She’d volunteered in shelters since she was a senior in high school, once she realized she felt more at home in these places than anywhere else. Her grams had let her go. It wasn’t until years later, after it was too late, that Mallory realized her obsession with helping strangers had broken just a tiny bit more of Honey Phillips’s heart.
On some level she’d always known she’d been searching for her mother, too, as her volunteer work continued through college and the start of her career as a social worker on staff at an assistance center just like this one. Her mama might have been long gone, as if she’d never existed, no matter how many feelers Mallory had put out or contacts she’d made with shelters all over the country. But Mallory would always have places like this where she could feel needed and useful, and where she saw instant results when she succeeded in helping someone the way she’d once tried to help her mother.
When she’d burned out on social work she’d decided no more losing herself in other people’s desperate situations. No more searching for her mother, period. Her plan had been to build a life far, far away, but her volunteer work still kept her from escaping completely. It was too vital to the community for her to turn her back on it. Or had it been too much a part of who she would always be—the person she became all over again each time she headed for midtown?
This morning it felt as if she were seeing herself in every face she encountered. It had been the flu week from hell at school. But this close to the holidays, even with her dreams hounding her, she couldn’t be anywhere else but at a shelter this morning. And holding the sweet, happy weight squirming in her arms now, seeing Pete Lombard’s megawatt smile from all the way across the lobby where he’d hung back with the other parents, were the added assurance she’d needed that she’d made the right decision.
“Anytime your daddy wants to bring you down to one of my visits”—she smiled as Pete approached—“you’re more than welcome. We can use all the volunteers we can get.”
“But how do we help?” Polly asked, leaning back in Mallory’s arms and chatting freely when just a week ago she’d barely managed a few words at a time. “My daddy knows medicine stuff, too. And I’m good at helping. Really, I am.”
Pete, who’d stepped closer, ran a hand down his daughter’s curls. “Yes, Glinda.” A teasing smile curled at his mouth. “How do we help, since you clearly have everyone in this place eating out of your hands?”
Mallory’s breath caught. His praise was like a shot of caffeine coursing through her veins, awakening her and teasing her with pointless visions like the ones that came now each night as she tossed and turned restlessly. Those smiling lips brushing her hand the way Prince Charming would. Then his kiss all over her skin. Pete’s touch chasing away loneliness and her desperation to belong places that a scared little girl who would forever be on the run couldn’t belong…
Polly giggled at her dad’s silliness, dragging Mallory back from her daydream to the reality of her threadbare, ancient costume, which suddenly seemed to be mocking her. Still, Polly’s laugh was like the candy Mallory had thrown to the children. Sparkling and shot through with color and fun.
Forget the fairy tale, she told herself sternly. It was going to be a good day. Having these two there for as long as they’d stay was just what she needed to banish the last of her dreams about the past.
“Follow me.” She put Polly down, feeling a bit ridiculous as she and her poufy dress led the way to the clinic.
But then Polly’s little hand reached out to stroke the sparkly fabric, and she said, “Wow…” It was the best compliment Mallory had ever been given. She’d pulled the old thing from her bulging costume wardrobe full of outfits she’d collected over the years, hoping that it would tickle this one special child’s fancy most of all.
The shelter kids tended to prefer the clowns and pirates and cartoon animals she could transform into. The boys didn’t always respond as well to the girly finery she’d selected this morning from the bottom of a moving box wedged in her closet.
But Mallory had been determined to make glitter work today, whatever antics she’d needed to resort to. With Polly skipping along beside her, Mallory no longer cared about how her costume itched or how much of her mother and her own past she still felt lurking around every corner.
Pete and Polly hung inside the clinic doorway at first as Mallory began working with the line of families that had queued up in the hall. Pete wound up leaning against the wall just inside the door, watching her every move while Polly fetched whatever nonmedical things Mallory needed to help a patient. Parents had been filling out medical history forms during Mallory’s skit, allowing her to quickly review them and ask additional questions before treating their kids. The tenth flu shot of the day had been administered within twenty minutes, with Polly beaming beside her daddy because helping Mallory seemed to be the best thing ever.
“You’re all set, champ,” Mallory said to the little guy who’d sat practically under her feet during story time.
His frowning father loomed beside the exam table, looking pissed as usual that so much of his morning was being consumed by their visit. But he’d decided, he’d said, that a flu shot was his best chance not to have to take time off work or pay for cold medicine down the road.
“Do I get a toy from the box?” Charlie Cooper asked, a return customer who knew the score. So did his single dad who worked sometimes fifteen hours a day at whatever minimum wage job he could snag to keep them in a nearby one-room apartment they rented by the month. The man crossed his arms and waited impatiently for Mallory to come up with the goods.
“Well, that depends”—she kept the clinic toy boxes in each of the shelters stocked with donations people dropped off, and when those dried up, she purchased whatever she could afford from dollar stores all over Atlanta, but she didn’t need to rifle through the box for the toy she’d set aside for this special patient—“on whether you have room at your place for a down-and-out superhero.”
“He-Man Henry!” Charlie grabbed the plastic action figure she’d held out to him. Then the tough little guy was hugging her as tightly as Polly had.
“You’re a brave boy.” She hugged him back. Charlie hated shots, and his diabetes—the condition that was a nonstop strain on his father’s finances, despite public assistance—required him to take shots at home every day. “You were a huge help with the other kids. I can’t think of a better place for Henry to recuperate from the flu.”
Charlie jumped off the exam table, sprinting away to show his new favorite toy to the other kids, Henry raised high over his head flying He-Man proud. His dad, Dennis, looked and smelled half-drunk already, and it wasn’t even noon yet. This was his one day a week off from work. The man glared at Mallory, unapologetically aggressive with his arms crossed over his chest, shrugging his shoulder at the thirty-year-old chip that seemed permanently attached there.
“We done here?” He ran a condescending eye down her getup. Then his sneer veered toward Pete and Polly. “I don’t have all day for make-believe like you rich people. These places want to get their hands on my boy and ask all kinds of questions every time we come in for a handout. He’s fine. I take care of him good. Give me whatever you sign when you see him, lady, so I can get my groceries and get the hell out of here.”
“Have you been testing his glucose before and after every meal?” she asked, taking his belligerence in stride. She understood how hard it was to accept help when you’d do anything in the world not to need it. “I know it can be difficult to remember. What about first thing in the morning and again at bedtime?”
“Of course I’m checking his levels, lady. You think I’m buying all that expensive testing shit for my health! I know what I’m doing, and my kid is fine. They said last time I was here that Charlie had to get a flu shot from you today. He has his shot. We’ve got a doctor to deal with the rest. Butt the hell out.”
Mallory’s gaze narrowed. She bit her tongue against the impulse to ask, since they were d
oing just fine, why Dennis smelled of booze every time she saw him. And if he’d be sober enough to remember to pack his son’s toys the next time they were given twenty-four hours to vacate an apartment they’d been evicted from because he spent too much money on his addiction. And if he had any idea how worried his boy must be for him, when whatever he drank made him sick and Charlie had to see that and wonder if his dad was going to get better.
That was something Mallory understood far too well, too.
“Everything okay?” Pete asked, appearing behind Dennis, his well-developed upper body easily twice as wide as the other man’s.
“Everything’s fine,” she assured both men, cursing herself for letting her issues get in the way of dealing with a father who was at least trying to do right by his kid, which made him a better parent by far than her own mother had been.
She grabbed the clipboard from Polly, who was also standing there watching. It held the clinic release forms. She scribbled her initials in the correct box and handed the slip over.
“I’d like to see Charlie again in a month for a booster shot,” she said, “when school starts back up after the holiday.”
Dennis crumpled the form that would score him increased benefits when he stopped at the donation center on his way home.
Mallory had lobbied at each of the clinics where she volunteered hours for a special benefit program. Parents who brought their kids by on her volunteer Saturdays and participated in the free clinic services being provided received a supersize donation of whatever clothing, food, and household supplies they needed to supplement their own efforts for their families.
“I got no idea where that school’s gonna be.” The flicker of defeat that passed over the man’s features did hateful things to his already angry expression. “My work’s drying up. We don’t make rent this month, by January we’ll be someplace else that’s got more to offer than this nowhere city.”
Somewhere in the southeast that had more employment opportunities than where he was now, no matter how hard Atlanta had been hit by the recession?
“But Charlie’s lived here his entire life,” she said without thinking. “And you have a network of excellent medical care set up to help you with his condition.”
Dennis’s simmering resentment erupted. “And livin’ here ain’t done jack for him or me, if we gotta go beggin’ for help all over town from know-it-all bitches like you!”
Pete stepped around the man, intimidation oozing from every pore.
“Look—” he said, stopping midsentence in response to her raised hand. There was murder in his eyes, but he stopped.
“I’m sorry,” she apologized. She glanced at Polly and gave her a reassuring smile, then did the same for the parents and kids still milling in the hallway outside the clinic. She stepped closer to Dennis when what she really wanted to do was hide behind her big, strong neighbor. “You’re a hardworking father. I know you’re doing the best you can under impossible circumstances. I know you want what’s best for Charlie just like everyone here. I respect every hard choice, every sacrifice, every impossible decision you’ve made to take care of him and keep him with you—including coming here every month and accepting help that no proud man wants to need.”
Dennis’s anger fizzled. Enough at least for the tension to release from Pete’s shoulders and his gaze to flick from the other man toward Mallory. Then he nodded, a silent gesture she was beginning to recognize as a sign that he’d made up his mind about something important.
“Do you have a car?” he asked Dennis.
Charlie’s father rounded on Pete. “What business is it of yours, what the fu—”
“I’m a paramedic, and the cleaning company that services the fire stations in my county is expanding,” Pete replied, meeting the other father’s gaze squarely. “They need extra hands, particularly the crew that deals with my station every Monday night. As long as you have evening child care for Charlie and dependable transportation to the suburbs, I’d be happy to make a recommendation to the service on your behalf. I have a contact inside the company. It would mean steady nightly work, just at different locations depending on where they need you. If Ms. Phillips vouches for you, that’s good enough for me. What do you say?”
Pete held out his hand to another struggling father, the easy gesture brimming with respect. Dennis looked down at where Polly was now clinging to her daddy’s waist, then over his shoulder at Mallory who was clenching her clipboard to her chest and praying that he would listen, really listen, to the unbelievable opportunity Pete was offering.
Is he for real? was written all over Dennis’s face.
“You already work nights, don’t you?” she asked him. “Do you have someone who can keep helping with Charlie?”
“My neighbor’s a grandmother with her daughter’s three kids to watch,” Dennis said. “She loves Charlie. Gets him on the bus in the mornings. Then I’m there to pick him up after school”—he looked back at Pete—“in my car.”
“Sounds like a solid setup,” Pete said.
Dennis paused, as if confused by the compliment.
“You can trust him,” Mallory insisted, “just like you and Charlie have learned to trust me no matter how much you hate having to.”
Dennis stared holes through her. A war was going on within his sharp, intelligent, and slightly buzzed gaze. Then he snatched the clipboard and pen from her and wrote something on the form on top before silently handing it back and heading after Charlie.
Mallory looked down and smiled.
Tearing the slip away from the others beneath it, she handed the form to Pete and said, “Here you go, He-Man.”
“His address and phone number?” Pete asked, ignoring her jibe. “I don’t suppose you have a name to go with it.”
“Dennis Cooper. He’s a good man, even if—”
“Even if he looks and smells like a walking hangover and was scaring you to death a few minutes ago?” Pete hugged Polly closer. “I told you I’d find a way to make myself useful to you.”
Useful?
All kinds of jittery sensations were coursing though Mallory as she marveled at what he’d just accomplished. And he made it sound as if he’d done it all for her. A bemused smile was spreading across her face, the confusing connection between her and Pete and Polly growing even stronger, filling her up and scaring her more than Dennis’s blustering had. How was this happening? And what on earth was she going to do with the whiplash of fear that came with wondering if it was going to end badly somehow for all of them?
“Um…” She reached for Polly’s hand and drew her to her side. “Why don’t you go find some coffee in the break room,” she said to Pete. “We’ll get back to work before the rest of my parents revolt, and catch a break in an hour or two once we have the flu shots out of the way. You can come back for Polly then. I’ll show you both the rest of the center.”
Pete’s attention stayed focused on her for several of the deep breaths she was taking to keep herself from rushing into his arms and shouting, Thank you, thank you! He nodded as Polly curled against Mallory’s side.
“Take all the time you need,” he said. “I’ll show myself around the place. I’ll be here when you’re ready for me.”
“I’ll be here…” Pete had said to Emma the night just after Christmas last year when they’d received the final test results from her oncologist telling them that there was nothing more that could be done medically for his wife.
Emma had been terrified in that moment. Not of dying or even of more pain. The doctors and hospice people had promised there were ways to ease her along the path she was following. No, his brave Emma hadn’t been able to face the thought of leaving him and Polly alone, of another Christmas coming and going without her there to make it special for them. She’d been shaking at the image of her daughter grieving and there being no mommy there to take that pain away.
So Pete had lied and promised that he’d be strong enough for both of them, that he’d make things ok
ay for their child no matter how much losing Emma would destroy him. The last Christmas present he’d given his wife had been a promise to go on without her. And it had taken him six months to feel capable of fulfilling that oath—half a year, and a run-in with an unexpected, unfathomably complex Mimosa Lane neighbor who hadn’t even been part of their world then.
He was sitting alone in the shelter’s break room, a foam cup full of steaming, barely drinkable coffee warming his hands. He’d first put his and Polly’s wrapped gifts under the shelter’s tree, then he’d spent nearly an hour not-so-subtly asking around the place, grasping for any information the other volunteers would share about Mallory. As if he could have stopped people from gushing as soon as he asked the first question.
Atlanta’s homeless services community was as tightly knit a group as fire and rescue and the families on Mimosa Lane. And Mallory was clearly in her element here. Had been since she was a teenager from the sound of it, continuing to volunteer time even after she’d become a social worker and now as a nurse, offering free weekend clinic hours year-round.
And the woman never showed up empty-handed, he’d been told. She collected donations from all over—clothes and house stuff and toys and furniture and sometimes things like referrals for free dental appointments and once to a nutritionist for little Charlie Cooper right after his diabetes had been diagnosed. Whatever someone needed most, it magically appeared the next time Mallory rotated through that shelter.
Her connections to generous donors who’d pony up just about anything were legendary—a woman who was so insecure at the thought of meeting new people in a picturesque place like Mimosa Lane that she’d resorted to hiding away from the lot of them. When Pete considered her beaten-up car and sparsely furnished home, he suspected Mallory herself was financing much of what magically appeared at each shelter. Turned out she was a pro at giving away hope and the promise of things getting better to not just his lost child but needy people all over the city.
Christmas on Mimosa Lane (A Seasons of the Heart Novel) Page 13
