A Sad Soul Can Kill You (8 page)

Shari kissed Tony good-bye, and then headed for her job at a nonprofit community resource agency. The Thursday morning commute had been backed up, and when she finally pulled her brown Pontiac into the parking lot of her job the time on the dashboard in her car read 8:05 a.m.

She was already five minutes late as she began her ritual of driving up and down the twelve rows of parking spaces on the lot. She was hoping to snatch a parking spot close enough to the building so she would not have to park in the parking structure and walk what felt like half a mile just to get to work.

She knew some employees coveted the parking structure because it protected their cars from the elements. Since it was only February, it was still pretty cold outside, and more snow could not be excluded from the coming days. But Shari didn't care about that. By the time she got off at four-thirty, daylight would be just about gone, and her preference was to not have to walk a mile in semi-darkness just to get to a clean car.

She found a parking space in the second row on the lot and shouted, “Thank you, Lord!” She grabbed her purse and her coffee mug, and got out of the older model vehicle. She walked through the front door of the maroon-colored brick building and showed her ID badge to the security guard on duty. Then she headed for the elevator that would take her to the second floor where her department was located.

Her job was to provide information and referrals for various types of resources to people in low-income communities, and the majority of her day was spent listening and problem solving in order to determine which referral numbers would best benefit the person calling.

She had accepted this position four years ago because it gave her the opportunity to do what she liked most—helping other people. And the bonus had been that she could get paid while doing it.

At the time, it seemed like the perfect job, the best of both worlds. But for the last year or so, it seemed as though she was getting the worst of what the world had to offer.

The demeanor of the people she provided services to was changing. They were getting meaner, their attitudes uglier. Often, she would get calls from clients who would become hostile if they could not get whatever resource information they needed. And the negative comments she received from them—the very ones she was trying to help—never ceased to amaze her.

She prayed to God for strength and inner peace every morning before she left her house. Sometimes she had to pray to Him several times during her shift, asking Him to guide her heart and, most importantly, her tongue.

Her shift was just about over when a woman called the agency looking for a food pantry. Shari had gotten a rash of last-minute calls for open food pantries and had checked the computer so many times that she had stopped bothering to check because she already knew there would be none still open.

“I'm sorry,” Shari said to the woman on the other end of the phone, “all of the pantries are closed for the evening. They're usually only open for a few hours during the day. The latest site closed at one o'clock,” she continued. “But I can give you information for one that'll be open tomorrow.”

“I don't need one tomorrow!” the woman yelled into the telephone receiver. “I need one today!”

Shari closed her eyes.
Today is not the day.
She took a deep breath. “I understand that, ma'am, and I'm here to help you,” she said in her softest voice. “You don't need to yell at me.” But before she could open her eyes and give the woman an address to a meal site location where she could get a hot meal for the night, the woman started calling her every cuss word imaginable.

“Ma'am,” Shari's heartbeat quickened, “as I stated, I'm trying to help you.”

“You know what you can do with your help, don't you?” the woman yelled. “You can stick it up your—!”

Shari disconnected the call. “Lord, give me strength,” she whispered to the silent receiver. The phone rang again. She inhaled deeply before answering. “First Stop Central. This is Shari. How can I help you?”

“Hey, girl.” It was Tia on the other end.

Shari let out a sigh.

“Can you help me get a new husband?” Tia asked. “I am so frustrated with Lorenzo. Last night we—”

“Tia,” Shari interrupted. “I'm at work. You know I don't like to talk about personal stuff on my work phone.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot. Well, I'm on my break, but what are you doing when you get off?”

“Going home.”

“Wanna meet me for coffee after work?” Tia asked.

Shari stopped shuffling the papers on her desk. She thought she heard a sense of urgency in Tia's voice. “Is everything okay, Tia?”

“Yep.”

Shari hesitated. “The usual spot?” she asked.

“Uh-huh.”

“Okay,” Shari said. “I gotta go. My other line's ringing.” She disconnected her call with Tia, and pressed the flashing square light on the telephone.

“First Stop Central. This is Shari. How can I help you?”

“Hello?” the harsh male voice on the other end of the line yelled.

“This is Shari. How can I help you?”

“Um, yeah. My lights got turned off. And I need to get them back on.”

“Have you spoken to someone from the electric company?” Shari asked.

“No, I haven't.”

“Well, you'll need to call them and see what kind of payment arrangements you can make to get your lights turned back on.”

“Somebody told me I could call this number and y'all would be able to help me,” the man said impatiently.

“I'm sorry, sir, but you have to first make a payment arrangement with the electric company, then once a payment has been made we may be able to assist you with future payments.”

“Future payments?” The man's tone was escalating. “How does that help me? I need my lights on now!”

Shari hesitated, hoping the momentary silence would diffuse the situation. “I understand sir, but what I'm trying to tell you is—”

“No, you don't understand!” he interrupted her. “Are your lights turned off?”

Not yet,
Shari thought,
and I pray to God they won't be.

“Hello?”

“I'm here, sir,” she answered. “And again, you'll have to contact the utility company first before we can help you.”

There was a loud click on the other end of the line, and then silence. Shari looked at the analog clock on the wall in front of her. It was 4:25 p.m. That was her last call for the day. “Thank you, Lord,” she whispered.

She switched her phone to answer with an automated voice message that informed callers the office was now closed and to call back at eight o'clock the next morning. She began tidying up her desk as she called Tony.

“Hey, babe,” she said lightly. “How's it going?”

“Not bad,” he said yawning. “I applied for a couple of jobs today.”

“What kind?”

“One is for a full-time AODA counselor, but it's in Waukegan.”

“Oooh.” Shari flicked the top of the Bic pen she was holding up and down. “That's almost an hour's commute one way,” she said.

“And that's if there's no traffic,” Tony added.

“What's the other one you applied for?”

“Hold on,” Tony said.

Shari heard the rustling sound of papers, and then Tony returned to the phone.

“The second one I applied for is in Maywood.”

“Oh, that's not too bad.”

“But,” he added, “it's only part-time. So that means I would have to try to juggle both jobs.”

“Well, with your experience, somebody should be calling you soon.”

“I hope you're right, babe.”

“I am,” Shari said assuredly. “Just keep the faith. It's just a matter a time.”

“I know.”

“Well, I just wanted to let you know I'll be a little late getting home. Tia wants me to meet her for coffee after work.”

“Okay,” he said. “But don't get anything to eat. I cooked dinner.”

“Oooh,” Shari squealed. “What did you cook?”

“My special pot roast.”

“Well, all right then,” she said, smiling. “That's what I'm talking about!”

Tony laughed. “Don't be too late, okay?”

“I won't be.”

Shari hung up the phone. Her thoughts returned to the last two clients who had called in. In her forty-five years of living, she had never encountered a situation of not having enough food to eat, praise God. But she realized not having electricity or heat in her home was a very real possibility for her and Tony if they did not get the bill paid or make arrangements to pay it before the moratorium ended on April 15th.

The closer it got to the end of the moratorium the more calls she anticipated receiving from people wanting assistance with paying their utility bill. Once the moratorium actually ended and the disconnection process began, the nature of the calls would shift to folks wanting to know how they could get their utilities turned back on.

Even though Shari had received a disconnection notice in the mail yesterday, she prayed that her family would not find themselves in the same situation as many of her clients would be in—sitting in a cold, dark house come the middle of April.

Shari walked into the cozy coffeehouse at the end of the strip mall. Its bold green letters on the outside of the building were a stark contrast to the warm interior decorated with mahogany tables, soft lighting, and a small fireplace in the corner. During warmer weather, she and Tia would often sip their flavored coffee outside at one of the metal tables under the green awnings.

Tia tapped her shoulder just as the door swung closed behind her. “Hey, girl,” she said.

“Hey,” Shari turned quickly. “So what's up?” she asked, prepared for her role as the sounding board Tia needed her to be.

Tia led them to a small table with two cushioned chairs. “Thanks for meeting me,” she said as she took off her coat. “What kind of coffee do you want?”

Shari studied the menu hanging on the wall. “I think I'll have a caramel frap,” she said preparing to walk to the counter with Tia.

“No, stay there,” Tia motioned to her to sit down. “This is my treat.”

“Ooh,” Shari wiggled in her seat. “Thank you.”

Shari had come to know Tia after she and Tony had moved into their home last spring. Their house was situated on the other side of the cul-de-sac, two houses down from Tia and Lorenzo. Not only were both of their daughters thirteen years old, but they also attended the same junior high school and rode the same school bus.

The families realized they shared another commonality when they saw each other in church one Sunday morning. Shari and Tia began to share casual conversations with each other, and they eventually formed a friendship.

Tia returned and handed Shari a covered plastic cup filled with a mixture of coffee, caramel syrup, milk and ice, all topped off with whipped cream bursting from the round opening in the center of the top.

“Thanks,” Shari said.

“You're welcome,” Tia said as she left the table and returned a second time with a tall white paper cup and a white paper bag.

“What's in the bag?”

“A scone. Want some?” She held the bag open for Shari to reach into.

“Uh-uh.” Shari held her plastic container up. “I'm good.” She took a sip from the long green straw in the container. “Hmm, these are so good.” She looked at Tia's cup. “What did you get?”

“A chai latte,” she said, looking at her strangely.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You just said, I'm good.” She opened several small packets of sugar and added it to her spiced tea before taking a sip. “That's what Lorenzo said last night when I asked him to come to church with me. He said, ‘I'm good.'” She sat up straight. “Anyway, I don't know how you can order a cold drink when it's still cold outside.”

“I don't know how you can add all that sugar to a cup of tea. And ordering a cold coffee is no different from ordering a cold soda when you go to a restaurant.”

Tia held her cup in midair. “Good point,” she said.

“So what's up?” Shari asked again.

“I don't know,” Tia said breaking off a bite-size piece of the scone. “There's this man,” she started off slowly. “And, well, it's kind of hard to describe. I mean, it's his voice. You know, it just kind of makes me feel prickly all over.” She waved her hand holding the piece of scone midway in the air. “You know what I mean?”

Shari's forehead creased as she narrowed her eyes. “Uh, no, I don't know,” she said. She pointed to the bag with the scone still in it. “Give me a piece of that.”

“I thought you didn't want any.”

She thought about Tony's pot roast waiting for her at home. “Just give me a little piece,” she said. “And shouldn't your husband be the one making you feel all prickly?”

Tia handed her the scone. “You'd think so, wouldn't you?”

“Yes, I would. But you answered my question with a question. Don't think I didn't notice that.”

“I know. But there's just something about this man. He's older . . . and his eyes,” Tia spoke like a teenage girl, “his eyes are so mesmerizing. I mean, they're really pretty and kind of a hazel color, and when he's looking at you it's like he's almost hypnotizing you. Whew!” She stopped to fan herself. “Add that to his voice, and girl, you're in trouble.”

“No,” Shari said. “
You're
in trouble. What does the Word say about that?” She stared hard at Tia.

“I know what the Word says,” she confessed. “As a matter of fact, lust was what Pastor Worthy spoke on last night.”

“That's always a good topic,” Shari said. “I wish I could have been there. The one night I miss, he speaks on something good.”

“His messages are always good,” Tia said.

“You know what I mean,” Shari said, pressing her lips together.

“How come you weren't there anyway?”

“I had to work late. And Tony wasn't feeling good. But, when I got home, Serenity was upstairs with Cookie so I thought you didn't go either.”

“Yeah, Serenity told me she had to go to the library to do some research for a paper, but she knew she was supposed to be home in time to go to Bible Study.” Tia tore off a piece of scone and began chewing it furiously. “If I had known she was at your house I would have grabbed her little behind on my way out!”

“Well, I don't think they went to the library. I'm pretty sure they were at my house all day.”

“I know,” Tia said. “I dealt with Serenity when I got home last night.”

“So the message was good, huh?” Shari wanted to redirect the conversation.

“Yeah, and it was such a coincidence too,” Tia said. “I felt like he was talking directly to me.”

“That's not a coincidence. That was God sending you a message, and right on time like He always is.” Shari paused. “So, who is this man? And how old is he?”

Tia looked down at the lid of her cup. “He's older than me,” she whispered.

Shari barely heard her. “What?”

Tia leaned forward. “I said he's older than me.”

“How much older?” Shari asked.

Tia repositioned herself on the chair. “I don't . . .” she said. “He's in his fifties.”

“Fifties? And where did you meet him?”

“At the grocery store,” Tia answered. But that was only partially true. She had seen the man on several occasions, but they'd never struck up a conversation until he'd approached her in the grocery store back in January and had introduced himself.

“So,” Shari said, clearing her throat. “Let me get this straight. You, a married woman, met a man at the grocery store who's literally old enough to be your father . . .”

“He's not that much older than me,” Tia interrupted. “I'm only thirty-two.”

“He's old enough to be your father. Girl, what's wrong with you?”

Tia sighed heavily. “Me and Lorenzo are having issues,” she said. “I need to talk to somebody.”

“What kind of issues?”

“You know,” Tia stared at her hard.

Shari stopped chewing on the piece of scone in her mouth. “Y'all not having sex?”

Tia quickly looked around the half-empty restaurant. “Can you say it any louder?”

“Sorry,” she whispered.

“Now you want to whisper.” Tia sipped slowly from her paper cup. “He's been sleeping on the couch for a long time,” she said softly.

“Why?”

“I don't know.” She nibbled at the tiny piece of scone in her hand. “He's changed. He's taking a lot of pills, and he's always talking about how his back is hurting.” Her voice cracked. “But I don't believe that.”

Shari took a sip from the straw in her cup. She kept her eyes on Tia, expecting a teardrop to fall at any minute. “Then, what do you think it is?”

Tia's voice hardened. “I don't know what to think,” she said dry-eyed. “But I know I'm tired of it.”

“You haven't slept with this other man, have you?”

Tia looked into her cup. “What would you say if I said yes?”

“I'd say you've made a big mistake,” Shari said with a serious look on her face. “Have you?”

Tia raised her head and looked into Shari's eyes. They were full of scrutiny. She straightened her back. “Of course not,” she said. “I just wanted to know what you'd say if I said I had.”

“Then what do you plan to do about Lorenzo?”

“I don't know.”

“Well, running to another man is not the answer,” Shari said in a motherly tone. “Don't let a pair of hazel eyes and a deep voice fool you.” She gave her head a quick nod and thumped the table with her finger. “'Cause even the devil can masquerade as an angel of light.”

“You think I don't know that?” Tia said turning back her head to get the last drop of sweet tea from her cup.

“Do you?” Shari asked. “Because I can't tell,” she said.