“Can the children stay with their parents?” Ophélie ached thinking about them. She couldn't even imagine Pip homeless on the streets at her age, and many of them were younger, or even born there. It was a tragedy of our age, but as she listened, Ophélie was glad she had come. It had been the right choice for her, and she was grateful to Blake for suggesting it. She was excited about coming to work at Wexler.
“The kids can only stay with their parents, or parent, as the case may be, if they're accepted into a longterm family shelter, or some kind of safe house, like for abused mothers and kids. They can't stay out on the street, the minute the cops see them they take them into protective services and foster them out. It's no life for a kid on the streets. A quarter of our population dies on the street every year, from weather, disease, accident, trauma, violence. A kid wouldn't survive half as long as an adult. They're better off in foster homes,” which seemed sad to Ophélie too. “Do you have any idea what hours you'd like to work? Days? Nights? Probably days, if you're a single mother with a kid in school.” The term “single mother” hit her like a punch in the solar plexus. She had never thought of herself that way, but she was now, much as she hated it.
“I'm available from nine to three every day. I don't know… maybe two or three days a week?” It seemed like a lot, even to her, but she had nothing else to do, and far too much time on her hands. She could only spend so much time in the park with Mousse. This might give some purpose to her days, and do someone else some good. She liked that idea.
“What I like to do with volunteers,” Louise said honestly, flipping one of her braids back over her shoulder, “is give them a good honest look at us first. No frills. The real thing. You can spend a few days with us, and see how you feel. If you think it's what you're looking for and what you want to do. And after that, if we both think it's a match, we train you for a week, two at the most, depending on which area appeals to you, and then we put you to work. Hard, hard work,” she warned, and meant it. “Nobody here messes around. The full-time staff works a twelvehour day most of the time, sometimes more if we have some kind of crisis, and we often do. Even the volunteers work their asses off while they're here.” She grinned. “How does that sound to you?”
“Terrific, actually.” Ophélie smiled back at her, suddenly hopeful. “It sounds like just what I need. I just hope I'm what you need.”
“We'll see.” Louise stood up and smiled broadly. “I'm not trying to scare you off, Ophélie. I just want to be honest. I don't want you to get the impression that it's easier than it is. We have a lot of fun here, but some of what we do is just plain awful, dirty, depressing, grueling, dangerous, exhausting. You may go home feeling great some days, or cry yourself to sleep other days. We see just about everything there is to see on the streets. And I don't know if you'd be interested, but we have an outreach program too.”
“What do they do?” Ophélie was intrigued.
“They drive around in two vans that were donated to us, and they look for people on the streets, people who are too sick, mentally or physically, in body and spirit, to come to us. So we go to them. We take them food, clothing, medical supplies, if they're too sick, we try and get them into a hospital, or a program, or a shelter. There are a lot of people out there who are too disoriented to make it here. No matter how accessible we try to make ourselves, there are some people out there who are too scared, or broken, or disenfranchised to reach out. We have at least one outreach van on the street every night to find them. Two vans if we can staff them. They go to the clients who need us most of all. The ones who can get to us here are at least thinking a little more clearly and on their feet. Some of the people out there are actually doing okay, but they need help and may be too scared to try and get it. They don't trust us, even though they may have heard about us. Sometimes all we do on the streets at night is sit and talk to them. And personally, I always try to get the runaways off the streets. But a lot of what they're running away from is worse than what they run into on the streets. There's some pretty ugly stuff that goes on in this world. We see most of it, or the results of it, every day, particularly at night. The days are a little more tame. But that's why we go out there at night, that's when they need us most.”
“It sounds like fairly dangerous work,” Ophélie said sensibly. She didn't think she should risk that because of Pip. Besides, she wanted to be home at night with her.
“It is dangerous. We go out around seven or eight o'clock at night, and we stay out late, doing whatever needs to be done. They've had a few close calls. But so far, none of our outreach staff have gotten hurt. They're pretty aware of what goes on on the streets.”
“Are they armed?” Ophélie asked, impressed. These were brave people, doing miraculous work.
Louise laughed and shook her head. “Only with their heads and hearts. You have to want to be out there. Don't ask me why or how, but personally, deep in your heart and gut, it has to be worth the risk. You don't need to worry about that. There's plenty you can do for us here at the house.” Ophélie nodded, the street work sounded dangerous to her. Too much so for a single mother, as Louise put it, solely responsible for a child. “When do you want to start?”
Ophélie thought about it for a moment. Her time was her own, and she didn't have to pick up Pip till after three o'clock. “Whenever you like. My time is free.”
“How about now? You can give Miriam a hand at the desk. She can introduce you to people as they come in and out, and she can explain a lot of what happens here. How does that sound?”
“Great.” Ophélie was excited as she followed Louise back to the front desk, and Louise explained to Miriam what she had in mind. The woman with the gray hair looked thrilled.
“Boy, can I use your help today.” She beamed. “I've got a stack of filing back here, all our caseworkers dumped everything on my desk last night. They do that every time I go home!” There were files, case folders, brochures about programs and other shelters that they kept in reference files. There was a mountain of stuff. More than enough to keep Ophélie busy until three o'clock, and for days after that.
She hardly stopped all day, and it seemed like every five minutes, someone came either in or out, and always passed the desk. They needed reference material, caseload information, referral numbers, documents, entry forms for intake clients, or sometimes they just stopped to say hi. And Miriam introduced Ophélie to staff members every chance they got. They were an interesting-looking group of people, mostly young, although there were a number of them who were as old as, or older than, Ophélie. And just before she left, two young men came in, who looked different from all the rest, and between them a slight young Hispanic woman. Miriam smiled the moment she saw them. One of the men was African American, and the other was Asian. Both were handsome, young, and tall.
“Here come our Top Gun guys, or at least that's what I call them.” And then she turned to them with a broad grin. It was obvious that she liked them. And Ophélie was struck by the fact that the young woman was unusually pretty, she looked like a model. But when she turned her head, Ophélie could see that she had a nasty scar that ran the length of her face. “What are you guys doing here so early?”
“We came to check out one of the vans, we had trouble with it last night. And we need to load some stuff for tonight.” Miriam introduced her to them then as a new volunteer checking them out. “Give her to us,” the Asian man said with a grin. “We're a man short since Aggie left.” Aggie didn't sound like a man to her, but all three of them were open and friendly to Ophélie. The Asian man's name was Bob, the African American was Jefferson, and the Hispanic girl's name was Milagra, but the two men called her Millie. They left after a few minutes, and went behind the building to the garage where the vans were kept.
“What do they do?” Ophélie asked with interest as she went back to work at the file cabinets behind Miriam's desk.
“That's our outreach team. They're heroes around here. They're all a little crazy, and a lot wil
d. They're out there every night, five nights a week. We have a weekend crew that takes over when they're not here. But these guys are incredible. All of them. I went out with them once, it damn near broke my heart…and scared me to death.” Her eyes were filled with affection and respect.
“Isn't it dangerous for a woman to go with them?” Ophélie looked impressed. They seemed like heroes to her too.
“Millie knows her stuff. She's an ex-cop. She's on permanent disability, she got shot in the chest and lost a lung, but she's as tough as the guys. She's a martial arts expert. Millie can take care of herself, and the guys.”
“Is that how she got the scar, doing police work?” Ophélie asked with growing respect for all of them. They were the bravest people she'd ever met, and the most caring. And the Hispanic woman was remarkably beautiful, in spite of the scar. But Ophélie was curious about her now.
“No, she got that as a kid. Child abuse. Her father. He cut her when she defended herself when he tried to rape her. I think she was eleven.” A lot of them had stories like that, but it shocked Ophélie to realize that Milagra had been the same age as Pip when it happened. “Maybe that's why she went into the department.”
It was an amazing day for Ophélie. And throughout the day, homeless people of varying sizes, ages, and genders came in to take showers, have a meal, sleep, or just get off the streets and shuffle around the lobby for a while. Some of them looked remarkably coherent and responsible, and even clean, and others looked confused and had glazed eyes. A few were obviously inebriated, and one or two looked like they were on drugs. The Wexler Center was extremely generous in their criteria for admission. No one could use alcohol or drugs on the premises, but if they were in less-than-ideal condition when they got there, they were still allowed to stay.
Ophélie's head was reeling by the time she left and promised to be back the next day. She could hardly wait to come back, and she told Pip all about it on their way back to the house after school. Pip was understandably impressed, not only by what she heard of the Center, but by the fact that her mother had gone there and wanted to volunteer.
She told Matt all about it when he called that afternoon. Ophélie was upstairs having a shower, she felt filthy after working at the Center all day, and she was starving when she came downstairs with her hair in a towel. She hadn't even stopped for lunch. Pip was still talking to Matt on the phone.
“Matt says hi,” Pip said, and then went on speaking to him as Ophélie made herself a sandwich. In the past few weeks, her appetite had improved.
“Say hi to him too,” Ophélie said, taking a bite of her sandwich.
“He thinks you're very cool for what you're doing,” Pip transmitted, and then told him all about the sculpture project she was doing in art. And she had volunteered to help with the layouts of the yearbook too. She loved talking to him, although it wasn't as good as sitting with him on the beach. But more than anything, she didn't want to lose touch, and neither did he. And then finally, she handed her mother the phone.
“It sounds like you're up to some interesting doings,” he said admiringly. “What's it like?” Matt asked her.
“Scary, exciting, wonderful, smelly, touching, sad. I love it. The people who work there are terrific, and the ones who come to the shelter for help are really nice.”
“You're an amazing woman. I'm impressed.” And he meant it. She had impressed him from the first.
“Don't be. All I did was file papers, and look lost. I have no idea what I'm doing, or if they'll want me by the end of the week.” She had promised them three days, and had two left. But so far, she loved it.
“They'll want you. Just don't do anything dangerous, or put yourself at risk. You can't afford to, with Pip.”
“Believe me, I know.” The fact that Louise Anderson had referred to her as a single mother had made the point, uncomfortably so. “So, how's the beach?”
“Absolutely dead without the two of you,” he said sadly. Although the weather had been terrific in the two days since they left. It was hot and sunny and there were bright blue skies every day. September was one of the warmest months at the beach, and Ophélie was sorry not to be there, as was Pip. “I was thinking of coming in this weekend to see you, if that suits you, unless you'd rather come out here.”
“I have a feeling Pip has soccer practice on Saturday morning… maybe we could come out Sunday…”
“Why don't I come in? If that works for you, I don't want to intrude.”
“You won't be intruding. Pip will be thrilled. And I'd love to see you too,” she said, sounding enthusiastic. She was in a great mood, despite her long day. Being at the Center had been invigorating for her.
“I'll take you both out to dinner. Ask Pip where she'd like to go, and you can tell me all about your work. I'm dying to hear about it.”
“I don't think I'm going to be doing anything important. They have to train me for a week, and then I guess I'll just be a spare pair of hands for anyone who needs them. Mostly referrals and phones. But at least it's something.” It was better than sitting in Chad's room, crying at home. And he knew that too.
“I'll come in around five on Saturday. See you then.”
“Thanks again, Matt,” she said, and handed the phone back to Pip so she could say good-bye to him. And then Ophélie went upstairs to read some material they'd given her at the Center. Articles, studies, data about homelessness, and the Center. It was fascinating and heart-wrenching stuff.
And as Ophélie lay on her bed, in a pink cashmere robe, with clean sheets under her, she couldn't help thinking how lucky they were. Their house was large and comfortable and beautiful, filled with antiques Ted had insisted she buy. The rooms were sunny, the colors bright. Their bedroom was done in bright yellow-flowered chintz, and Pip's room was done in pale pink silk, it was a dream for a little girl. Chad had had a typical teenage boy's room, in dark blue plaids. There was a study for Ted in brown leather, which she never went into anymore, and a small sitting room off her bedroom in pale blue and yellow watered silk. And downstairs there was a large, inviting living room filled with English antiques, with a big fireplace, a formal dining room, and a den. The kitchen was state of the art, or had been when they remodeled the house five years before. And in the basement, there was a large playroom with a billiards table and a Ping-Pong table, video games, and a maid's room they'd never used. There was a small pretty garden out back, and the front of the house was a dignified stone facade, with manicured trees in big stone pots on either side of the front door, and a trimmed hedge. It had been Ted's dream house, and never hers. But there was no question, it was beautiful, and light-years away from the agony of the people who went to the Wexler Center, or even worked there. As Ophélie sat staring into space, Pip appeared in the doorway and looked at her.
“Are you okay, Mom?” She had that same glazed look she'd had for the entire year before, and Pip was worried about her.
“I'm fine. I was just thinking how fortunate we are. There are people out there on the streets who never sleep in a bed, who have no bathroom, can't shower, are hungry, and have no one to love them and nowhere to go. It's hard to imagine, Pip. They're only a few miles away from here, and they might as well be somewhere in the third world.”
“It's so sad, Mom.” Pip looked at her with big eyes, but she was relieved that nothing was wrong with her mom. She was always afraid her mother would slip back into the dark depths of despair, and she didn't want her to go there again.
“Yes, it is, sweetheart.”
Ophélie made dinner for them that night. There were lamb chops, which she burned a little, and they each ate one. Neither of them was a big eater, but she thought she should make an effort at least to improve their diet. She made a salad, and warmed tinned carrots, which Pip said were disgusting. She said she preferred corn.
“I'll keep it in mind.” Ophélie smiled at her.
And that night, without even asking, Pip went to sleep in her mother's bed. When the alarm went
off in the morning, they both hurried to shower, dress, and have breakfast. Ophélie looked excited as she dropped Pip off at school, and headed for work at the Wexler Center. It was exactly what she had wanted, and what she needed. For the first time in years, there was a purpose to her life.
14
THE REST OF THE WEEK FLEW BY FOR BOTH OF THEM, AS Pip settled into school, and Ophélie tried out at the Wexler Center. And by Friday afternoon, there was no doubt in her mind, or anyone else's. She was ready to volunteer three days a week, and they wanted her.
She was going to work Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, and the following week they were going to train her, by having her follow various staff members for several hours each. She had to give them a medical certificate, showing that she was in good health, and clear a criminal check, which they said they'd take care of for her. They fingerprinted her on Friday before she left. And they needed two personal references as well. Andrea said she would supply one, and Ophélie called her attorney and asked him to send the second. Everything was all set. She wasn't sure yet exactly what she'd be doing for them, it sounded like an assortment of everything, helping whoever needed a spare pair of hands on the days she was in. They were also going to train her to do intakes. She still felt relatively inadequate, but she was more than willing to learn. And she had gotten a glowing recommendation from Miriam at the end of the week. Ophélie thanked her warmly as she left.
“Well, I made the grade,” Ophélie said proudly when she picked Pip up at school on Friday afternoon. “They want me as a volunteer at Wexler.” She was truly pleased. It gave her a sense of accomplishment and being needed, and maybe even making some small difference in the world.
“That's cool, Mom! Wait till we tell Matt tomorrow!” He had offered to watch Pip play soccer, but she said she'd rather he came another time to see a game. Saturday was just going to be a practice and their first day. She was small and delicate, but she was also fast, and played well. She had been playing for two years as part of her PE requirement at school. And she liked it a lot better than ballet.
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