“I can't wait to see it!” She smiled, and got off the phone a few minutes later. They had no plans to see each other again at the moment, but she knew he was there if she needed him, and that gave her an immeasurable feeling of love and support from him. It was what she needed from him.
Ophélie was feeling forlorn about the group and cooking dinner that night when the doorbell rang. She looked startled, and couldn't imagine who it was. They weren't expecting anyone, she knew Matt wasn't in town, and Andrea never came by without calling first. All she could imagine was that it was a delivery of some kind, or maybe Andrea had decided to stop by unannounced. And when she opened the door, Ophélie saw a tall, bald man standing there, wearing glasses, and she didn't recognize him at first. It took her a full minute to place the face. His name was Jeremy Atcheson, and he had been a member of the group that had ended only that afternoon. Away from the group, his face didn't register at first, and then it quickly did.
“Yes?” she said, looking blank, as he peered over her shoulder into the silent house. And then she realized who he was. He seemed nervous as he stood facing her, and she couldn't imagine what he was doing there. He was one of those faceless people who spoke infrequently, and in her opinion had always contributed less than the rest. She had never had any particular affinity for him, and she couldn't remember ever speaking to him, in or out of group.
“Hi, Ophélie,” he said, as sweat broke out on his upper lip, and she had the distinct impression that she could smell liquor on his breath. “May I come in?” He smiled nervously, but it struck her as more of a leer. And she realized, as she looked more closely, that he seemed somewhat disheveled and unsteady on his feet.
“I'm cooking dinner,” she said awkwardly, unable to figure out what he wanted. But she knew he had her address from the group list they'd distributed that day so those who wanted to could stay in touch.
“That's great,” he said boldly with an unpleasant grin, “I haven't eaten yet. What's for dinner?” Her jaw nearly dropped at his presumptuousness, and for a minute, he looked like he was going to just walk in, as she started slowly closing the door and narrowing the gap through which he could enter. She had no intention of inviting him in. She sensed something unpleasant about to happen, and wanted to avoid it at all cost.
“I'm sorry, Jeremy. I've got to go. My daughter's starving, and a friend of mine is coming by in a few minutes.” She started to close the door, and he stopped it with a hand, and she realized instantly that he was faster and stronger than she'd expected. She wasn't sure whether to kick him, or scream. But there was no one in the house to help her but Pip. And the “friend coming by” was one she had made up to discourage him. It was, in every way, an unpleasant scene, and a violation of the respect that had been fostered in the group.
“What's your hurry?” he said, leering at her, wanting to push past her, but not quite daring to do it. Fortunately, the liquor he had obviously consumed was slowing him down. But as he stood facing her, only inches from her, she could smell the fumes. “Got a date?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I do.” And he's six feet ten, and a karate expert, she wanted to add, but she couldn't come up with anyone scary enough, or fast enough, to stop him. And as she realized the situation she was in, she was frightened.
“No, you don't,” he called her on it. “You kept saying in group that you don't want to date, and never will. I thought maybe we could have dinner together, and you might change your mind.” It had been a ridiculous thing for him to do, and rude beyond words. Besides which, he was frightening her, and she wasn't sure how to handle it. She hadn't faced a situation like this since she'd married Ted. There had been a couple of drunks in her college dorm once, and they had scared her to death until the floor monitor saw them and had security throw them out. But there was no floor monitor to rescue her now, only Pip.
“It was nice of you to come by,” Ophélie said politely, wondering if she could muster enough force to slam the door on him, although she realized that it might break his arm. “But you're going to have to leave.”
“No, I'm not. And you don't want me to. Do you, sweetheart? What are you afraid of? The group is over, we can date anyone we want now. Or are you just scared of men? Are you a dyke?” He was drunker than she had thought at first, and suddenly she realized that she was in real danger. If he got into the house, he might hurt her or Pip. Knowing that gave her the strength she needed, and without warning, using her full force, she shoved him backward with one hand, and slammed the door with the other, as Mousse appeared at the top of the stairs and began to bark as he came bounding toward her. He had no idea what was happening, but something told him it was not good, and he was right. She was shaking as she slipped the chain on the door, and she could hear him cursing her from the other side and shouting obscenities at her. “You fucking bitch! You think you're too good for me, don't you?” She stood on the other side of the door, shaking in her shoes, and feeling more frightened and vulnerable than she had in years. She remembered suddenly that he had come to the group because of the death of his twin brother, and he couldn't seem to get past his anger over it. His brother had been killed by a hit-and-run driver. When she paid attention to him in the group, which had been rare, she had the feeling that he had come unglued over his twin's death, and adding booze to it hadn't helped. She had the distinct impression that if he'd gotten into her house, he might have done something terrible to her or Pip.
And not knowing what else to do, she did exactly what Pip had done earlier, and went to the phone and called Matt. She told him what had happened, and asked him if he thought she should call the police.
“Is he still out there?” He sounded upset by what he'd heard.
“No, I heard him drive off while I was dialing.”
“Then you're probably okay, but I would call the leader of the group. Maybe he can call and say something to him. He was probably just drunk, but that's a pretty rotten thing to do. He sounds like a lunatic.” Or worse, a rapist. But he didn't want to scare her.
“He's just a drunk, but he scared the hell out of me. I was afraid if he got in, he might hurt Pip.”
“Or you. For heaven's sake, don't open the door to strangers like that.” She suddenly seemed so vulnerable and unprotected to him. She was capable certainly, as she had proven during the rescue of the boy at sea, but she was also beautiful and living alone with a little girl. It brought home the risks of her situation not only to her, but to him as well. “Have the group leader read this guy the riot act, tell him next time you'll call the police and have him arrested for stalking you. And if he comes back tonight, call the police immediately, and then call me. I can sleep on the couch if you're worried about it, I don't mind coming in.”
“No,” she said, sounding calmer again, “I'm okay. It was just weird, and scary for a minute. He must have been having strange ideas about me the whole time we were in group. That's an unpleasant feeling, to say the least.”
Being single again was hard enough, but having people like Jeremy trying to push their way into her house was more than a little unsettling. Her vulnerability now was one of the evils of her situation, but all she could do was be careful about it, and aware, now that it had happened. She knew she couldn't expect Matt to be her bodyguard, or anyone else for that matter. She had to learn to deal with things like that herself. She was sorrier than ever that group was over. She would have liked to discuss how to handle things like that with them. Instead, she thanked Matt for his sympathy and concern and good advice, and as soon as she hung up, she called Blake Thompson, and he was deeply upset about it too.
He promised to call Jeremy the next day, when he sobered up, and talk straight to him about not only violating the sacred trust of the group, but being abusive about it. And she sounded calm again when Matt called to check on her after dinner. She hadn't said anything more to Pip because she didn't want to frighten her. She had reassured her that the man was harmless and it meant nothing, which was prob
ably true. Ophélie was convinced it was an isolated incident, but it had rattled her nonetheless. But even Pip was relieved to see her looking more engaged again during dinner, and by the next morning, she seemed fine when she left the house to drive Pip to school, and go to work at the Wexler Center.
Blake called her there later that morning, and he told Ophélie that he had spoken to Jeremy and said there would be a restraining order taken out against him if he went near her again. He said Jeremy had cried over it, and admitted he'd gone straight to a bar when the group ended and had been drinking all afternoon right up until he appeared on her doorstep. He was going to have some private therapy sessions with Blake, and he had asked Blake to apologize to her. Blake said he felt confident it wouldn't happen again, but it had been a good lesson to her to be cautious and wary of strangers, even those she knew slightly. There was a whole new world out there, waiting for her, full of evils she had never encountered before, as a married woman. It was not a cheering thought.
She thanked Blake for handling it, and went back to work, and forgot about it. And when she went home that afternoon, there was a letter of apology from Jeremy on her doorstep. He assured her he wouldn't bother her again. Apparently, they all had their own ways of dealing with the destabilizing effect of losing the support of the group. His had just been scarier than most. But it showed her that she wasn't the only one depressed and shaken up by it. It was a major adjustment, and a loss of sorts, to no longer have the group. Now she had to go out in the world, as they all did, and try to use what she'd learned.
As soon as Ophélie set foot in the Center, she forgot her own troubles. She was so busy until three o'clock, she hardly had time to breathe. She loved what she was doing, and everything she was learning. She did two intakes that day. One a couple with two children, who had come from Omaha, and lost everything. They didn't have enough to eat, live, pay rent, take care of the kids, and both husband and wife had lost their jobs. They had no one to turn to, but were valiantly trying to get on their feet, and the Center did everything they could to help, including get them on food stamps, signed up for unemployment, and the kids enrolled in school. They were due to move into a permanent shelter within a week, and it looked as though, with the Center's help, they were going to be able to keep their kids with them, no small feat. It nearly brought Ophélie to tears, as she listened to them, and talked to the little girl, who was exactly Pip's age. It was hard to imagine how people reached that point, but it reminded her again of how lucky she and Pip were. Imagine if Ted had died and left them homeless on top of it. It defied thinking.
The second intake Ophélie did was a mother and daughter. The mother was in her late thirties and alcoholic, the daughter was seventeen and on drugs. The daughter had been having seizures, either as a result of drug use, or for some other reason, and they had been on the streets together for two years. Things were complicated further by the daughter's admission to Ophélie that she was four months pregnant. None of it happy stuff. And Miriam and one of the professional caseworkers stepped in to get them both into rehab, with medical benefits, and prenatal care for the daughter. They were out of the Center and in another facility by that night, and on the way to rehab by morning.
By the end of the week, Ophélie felt as though her head was spinning, but she loved it. She had never felt as useful in her life, or as humble. She was seeing and learning things that were hard to even imagine until you saw and heard them. A dozen times a day she wanted to put her head down and cry, but she knew she couldn't. You couldn't let on to the clients how tragic you thought their situation was, or how hopeless. Most of the time, it was hard to imagine their ever getting out of their desperate situations, but some did. And whether they did or not, like the others at the Center, she was there to do everything she could to help them. She was so moved by everything she was experiencing that her biggest regret, when she went home at night, was that she couldn't tell Ted about it. She liked to believe that he would have been fascinated by it. Instead, she shared as much as seemed reasonable with Pip, without frightening her unduly. Some of the stories were too depressing, or fairly hairy. A homeless man had died on their doorstep that week, on his way into the Center, of alcoholism, kidney failure, and malnutrition. But she didn't tell Pip about him either.
By Friday afternoon, it was clear to Ophélie that she had made the right decision. And that opinion was strongly reinforced by her advisers, those who directed her, and her co-workers. She was obviously going to be an asset to the Center, and she felt as though, for the first time in a year, she had found some purpose and direction that was fruitful.
She was just about to leave when Jeff Mannix of the outreach team breezed past her, and stopped to grab a cup of coffee.
“How's it going? Busy week?” he asked with a grin.
“Seems like it to me. I don't have anything to compare it to, but if it gets any busier around here, we may have to lock the doors so we don't get trampled.”
“Sounds about right.” He smiled at her, taking a sip of the steaming coffee. He had come by to check their provisions, they were adding some new medical and hygiene supplies to their usual offerings. Most of the time, he didn't come to work till six o'clock, and usually stayed on the streets until three or four in the morning. And it was easy to see that he loved what he was doing.
They both talked for a minute about the man who had died on the doorstep on Wednesday. Ophélie was still shaken by it.
“I hate to say it, but I see that out there so often, it no longer surprises me. I can't tell you how many guys I try to wake up, and when I turn them over… they're gone. Not just men, women too.” But there were far fewer women on the streets. Women were more likely to go to the shelters, although Ophélie had heard horror stories about that too. Two of the female intakes she had done that week had told her that they'd been raped at shelters, which was apparently not unusual. “You think you'll get used to it,” he said somberly, “but you never do.” And then he looked at her appraisingly. He'd been hearing good things about her all week. “So when are you coming out with us? You've worked with everyone else around here. I hear you're a whiz with intakes and provisioning. But you ain't seen nothing yet till you come out with Bob, Millie, and me. Or is that a little too real for you?” It was a challenge to her, and he meant it to be. As much as he respected his co-workers, he and the others on the outreach team felt as though theirs was the most important work the Center did. They were at greater risk, and provided more hands-on care in a night than the Center itself did in a week. And he thought Ophélie should see that too.
“I'm not sure how helpful I'd be,” Ophélie said honestly. “I'm pretty cowardly. I hear you guys are the heroes around here. I'd probably be too scared to get out of the van.”
“Yeah, maybe for about five minutes. After that you forget, and you just do what you have to do. You look pretty ballsy to me.” There was a rumor around that she had money, no one knew it for sure, but her shoes looked expensive, her clothes were too neat and clean and fit too well, and her address was in Pacific Heights. But she seemed to work as hard as anyone else, harder according to Louise. “What are you doing tonight?” he pressed her, and she felt both pushed and intrigued. “You gotta date?” he asked fairly bluntly, but as aggressive as he was, she liked him. He was young and clean and strong, and he cared desperately about what he did. Someone had told her he'd nearly been stabbed once on the streets, but he went right back out there the next day. Foolhardy probably, but she thought admirable too. He was willing to risk his life for what he did.
“I don't date,” she said simply. “I have a little girl, I'll be home with her. I promised to take her to a movie.” They had no other plans that weekend, except Pip's first soccer game the next day.
“Take her tomorrow. I want you to come out with us. Millie and I were talking about it last night. You should see it, at least once. You'll never be the same once you do.”
“Particularly if I get hurt,” she said bluntly,
“or killed. I'm all my daughter has in the world.”
“That's not good,” he said, frowning. “Sounds like you need a little more in your life, Opie.” He found her name pretty but impossible to pronounce, and had teased her about it when he met her. “Come on, we'll keep an eye on you. How about it?”
“I don't have anyone to leave her with,” Ophélie said thoughtfully, tempted, but scared too. His challenge was difficult to resist.
“At eleven?” He rolled his eyes, and his vast ivory grin lit up the deep brown face. He was a beautiful man, and roughly six feet five. He was the ex–Navy SEAL. He'd been a Navy commando for nine years. “Shit, at her age, I was taking care of all five of my brothers, and haulin' my mama's ass out of jail every week. She was a prostitute.” It sounded stereotypical, but it was real, and what he didn't tell her but she had heard from others was what a remarkable human being he was, and the family of siblings he had raised. One of his brothers had gone to Princeton on a scholarship, another had gotten into Yale. Both were lawyers, his youngest brother was studying to be a doctor, yet another was a lobbyist, speaking out on inner-city violence, and the fifth had four kids of his own and was running for Congress. Jeff was an extraordinary man, and fiercely persuasive. Ophélie was seriously considering going out on the streets with them, although she had sworn she never would. It seemed far too dangerous to her. “Come on, Mama… give us a chance. You ain't never gonna wanna sit behind that desk again, after you been out with us! We're what's happening around here… and why we all do this work. We leave at six-thirty. Be here.” It was more a command than an invitation, and she said she'd see what she could do. She was still thinking about it, half an hour later, when she picked Pip up at school. And she was quiet on the way home.
“You okay, Mom?” Pip asked, with the usual concern, but Ophélie reassured her that she was. And as Pip looked her over, she decided to agree. Pip knew most of the danger signs now of her mother taking a bad turn. She just looked distracted this time, but not depressed, or disconnected. “What did you do today at the Center?”
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