Hope loved the sound of the children’s laughter. Too many of them had little to laugh about before coming with their mothers to the shelter. Several had been living on the streets; others had been on the run from an abusive relative.
Hope waved at their greetings and headed down the hall for her office. “Have you seen Kiss?” she asked the woman with the cornrows, who was mopping the hall.
“She the new girl at lunch?”
“Yes.”
“She lyin’ on her bed.”
“Could you please tell her I’d like to talk with her?”
“Sure ’nough.”
Hope set her briefcase down behind her desk and checked the list of messages. She had three calls to return, and Roger had left the day’s mail stacked in the middle of the desk calendar.
She sat down and started going through the mail. Five credit card offers! The days were gone when she could just toss them in the trash. Now she had to shred them to protect herself from identity theft. What was the world coming to?
She swiveled her chair around toward the window and smiled at the blown-glass hummingbird suspended by a piece of fishing line from the top of the window frame. She leaned forward and tapped it with her finger. Refracted dots—every color of the rainbow—bounced against her walls and made her smile. Roger. Wise, wonderful Roger. He was constantly looking for things to make her smile. What would I do without you? She thought to go find him, but just then the office door was pushed open and Kiss came in.
“You wanted me?”
“Yes, please come sit over here so we can talk.” Hope indicated the chair closest to her desk.
Kiss perched on the edge of the chair. She looked more than ever like a lost waif now, dressed in a denim skirt and scoop-neck T-shirt striped in various shades of red. Without all that makeup, she appeared to be the picture of innocence.
“Thanks for coming.”
“Did I have a choice?”
“Here at J House, you always have a choice,” Hope assured her.
“Yeah.” Kiss looked away, her gaze taking in the colored dots hitting the walls and ceiling. One thumb worried the other on her clasped hands.
Hope tapped the hummingbird again. “Pretty, isn’t it? My husband gave it to me to make me smile.” She got a pencil and dug out from under the mail the admission form she’d started earlier. “I really do need to get some information from you.”
“Why?”
“Government regs. We have to follow certain procedures.”
Kiss shook her head, her soft hair swaying with the small action. “Why bother? I’m not staying.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Can you tell me why?” Hope kept her voice soft and gentle, as though she were taming a wild creature.
“Because if he finds me here—”
“Who? King? Are you afraid he might try to hurt you?”
Kiss rolled her eyes. “Well, duh.”
“I understand,” Hope said. Kiss’s expression said she didn’t believe her. “No. I do. Really.” Should I tell her why? No. She probably wouldn’t believe me anyway. “Let’s forget about him for a moment and just talk. Where are you from?”
“You mean now or—?”
“Before you hit the streets.”
“Kansas.” Kiss stared at the moving dots. “Forever ago.”
“Do your parents know where you are?”
She shook her head, again that soft curtain of swaying hair, innocence in motion.
“You can call them if you want.” Hope put her hand on the phone. “Right now, or anytime you feel like it.”
Kiss made a face and shook her head. “Nah, my mom, she’s glad I’m gone.”
Ah, little one, I have serious doubts about that. Try another tack. “Have you thought about what you want to do with the rest of your life?”
“Not really.” Kiss’s shrug carried the weight of dreams never born.
“We can fix that.” Hope kept her voice soft and conversational, when inside she was screaming, Let us help you. Please, Kiss, let us help. If lost wore a face, Kiss could be a poster child.
“Have you ever been arrested?” It was all Hope could do not to get up, give the girl a hug, and promise her a new life.
A nod. “But they let me off.”
Hope filled in a few of the form’s blanks. “What was the charge?”
“Trickin’. What do you s’pose? The cops rounded up a bunch of us.”
“The mayors way of cleaning up the streets?”
“Yeah, picked up a couple of homeless women, too.”
Hope nodded. “You know, Kiss, you’re welcome to stay here, but we do have rules. You will need to stay clean and sober, take part in group, and do your share of chores.”
“Like you think I’m a druggie?” She had a should-I-trust-you look written all over her face.
“Aren’t you?”
Kiss shook her head. “No! I tried it once, but I didn’t like it.”
One of the lucky ones. Why does she stay with him if she’s not hooked? “What about booze?”
“Some. You can stop with the questions. I’m not stayin’.”
“Look, Kiss, I can understand why you’re worried, but there’s no reason for him to look for you here. According to the paperwork I have, you were picked up way out on the other side of town. And if for some reason he does come here, we won’t let him have you.”
“You won’t?” Kiss’s shoulders curved in, a cloak of protection.
“No, we won’t.”
“Why you bein’ so nice to me?” She looked Hope right in the eyes.
“This is Casa de Jesus, Jesus House, and we want to be like Him.” Hope returned the look, all the love and concern she felt packed in tight.
“Figures.” Kiss rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Jesus freaks, huh?”
It was Hopes turn to roll her eyes. She hated that term. Just because you loved Jesus, you were a freak? Please. “Yeah, and proud of it.”
The office door opened, and Celia poked her head in. “You need to come out here. Got a real angry man lookin’ fer his wife,” she said, glancing over her shoulder, warning Hope of danger. “Mister Roger comin’.”
Hope got up and started for the door. “Dinner is at six. Why don’t you go help the other girls in the kitchen?”
“Yeah. Okay.” Kiss got to her feet and followed Hope from the room.
A man’s voice echoed from the common room at the front of the building.
Fear flashed across Kiss’s face.
“It’s not about you,” Hope said in a rush, turning to Kiss and placing both hands on the girl’s upper arms. She turned her around and pointed her toward the kitchen. “Go on. We’ll see you at dinner.”
Once Kiss was heading in the other direction, Hope sucked in a deep breath of courage and sent her prayers heavenward. Then she headed for the commons area, where a man was shouting loud enough to be heard two blocks away.
“I know she’s here!”
Hope entered the room, assessing the situation at a glance. Roger was already there.
“Sit down so we can talk.” Roger’s voice was conversational as he nodded toward the chairs by the window.
Hope walked over to them. “Would you like some coffee?”
The man swore at her and took a step forward. “You got my wife and kids.”
Roger stepped between the man and Hope. “Maybe. Maybe not. What are their names?”
Roger’s rigid shoulders told Hope how much he hated these confrontations—and having to be polite when his instinct was to throw the man out bodily, after an “accidental” roughing up.
“Maria Saunders. She took my boy.”
“What makes you think she’s here?” Hope sat down first, in the hopes he would follow suit. He did.
“One of the neighbors told me she was coming here.”
Hope shook her head. “I’m sorry, but we don’t have anyone by that name here.” Whew, glad we didn’t have to lie for this one.
&nbs
p; “Have you tried Social Services?” Roger asked. “Was there a reason she would want to leave home?”
A tale of lost jobs, evictions, and a downward spiral of their relationship flowed out of the man. “I didn’t mean to hit her, but … ” Head in his hands, he scrubbed rough fingers through dark hair.
“When she’s been gone twenty-four hours, you can file a missing persons report at your local police station.” Roger’s clipped voice sounded official. “In the meantime, you might want to get cleaned up and go apply for unemployment.
“That ran out long time ago.”
“You can file for an extension, or perhaps for welfare.”
“I don’t want an extension or welfare. I want my wife and kid back!”
Roger sniffed the man’s breath. “As a punching bag or … ”
“I told you. It was an accident.” The man came halfway off his chair.
“There’s an AA meeting at six o’clock. I’ll go with you,” Roger volunteered.
“Don’t need no meeting. Just need my wife and kid.” This rime he did leave his chair and, at the same time, swung his fist in an arc, catching the lamp on the back swing.
Roger was on his feet before the lamp shattered on the floor. “Enough! We tried to help you, but grace just ran out. Out!” “But I didn’t mean … ”
Roger grabbed the man’s arm and, with a smooth action, locked it behind his back. “I know, I know, you never mean to do anything. You’re out of here, buddy.”
Hope watched her husband escort the man to the door. Hopefully, he wouldn’t be back.
Andy wasn’t surprised when Martin didn’t come home as scheduled the weekend after their standoff. Neither was she surprised that he didn’t mention talking to the powers-that-be about her business and her not wanting to move to San Francisco. What did surprise her was that he could tell her he loved her and yet treat with so little regard her, her parents, and the business she’d built. From the moment he’d told her he wanted to move, it had been his way or no way.
Had he always been like this, and she just hadn’t noticed? Don’t go there, Andy. Don’t start analyzing your past. You’ve been happy until now. Whatever happens, you can’t forget that.
To keep from crying, Andy picked up the mail and immersed herself in the dozen or more envelopes. Three were credit-card offers, which she quickly shredded, five were bills, and the rest were orders and checks. She continued to busy herself with office chores, when the animated dog popped up on her computer monitor and barked, alerting her to a new e-mail. It was from a catalog company, an order totaling four thousand dollars in bath and body products. While the order wasn’t nearly as big as the one from Nordstrom, it wasn’t anything to sneeze at either. She felt a thrill just reading it on the screen.
Andy pushed her chair back and stared at the monitor. Was her prediction of more company orders like the Nordstrom order coming true already? This new order really would wipe out the inventory. But not for long. She’d shipped the bulk of the harvest off to the manufacturer ten days ago, so it would only be a couple of weeks before the new products arrived and her inventory was back up to what she’d started with, plus some. For the first time since she’d gone into commercial sales, she would be in the black, and there would be money left over to buy more equipment, expand the product line, or hire an employee.
She thought about her conversation with Martin. She’d told him she couldn’t afford an employee. But that was then. Though only three weeks had passed, things had changed, and it wouldn’t be fair if she failed to recognize the possibility.
But oh, the bother of hiring someone—an ad in the paper, interviews, training … If only she knew somebody who knew a little about gardening and bookkeeping, someone who could find her way around a computer. Somebody who was flexible, who wanted to work for the fun of it, not to support a family or to build a career.
Chai Lai, her faithful companion, sat curled up on the desk beside the keyboard, blinking blue eyes and twitching the tip of her seal-point tail. Andy marveled at the cat’s calm. Nothing worried her. Andy sat staring at the cat, her mind doing a search of everyone she knew: her parents’ retired friends, her friends, her neighbors.
A thought popped into Andy’s head, and she looked at Chai Lai. “You know what I’m thinking, don’t you?” Chai Lai’s ears perked. When Andy leaned forward, the cat stretched out a paw to touch her face. Andy’d had cats all her life, but never one who did that. Andy liked to think of it as a loving gesture, similar to squeezing a person’s hand or giving a quick hug. “What do you think Shari would say if I asked her to work for us? She’s always volunteering to help out around here. I bet she’d be glad for the opportunity. It would take her mind off her empty nest.”
Andy gave her idea a few minutes of serious consideration, and the longer she thought about it, the more she liked the idea. Shari would be the perfect choice. She was honest, organized, and had a good head on her shoulders, which could be turned into a good business head with a little training. Shari loved gardening and had even given Andy a few tips that had helped her be more productive. She didn’t need a job; her husband made a good salary, so she would be working for the fun of it. And she could probably be flexible.
Andy spent the rest of the afternoon analyzing her books to see if hiring a part-time employee was really feasible. If Shari could work four consecutive days a month, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday, Andy would be able to visit Martin in San Francisco. She could leave early Wednesday and come home Sunday afternoon. Hopefully, Martin would see that she was making an effort—and maybe he would make one too.
Help me, Father. Help me make this work. Her gaze fell on the open Bible on the table. Often, during the day’s work, she would take a moment to glance at the verses she was meditating on. “But above all, put on love,” she read out loud.
I love Martin too much to give up on him, she decided, or my marriage. He had been a good husband in all the ways that were important. Other than wanting her to move, she couldn’t remember the last time he’d asked something of her, which was probably why she’d thought he was happy with the way things were. As far as being inconsiderate of her feelings and not acknowledging her accomplishments, she could forgive him—this time—because he had been so excited about his promotion.
Andy put the computer to sleep, turned out the lights, and called Chai Lai. The cat was slow to get up, slower to stretch, and slower still to jump off the desk, cross the floor, and go out the door. Somewhere Andy had heard that you don’t own cats—they own you. Whoever came up with that must have met Chai Lai.
On her way to tell her parents her idea, Andy stopped and stared out at her burgeoning rows of lavender. A sheen of silvery purple above the mounds of gray foliage showed the late bloom. She sniffed the lavender-perfumed air and was instantly calmed. Everything would work out. God had a plan for her, and all she had to do was keep listening and she would learn what it was.
Andy reread Martin’s e-mail three times; then she read between the lines.
Friday night dinner with the bosses and their spouses was not what Andy had had in mind when she’d called Martin and told him she could come to San Francisco, not for five days this first time, but three, Friday through Sunday. Here again was a case where he should have consulted her before making plans. Why didn’t he? What had happened to common courtesy? The thought of having to play the part of the good little corporate wife, of wearing the right clothes, of watching every word she said and smiling until her cheeks ached made her
want to cancel her flight and tell Martin something had come up.
Andy opened her desk drawer and sorted through the files, tossing old papers. It wasn’t a closet, but it did the job. So he wanted to keep the fact that she wasn’t moving to San Francisco under wraps, did he? Fine. She would go along with that for now. Obviously, Martin was worried what his bosses would say if they knew how things were between them.
But he was wasting his time if he thought he could convince her to move. Apparently, he still didn’t get it, despite repeated explanations via e-mail about what the family home and Lavender Meadows meant to her.
She didn’t mind going out with a Realtor. She had always enjoyed looking at model homes and open houses. Again, however, she wished he had consulted her first. She really would have to make herself clear on that. Making plans of any kind without consulting her first was just plain rude and inconsiderate.
Andy checked the clock. She had four hours to get ready. Good thing Medford wasn’t one of those two-hours-in-advance airports. She filled hummingbird feeders, seed feeders, and the chickens’ automatic feeder and waterer, then soaked the pots and hanging baskets on the deck and porch, pinched seed pods off the fuchsias, and deadheaded other flowers as she went.
When she had finished, she checked her house computer one last time for any e-mails. Martin’s e-name popped up: [email protected]. Andy clicked on the message.
“No, no, no. You are not going to do this to me, Martin Taylor!” She slammed her fists down on the desk, scaring Chai Lai. “After all I’ve done to make this trip happen, you tell me something’s come up and you can’t pick me up? And worse—you can’t even pick up the phone and call to tell me?” She shook her head, refusing to accept that Martin would do this to her. He knew she hated traveling alone. Crowds frustrated her, and SFO, the San Francisco airport, was always crowded. It had been a long time since she’d flown in or out of there, but she remembered hearing Martin say that an international terminal had been added and that it was far more complex. And as for using BART! Not in this lifetime. She would hire a cab to take her right up to the door of the hotel.
Saturday Morning Page 7
