“Not true. I understand that everyone has to abide by a set of regulations or we’ll have chaos. But can’t we put the rules for sleeping here in the area where they belong? And could we forget some of the others until needs arise?”
His face stiffened; anger glinted from the blue irises.
“It’s too bad Elizabeth didn’t hire you to run this place. You seem to know exactly how it should be done.”
Cassidy wished she’d stayed home.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“When you first came here I had the impression you could hardly wait to get out. Now suddenly you’re involving yourself in all aspects of the Haven.”
Which were none of her business.
Cassidy got the point, but she couldn’t let it go.
“This place, the people who come here—they’re not simply people to feed.” She struggled to clarify for herself as much as for him. “When I first came here they were all nameless, faceless people, but now there’s Mac and Irina and Red and Jack.” You.
“And you want to do your best for them.”
“I want to do more than that. When a homeless woman or man sits down at the table, I want them to experience a meal they won’t forget. I want them to enjoy it, to relax, to find—”
“Hope?”
Cassidy nodded, surprised he’d tapped into her dream so well.
“It’s like this is my restaurant and I don’t want anyone having a bad experience here.”
“You don’t think they’ll have that experience if the signs are up.”
“I think anyone who reads all those rules will be so preoccupied with not breaking them their experience here will be ruined.”
She held her breath, waiting for his anger.
“I didn’t realize you were so passionate about this place.”
“I didn’t, either, until I realized I could be feeding my sisters, my nieces, anyone who needs a hand up.”
“Working with you is always one step forward, two steps back.” Ty dragged a hand through his hair, his face rueful.
“Not exactly a compliment.” She wrinkled her nose.
Ty huffed a laugh. He rinsed out his cup and set it in the wash-up area before facing her.
“There’s no way around having some rules, Cassidy. But I’ll try to make my signs a little less off-putting.” He thrust out his hand. “Friends?”
“Yes.” She shook it, knowing how much it cost him to backtrack. But Cassidy didn’t have time to dwell on that because the heat of his fingers against her skin left her breathless. It took every ounce of willpower to back away from his touch.
“No free time for me this morning.” Ty sighed.
“Now might not be the best time to ask this, but since I’ve already stepped on your toes, can you tell me what you have planned for Jack’s birthday?”
Ty gulped like a guppy searching for air.
“Birthday?” He glanced at his watch, closed his eyes. “I completely forgot.”
“The only reason I’m asking is because I heard some of the gang members talking and—” She hesitated, but Ty had to know. “It sounded like they might be planning something.”
“Something?” He tilted one eyebrow.
“They clammed up when they realized I was listening.”
“I see.”
Cassidy knew he was thinking about his rules. Fear followed Ty around like a child, constantly tugging at him. She didn’t understand why,
but figured that, like her, he probably had something in his past that caused it.
“Let me help, please, Ty. If we put our heads together we can surely come up with something a kid Jack’s age would like. And maybe we can cut the gang off before they do something regrettable.”
“I don’t—”
“Good morning.” Irina’s arrival cut off all conversation.
After greeting her and agreeing that he had time to meet with her in the afternoon, Ty left the kitchen.
“He is such a kind man,” Irina said as she peeled potatoes. “I have done many things wrong, but Ty never laughs at me. He just keeps teaching me how to understand my husband.”
“I’m glad you’re getting help, Irina.”
“Ty helps me understand. Listen.”
As Irina repeated what she’d learned in her sessions, Cassidy applied the information to the situation she’d endured with her father.
She found few answers.
“For so long I did not understand how my husband could hurt me and then become loving and kind.” Irina’s face brimmed with sadness. “That is why I let it continue. I kept hoping he would go back to being the man I’d married. I know now that will not happen.”
Cassidy wanted to encourage the woman to talk, but she didn’t want to pry so she worked silently, listening.
But her bitterness wouldn’t melt.
“Ty says it’s very hard when the abuser is usually so kind and gentle. For a little while everything seems fine, but it isn’t. We are all waiting for the explosion.”
Cassidy flashed back to her home when she was six and she wanted a bicycle. They didn’t have enough money for a new one, but one day her father had come home with a damaged one that he repaired. Only with the vantage point of time did she realize how patient he’d been with her, how careful with his restoration.
She’d enjoyed the bright red bike for two glorious days before he’d flown into a rage and smashed it beyond repair for something she’d done wrong. Could that be why she preferred not to attach herself to anything—because someone might take it?
“Ty says I am not helping when I try to smooth things over. He says that I—hmm, what is the word?—enable my husband.” Irina used the knife to emphasize her words. “Like I am saying it is okay for him to be violent and mean. It is not okay.”
“No, it isn’t.” Cassidy couldn’t recall how her mother had handled her father’s temper.
Some things were best forgotten.
“I have thought a lot about what Ty says. It helps me understand many things. But I still have one question.”
Cassidy had a hundred. First on the list, how could a man hurt the very ones who loved him most? Who trusted him to keep them safe?
“I want to know why he does it. What caused my husband to become this—monster?”
When you find out, let me know.
“I hope Ty can help you.”
“He will.” Irina paused for a moment, her face serious, eyes pensive. “He is a sad man, is he not? Ty, I mean.”
“Sad?”
“He carries it with him like a shawl—no, I mean a shroud. Sometimes I feel so badly for always bothering him when I know he has many problems of his own.”
“Ty is here because he wants to help,” Cassidy said, amazed by Irina’s accurate description of their director. “That’s why he came.”
Irina’s soft smile intrigued her.
“He calls me at home sometimes.”
“Really?” Cassidy struggled to hide her surprise.
“He pretends it is to ask me a question about one of the children.” Irina’s voice dropped. “He is checking to make sure I am not hurt. Ty does not think I should stay in my home.”
“Where are you supposed to go?” For a man who hadn’t wanted to talk to Irina, Ty was certainly getting involved in her life.
“Ty says that if I and the children stay in our home, my husband must not. That he must get help before someone gets hurt. But I do not think I can leave.” The last part came out on a whisper. Then Irina said no more.
Later that afternoon Cassidy saw her return to the Haven, swathed in a wool shawl, covered in white flakes. Her counseling session must be very important if Irina was willing to walk to the Haven through so much snow.
Cassidy was putting the finishing touches on the evening meal when Ty walked into the kitchen.
“I’m opening up beds for tonight.” He smiled at her start of surprise. “While you’ve been busy cooking these past weeks, I’ve been organizing your friends’ donations. Davis and company should be here in twenty minutes to help me set up the rooms.”
“Great.” So he and Davis were in contact. Cassidy wondered if they’d discussed her, told herself not to be silly. They’d probably talked about football or some other sports subject men shared in the depths of winter.
“Could we get some cereal and milk to serve in the morning? You don’t have to come in. I’ll be here all night anyway so I can slip down and get things ready.”
“I can do it. No problem.” She studied him. “You certainly work fast.”
“What can I say? You’re my inspiration. I couldn’t sit around watching.”
She blushed. “What about Jack? Where will he stay tonight?”
“Here. There’s a small room off my office that I’ve prepared for him.”
“Oh.” Cassidy could imagine the boy’s irritation at not sleeping in his own bed. “Are you going to supervise every night?”
“No. Elizabeth’s setting up a rotation of people.”
“Irina’s been telling me some of what you two talk about. You certainly have a knack for asking the right questions. She’s thinking about what you said.”
“Good.” Ty didn’t seem encouraged by her words. He leaned against a support post and gnawed on his bottom lip, his gaze fixed on some distant point.
“Something wrong?”
“I don’t know.”
Concerned by his pallor, Cassidy poured two mugs of hot chocolate from the carafes she’d made for the evening and beckoned him to pull up a stool at her worktop.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s not wrong—exactly. It’s—unexpected.”
Cassidy passed him a plate of cookies, waited.
“Irina’s been talking to some of her neighbors.”
“She’s a big fan of yours.” Cassidy frowned when Ty squeezed his fingers into fists and pressed them against his thighs.
“She’s sent them to see me.” His voice dropped to a murmur. “To talk to me.”
“That’s nice.”
“No, it isn’t. I can’t talk to them, Cassidy.” He hunched over the table, hands cupped around the mug as if he was seeking protection.
“But you’re a psychologist. Talking is what you do, Ty.” Her gentle reminder seemed to infuriate him.
“Was. It was what I did.” He tossed her a stormy glare.
Cassidy wrapped one hand over his and discovered it was shaking. Shock made her hang on, thread her fingers into his. Ty looked so—helpless.
Before she could ask for an explanation, a loud crack from the street outside shattered the silence. Ty’s head jerked right, toward the sound. He bolted upright, knocking over the mug of chocolate. As the brown stain pooled across the table his eyes glazed. He sucked in soft huffs of air in rapid succession, as if he’d been running, yet his chest didn’t move. His hand squeezed around hers, crushing it.
“Ty?”
He didn’t respond. Cassidy tugged on her hand, but he would not release it.
“Let go, Ty.” She yanked hard, unable to quash her own fear, though she knew he would never deliberately hurt her. “Ty!”
He came back slowly, his blue eyes a bemused slurry of confusion.
“Yes?”
“What’s wrong with you?”
“I’m fine. Did I do that?” He used the chocolate mess as an excuse to avoid her scrutiny, grabbing a cloth and mopping it up with a slowness that irritated.
<
br /> “You’re not fine. I want—”
“Hey, cookies. Can I have one?” Jack dropped his backpack on the counter and stretched out a gangly arm to snare three. “Any more of that—to drink?” He glanced from the smeared brown mess to Ty.
“Sure, but you’ll probably spoil your dinner.” Cassidy poured another cup, set it in front of him.
“Thanks.” Jack’s grin teased her. “When have you ever known me not to eat dinner?”
“Good point.” Though she loved listening to Jack’s after-school banter, Cassidy couldn’t shelve her concern about Ty.
“Jack, we’re going to be staying here tonight.” He’d finally finished his cleaning. “You won’t need anything from the house, will you?”
Jack’s face turned from beaming to bitter.
“You said I could have Boe over tonight.”
“He could come here. Only him though. Till nine. Try to keep it down, will you? I don’t want the place noisy when I’m trying to get people settled.”
“Settled?” Jack frowned. “What people?”
“It’s supposed to get very cold tonight. I thought this would be a good time to make the Haven live up to its name.” Ty cocked his head toward the booming voice from upstairs. “That’s Davis. Want to help us make beds?”
“No.”
“Suit yourself. See you later.” Ty left.
Jack glared after him a minute before turning to Cassidy. “Would you have time to read over my English assignment?”
“I’d love to, Jack. If there’s time after dinner. I have to get breakfast ready, too.”
Jack surged to his feet, eyes seething with temper.
“Never mind. I don’t want to be a bother to anyone.”
“It’s not like that, Jack, and you know it. This is my job. I have responsibilities.”
“Yeah. So does he.” He jerked his head upward. “Worthy jobs that I should understand, right? Fine. I’ll call Boe and we’ll amuse ourselves. Maybe Red can come, too.”
“Ty said just Boe,” she reminded.
Jack rolled his eyes.
“He’s got a lot of people counting on him. Keeping this place running, trying to raise you—it can’t be easy.”
