by Pat Simmons
“Mind if I inspect the contents?” Officer Clark eyed his suitcase.
Landon huffed. He was in no position to demand a warrant. He preferred not to witness the humiliation of someone rummaging through his designer briefs, so he diverted his attention to the brick house. It was a nice starter home for a couple, but the all-white kitchen—cabinets, floor, walls—would definitely need updating if he could afford to buy it, which he couldn’t.
Someday, he would get back on his feet—someday, Landon kept reminding himself. Once the officer seemed satisfied with invading his privacy, he snapped the suitcase shut.
As he continued to wait, neighbors stood on their porches to get a preview of what might be on the five o’clock news. Landon was glad to disappoint them. The hottie reappeared and nodded to the police that everything was okay. He cringed after the officer unfastened his handcuffs. He rubbed his wrists, then picked up his tattered suitcase.
Directing him toward her car, the woman got in with such finesse as Landon squeezed his frame into the passenger side for a destination unknown. Adjusting his seat, Landon stretched his legs and refrained from sighing at the feel of her leather seats. When was the last time he had been in a car? He missed the comfort of his silver Corvette, which a loan company had repossessed and another driver was enjoying. Landon had only been four months behind. He was making partial payments with his unemployment checks while he was job hunting. People just didn’t cut a guy slack anymore.
I gave you grace, God whispered as if He was tapping him on the shoulder.
He frowned. Grace had not kept him from living on the streets, he thought as his rescuer ordered him to click his seatbelt.
Inserting her Bluetooth in her ear, the woman answered a call and eyed him. “Ah, I’m with Landon,” she said as if she was on a covert mission and he was her cargo. “I already did.” She disconnected, apparently without any concern about his intentions. They definitely needed to talk about female safety measures when encountering strangers, then he thought about her hit to his gut. She could take care of her own.
Landon frowned. “Two questions.”
“Two answers,” she said as she pulled into traffic.
“Who are you?”
She laughed, and the sound was melodious. Taking her right hand off the wheel, she extended it for him to shake. “Octavia Winston. Nice to see you again. It’s been a while.”
How long was a while? Landon frequented three soup kitchens. Gateway 180 offered brown bag lunches seven days a week during business hours. Karen House served cold sandwiches all day and hot lunches Monday, Wednesday and Friday at 12:30. If somehow, he found himself near downtown Clayton, which was upscale, he had until three o’clock to get something to eat at the Bread Company’s Care Community Cafe.
Accepting her hand, Landon immediately admired her long fingers and their softness. When he didn’t release it right away, she snatched it back. He frowned. “And where are we going, Octavia?”
“Church. I’m glad you don’t have a problem with that.” She wasn’t giving him an option as she kept her eyes on the road.
Suddenly, Landon felt like gagging on her perfume and bolting from the moving vehicle. “Ah, as a matter of fact, I do.” He avoided church whenever possible, even those that sponsored soup kitchens. Church had not been a good fit with his past lifestyle. Landon had been preached to and counseled his entire life. He knew scriptures he didn’t want to know and couldn’t shake.
When Octavia blasted the radio, Landon was relieved it wasn’t gospel music. Coming from a family of musicians, he could play most songs by ear, but he was tired of playing church—inside and outside. Been there and done that. He was free, but destitute.
He eyed Octavia again. Who was this fearless woman who seemed relaxed with a stranger in her car? He could be a felon—or worse, a rapist. “You know, you really shouldn’t pick up strangers.”
“Yeah. I’m thinking the same thing, too.” She tapped a finger on the steering wheel. “But I have mace.”
Great. He was being kidnapped by a crazy woman. Now it was time to pray, he thought as he looked out the window from inside the air-conditioned car. It might be hot and humid outside, but at least he had a choice in where he roamed, which was in the opposite direction of a church where he had failed God, himself and four others who needed him.
***
Octavia regulated her breathing to come off as confident in her actions and not crazy to give a man who she knew nothing about a ride…and to church of all places!
God was definitely working in mysterious ways. As soon as Octavia saw the vagabond’s face, he seemed familiar, then his name rolled off her tongue as if she really knew the man. She didn’t. That’s when God brought the two instances she had seen Landon to mind. Both times, God instructed her to pray for him. She had without giving much thought to it. Plus, Landon had never exchanged more than a “thank you” with her. Octavia knew his name after overhearing another man say it and she thought it was different.
Do not be afraid. Jesus’ voice was soothing and reassuring as the police was about to take Landon into custody. Take him with you.
Octavia relaxed at first, but had almost choked on air when the Lord whispered the last part. Once she was in the house to secure the property, she questioned God.
You are serving My purpose. He’s My lost sheep. I will perfect the work I began in Landon until the day I return, God said, quoting Philippians 1:6.
And what did that have to do with her? Octavia needed more time for clarification to God’s purpose, but she didn’t think the officers and Landon would appreciate standing in the hot sun while she had an impromptu prayer meeting, so she had to take God at His Word. Plus, Landon hadn’t committed a crime—well, besides breaking and entering.
She wished God had let her in on His plan before she had hysterically texted her broker who rented her office space and who acted like Octavia’s mother hen; Octavia’s mother had been deceased for years, but Terri Mack was barely six years older than her.
Now, Octavia’s feigned calm demeanor had Terri frantic and flustered as she rambled off crime stats. She would deal with her friend later about the perception that all homeless people were unstable.
“I’m harmless,” Landon broke into her reverie as if he were picking up on her uncertainty. Maybe the gnawing on her lip gloss was the giveaway.
Believe him, God spoke.
Octavia’s amusement was a sham as she put on a brave persona. “And I’m a safe driver. You believe that?” she teased as she jammed on her brakes at a stop sign.
This time, she laughed in earnest. The snapshot of dread on Landon’s face was priceless—the payback for him scaring her. He braced his large hands pushed against the dashboard as his tall frame seemed to prepare for impact. It was comical. Octavia was an attentive driver—no tickets to date. Of course she wasn’t usually as distracted as she was at the present.
Landon was a minor distraction. She didn’t have to stare at his long nose, hazel eyes, and unkempt facial hair to mask the man’s handsomeness. His skin seemed so flawless; razor bumps probably had second thoughts about making an appearance. Even his wrinkled clothes made a fashion statement—he looked like a male model on a runway.
Now his scent was another matter. He didn’t have a pungent odor, which was saying a lot in this humid weather, but there was definitely a residue of perspiration.
She knew every family, man and woman had a story that had shattered their world and plummeted them into the underground world of homelessness. If it weren’t for the grace of God, it could have been her seeking refuge. Despite Landon’s current fate, she respected his privacy, but that didn’t stop her from wondering about the circumstances that caused his misfortune. “Hungry?”
He frowned. “Never ask a displaced person or a man if he’s hungry.”
The more he talked, the more Octavia liked his slight dialect and his sense of humor. She nodded. “Good point.” When was the last time Landon had a h
ot meal besides in a soup kitchen? She checked the time and made a detour.
When she pulled into Applebee’s parking lot, Landon faced her, merriment dancing in his eyes. “Nice church.”
“Don’t get too happy. We have exactly an hour and twenty minutes—and don’t even think about jumping ship. God always has a tracking device on our whereabouts—physically and spiritually.”
“With a beautiful dining companion and a mouth-watering steak—never.” Landon hurried out the car as if he was about to stampede the restaurant, but slowed his stride to assist her out the car.
“Thank you.” Octavia could never get enough of chivalry. He fell in step with her, but as they got closer to the entrance, his steps quickened, so he could open the door for her.
She might as well take advantage of the treatment as long as she could. She was single with no prospects insight. Like any other woman, Octavia wanted to be loved, wooed and married sooner rather than much later. The holdup was God sending her a Christian man to fulfill the desires of her heart.
Chapter 3
The lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes….Landon had heard that phrase beat over his head since he was a teenager. He hadn’t listened then, but he was trying now to use restraint. Landon exhaled as he tore his eyes away from the view that Octavia was probably oblivious to giving him. She was shapely and had nice legs. Where was the man, husband or significant other that set his woman free like this?
It’s the pride of life that keeps you from coming to Me, Jesus said, whispering 1 John 2:16.
Landon grunted as a dispute of God’s verdict. He was an outcast. He had nothing—no family, friends, job, food, shelter. His self-worth seemed like all he had left.
Consider the birds in the air. I feed them, I shelter them, I protect them. God whispered Matthew 6:26 to him.
“Hey, are you all right?” Octavia placed a hand on his wrist. Her voice was soft.
He had operated on autopilot, opening the door to the restaurant, but not seeing his surroundings. “Sure,” he recovered.
“Don’t be nervous about your clothes. I’ll ask for a booth up front, okay?” she whispered.
She thought his distraction was about his attire? Her own beauty was the distraction. “Thanks.” At the moment, he was hungry and didn’t care how he looked.
That wasn’t the case a year earlier. Landon had an expensive lifestyle and the money and women to stroke his ego. He always dressed appropriately for any occasion. Landon had been groomed for better than this. It seemed as if every day he was losing a little bit of himself along the way with every sock or shirt that was somehow misplaced.
Yet, Landon was optimistic. He was a survivor, and this too shall pass. He knew his family was praying for him. To them, he was the prodigal son, brother, grandson, cousin and other titles he didn’t want to think about. If anyone could get a prayer through, his maternal Miller clan could.
“It’s a ten-minute wait,” Octavia informed him after speaking with the hostess. “I’m running to the ladies’ room. Be right back.” She began to strut away before spinning on her heels. “Oh, and don’t be a fool and leave without a good hot meal.” She lifted her brow, then gave him a point blank expression. “And you don’t come across as a fool.” She sashayed away.
How quickly she was summing him up, but Octavia had no idea that he called the shots—except when he was hungry.
He took a seat in the lobby across from a couple giving him a curious stare. He ignored them in the same way he had been dismissed many times on the streets when he asked for spare change. It was humiliating and humbling. That had been a sight to see: Landon Thomas begging—a scenario that his estranged family would probably enjoy, recalling the last family gathering where he had been called a fool to his face.
Landon had been summoned to his maternal grandparents’ home in Roxbury, a neighborhood of Boston, not far from Dudley Station.
“You’re a disgrace to this family. If any child could’ve been switched at birth, you’re the leading candidate,” said Moses Miller, the patriarch of the clan. Landon had stared at the older and darker version of himself. His grandfather’s hair was no longer gray, but white.
With a calm demeanor and from the comfort of a worn oversized recliner, Moses had rebuked him with such venom that Landon had been caught off guard. He had never seen the seventy-eight-year-old elder so angry as he shook his head. He twisted his mouth as if he was trying to discharge a nasty taste.
No one came to his defense. His parents, aunts, uncles, cousins all seemed to watch with interest. Not one to let anyone see him sweat, Landon was about to take advantage of the pause when his grandfather’s tirade continued.
“Landon Thomas, this family—your family—can no longer excuse or support your bad decisions. You were born with a good name, and you’re not even thirty-two and you’ve managed to ruin it!” He pounded his fist on the arm rest. “How many demons are you going to allow to feast off of you?”
“Grandpa, even God said to forgive seven times seventy. I’ve tried to live right, but the temptation is too great… He knows I’m weaker.” Others could pretend they were living holy, if they wanted to, but Landon planned to be true to himself. He stuffed his hands in his designer pants. He was tired of playing church. He knew the scriptures as well as any other family member.
Moses waved his arthritic hand at him. “Enough. ‘What shall we say then? Shall we continue in sin that grace may abound? May it never be! We who died in sin, how could we live in it any longer?’ If you don’t believe me, pick up your Bible that has your name engraved on the cover. Flip to Romans six…”
There was no need for him to do that. Landon was just exercising his free will. Longevity ran in his family. He had time to serve God, but as Shakespeare said, “To thine own self be true.” Landon had done everything in his power not to groan. He made six digits, had a luxury car, condo and money in the bank. All his physical and financial needs were met.
“Grandson, a few days ago God spoke to me. You can’t imagine how surprised I was when He revealed to me that you hadn’t backslid yet—despite the trail of mess you stirred—but you were in process. That’s a warning, Landon. I advise you to take heed.”
That meeting had been more than a year ago and since then, God had taken away his livelihood and possessions as a way of punishing him.
“Our table is ready.” Octavia reappeared with a smile, so he tucked away the past and allowed her to lead the way.
This time he kept his eyes off Octavia’s backside. Sleeping around wasn’t on his priority list. As true to her word, the hostess seated them close to the door and handed them a menu.
Landon’s stomach growled as he eyed the steak selections longer than he intended. What he wouldn’t give for a medium rare sirloin steak, but he wasn’t about to take advantage of Octavia’s kindness. He forced his eyes about from the images as he closed the menu. Landon sighed, “A burger and fries.” Beggars couldn’t be choosy, could they? And he definitely was that. He considered himself a social drinker, but he certainly could use a strong drink at the moment. “And a Sprite,” he told their server when he arrived at their table.
Octavia was watching him as she closed her menu, too. The way she was staring at him, it was as if she was glimpsing into his soul. “Come on, let’s celebrate. Let’s do a nine-ounce sirloin with a baked potato and vegetable medley, and two salads,” she paused. “Unless you really want a burger and fries…then I guess…”
“I would like that,” he said softly as the server revised his order and left them alone again. Over the past months, people’s kindness humbled Landon, and so had the begging, but with Octavia, Landon left different. There was more to this chance meeting than he thought. Somehow, Octavia was in tune with him and he didn’t know what to do about it.
With loving kindness have I drawn thee. I have loved thee with an everlasting love. God whispered Jeremiah 31:3.
“So, what are we celebrating?”
Octavi
a dazzled him with a smile as she studied him. “I’ll think of something in a minute.” She folded her hands. “So Landon, tell me about yourself.”
“I’m thirty-three; lost my job when my company downsized. When I couldn’t meet my obligations, I decided I needed a change to start over.” Landon gave the standard answers and, amazingly, they weren’t lies.
“I detect a dialect. New York?”
“Boston.”
“Ah.” She grinned. “I can see you wanting to relocate to a warmer climate, especially after that season of record snow fall.”
“Yep, I was on my way to Texas when I had a series of mishaps…” Landon wasn’t about to tell her that he had planned on relocating to Texas or California. With the balance of his savings and cashing out the last chunk of his 401(k) that he hadn’t used to pay judgments against him, Landon left Beantown with only three thousand dollars.
A plane ride was out of reach, so he boarded Amtrak, since Greyhound was out of the question—at first. Months earlier, he was on a Greyhound bus and with a lengthy layover in St. Louis, Landon had wandered downtown and stumbled on the building that housed Fleishman Hillard. At one time, the company was the second-ranking public relations company in the United States. It had a stellar record of accomplishments, including producing award-winning commercials for Anheuser-Bush. Plus, the company gave birth to many of the unique advertising blitzes that everyone in the industry wanted to copy.
When Landon returned to the station, he had missed his bus. That mishap hadn’t fazed him as he thought about the opportunity to work in his field again. Then reality set in that he was stranded without the bulk of his clothes. The people at Greyhound said they would have it shipped back as soon as they could.
