A Season for Family (4 page)

“Thoughtful questions from a guy spending his vacation in a homeless shelter because he was too shortsighted to consider the consequences of a prank against city government.”

Olivia couldn't resist dishing it right back when Heath had the nerve to question the wisdom of her professional decisions.

“My bad.” Heath lowered his eyes, tapped the toe of his sneaker against the linoleum of the big room.

Was hanging his handsome head a sign of humility? Or shame? Or just an act?

Olivia planned to figure out which one it was but she didn't need to get in a hurry. Heath still had about ninety-five hours left on his sentence, plenty of time for her to decide what made him tick.

E
ven though Heath's question could have been posed more diplomatically, he'd been straightforward in the asking. He deserved an honest response, and he was watching Olivia now with expectation in his brown eyes.

“You're not the first person to inquire about my ambitions,” she noted in response. “As a matter of fact I had to justify myself to the zoning commission and then again to some local churches who give us financial support. Table of Hope is my calling, but it's also my sole responsibility.”

“I heard your father funded this place.”

Her hands stilled, her gaze met his.

“Is that supposed to be some kind of cruel joke?”

He pushed away from the wall, stood tall. “No, and I'm sorry 'cause I can see I've offended you. Detective Biddle said you were the boss lady and I thought he mentioned something about your father.”

“He probably did.” She closed her eyes for a moment, wondering if she'd ever break free of the past. “I forgot you're not from around here and you don't know the Wyatt family history.”

She dropped to one knee to unlock the cabinet beneath the coffee bar. As she pulled the double doors wide, he moved closer and bent low to peer inside.

“Can I give you a hand with that?” Heath offered, his eyes glancing toward the contents of the storage shelves.

“Sure.” She moved aside, gave him access. “This area needs to be restocked a couple of times a day with just enough for a few hours. We can't leave the supplies sitting out or they'll walk away.”

“It's the same where I work. People on the honor system always develop sticky fingers.”

“I'm afraid that's been my experience, too,” she admitted.

“What happens if you catch somebody stealing?”

“We haven't had to face that situation yet, but I'd remind the person we require honesty and accountability for our supplies. The clients have to respect that if they want to remain at Table of Hope.”

“A reminder is good, but removing temptation is still the best defense.”

She nodded in agreement. “That's why we keep a close watch on our pantry and almost everything goes under lock and key at nine o'clock.”

“Want me to close this back up for you?” He opened his palm. Olivia removed the keys from her neck and dropped them in his hand.

“It's the one with the black plastic tag, the same color as the dot beside the lock.”

He stood, returned her keys. “So everything's color-coded?”

“You got it.” She moved toward the door, motioned for Heath to follow as she headed for the check-in area.
“I hope you're an early riser. The newest resident always gets the first shift.”

“I don't sleep much, so that's no problem. Midnight to four is about the only rest I can count on. So sign me up for crack-of-dawn duty.”

Passing into the front lobby, Olivia took the clipboard from Velma, blocking any chance for her to pounce on Heath. “Amos will love you for being an early bird.”

“First he has to get over hating me for being clueless in the kitchen.”

Olivia ignored the concern and motioned toward her office, a head-high cubicle that shielded a metal desk and two chairs.

“Amos is a wonderful person and I couldn't get by without him.” She felt the need to explain. “But he lost everything at an age when a man should be enjoying life. I hope we can turn it around over time, but he's become a glass-half-empty kinda guy.”

“The last time I heard somebody use that term they were talkin' about me,” Heath offered as he settled into her creaky desk chair.

“Would you agree that's true?”

“Pretty much.”

“Doesn't that bother you?” Olivia pressed.

“Should it?” His head hitched to one side, a challenge in his eyes.

“I suppose not if you're okay with your perspective being defined by lack instead of abundance. It seems sad, choosing to limit your possibilities in life.”

“I didn't say I was okay with it, but I can't help the way I'm hardwired,” he insisted.

“Sorry, but I don't accept that excuse from you any more than I buy it from Amos. We may be predisposed to certain behaviors, but God gave us free will for a
purpose. Every moment we're awake presents a new choice with different consequences. The pessimist's life is bound by doubt and doing without. James says we have not because we ask not. When we reach out to God with unselfish motives, He listens.”

“You sound like my mother. She's always quoting the Bible.”

“Then I'll take that as a compliment.”

“It's a waste of time for her and it will be for you, too.” He pushed the words through clamped teeth. “The day my folks moved to a retirement community was the day I was freed from their efforts to give me religion.”

He lowered his eyes and his head, took up a pen and began scribbling answers on the questionnaire. The finality in Heath's words was like a blanket smothering the potential for fire in his spirit. Olivia's heart was sad for him.

Her own sainted mother had lost the battle with diabetes in her thirties. But in the fourteen precious years they'd had together Anne Wyatt faithfully discipled her only child, as if knowing Olivia would be alone one day, needing the Truth as her anchor.

And here this foolish man sat complaining about his mother's desire to give him a spiritual upbringing. Well, maybe he'd escaped the efforts of his parents, but for a short while anyway he'd be seated at Table of Hope where the glass was perpetually full because the Holy Spirit was always present.

Olivia watched him pressing pen to paper, probably giving as little information as possible. She'd check his answers first thing in the morning. As he wrote, she silently prayed for her personal witness to somehow have an impact on his heart. Heath hungered in a way
that resonated more profoundly than a desperate client's need for food.

“Hand the clipboard to Velma when you're finished and she'll assign you to a bunk in the men's dorm and give you a welcome kit. That should get you through the night, and then we'll cover the rest in the morning.”

 

Heath could tell from the determined set of Olivia's jaw that he'd just become her new cause. Good. That meant she'd stay close to him. She'd learn soon enough he was a lost cause, but that was her business. His business was to dig deep beneath the surface of this place and its owner until the core was exposed.

“So, that's it for tonight?” He tapped the pen against the metal clip on the board. He hadn't made much progress so far. “I thought you wanted to review my form?”

She cupped her right hand behind her neck, squeezing as she tipped her face forward. “That was my plan until my head started to throb a couple of minutes ago.”

“I have that effect on people.”

She raised her face, a tired smile in her eyes.

“You get partial credit, but mostly I suspect the barometric pressure is dropping along with the temperature. I'm gonna call it a night, go upstairs and settle down with my favorite old quilt.”

“Should I slip this under your door when I'm done?”

“Thanks for offering, but there's a locked stairwell between my apartment and the first floor of the shelter. A male resident always works the back exit and he keeps an eye on my entrance, too.”

“It's smart you take precautions. A woman alone in this world needs to guard herself constantly.”

“I volunteered and studied missions for years while I planned Table of Hope and I gave a lot of thought to my personal space. So don't worry about me.” She locked her desk drawer and pushed out of her chair. “Get a good night's sleep because we have a busy day tomorrow.”

She disappeared around the wall of the cubicle, then several seconds later poked her head back into view. “And I look forward to reading about your family so don't scrimp on the answers.”

With Olivia out of sight and Heath alone behind the small desk, he smacked his palm against his forehead.

What on earth made me mention my parents? Now I have to make something up about them.

Or did he? This could be a golden opportunity to test the waters, discover how it felt to be himself instead of some version he concocted as he went along. He pondered it for a moment. Nope, he shook his head. Not a good idea to start unearthing the truth when a lie worked perfectly well.

Heath's shoulders slumped lower as he accepted how easily fabricating a background came to him, along with each assignment. It seemed the obvious way to protect his real family history. He was the only child of adoptive parents, but he had two natural sisters out there who wanted their brother to be part of their lives. Considering it seriously had always been too risky. And how would he deal with it if his sisters turned out to be dominated and abused like their birth mother? Or worse, what if they were single-minded, Bible-verse-quoting women like the one who had just lectured him about his pessimistic attitude?

“Lord, I sure hope my sisters fall somewhere in the middle of those two extremes,” Heath muttered.

“You need somethin' over there, sugar cookie?” Velma called across the panel.

“Sorry,” he answered. “Just thinking out loud.”

Hearing folks praying tonight must have dredged up that old habit of talking to God. What was it Olivia had said?
We have not because we ask not.
Heath had stopped asking for stuff a long time ago. It occurred to him that the comment Velma just overheard kinda resembled a prayer.

If God's likely to grant me a prayer request I should probably spend it on something of value, namely a good-paying job in Silicon Valley that lets me create software instead of lies.

Enough time wasted on introspection.

He was here to study Olivia Wyatt like the key to a final exam. He needed answers hidden somewhere in this building. They had to be uncovered before more college kids died. And before Heath could get on with his new life.

J
ust after 11:00 p.m. Heath figured out that a homeless shelter never completely goes to sleep for the night. Sure, the bunks were heavy with snoring figures and the lights were out in dorms and hallways. But the muted sounds of conversation, television, flushing, coughing and even someone softly singing continued to flow.

He wandered the halls, poking around in the few spaces that remained unlocked or unguarded. Heath was restless to search in earnest for clues leading to drug activity. Working on his own in a place that was perpetually active had him rethinking how long he might have to invest in this case.

At the front and back entrances, night shift residents sipped coffee and read, looking up each time he happened past.

“You need something?” The young man who'd introduced himself as Nick paused over what appeared to be a textbook. He was seated at a folding table beside two doorways; one was clearly marked with an EXIT sign and the other, Heath assumed, led to the upstairs apartment.

“No, just antsy, I guess.”

“First night at this shelter?”

“First night in
any
shelter,” Heath admitted. “I'm here for community service. I guess I'll get used to it in a day or two.”

Nick tucked a folded sheet of paper between the pages and closed his book. He motioned for Heath to take the other chair.

“I've been in and out of places like this for nearly two years,” Nick shared. “I'm still not used to it. So don't be surprised if it never feels like home.”

The kid was well-spoken. Heath pointed toward the thick volume. “You a student?”

“Only for a little longer.” Nick grinned and nodded. “I was almost finished with technical school when I lost my job and apartment. I had to drop out, figured that was the end of my education. But since Table of Hope took me in I've been able to catch up. In a couple more months I'll graduate, be qualified for work and get back on my feet again. I just need to put some money in the bank.”

“Your folks must be proud of you for finding a way to get back on track.” Heath returned the young man's smile.

Shaggy hair fell across Nick's brow when he shook his head. “They don't even know where I am. I messed up too often to go home again.”

Heath could understand not wanting to feed at the family trough, but given the choice between shelter and pride he'd take the former. “So, let me get this straight. You chose being homeless over being humble?”

Nick took a sip from a smiley face mug as though he needed a moment to consider his response. “You ever been on the street?” he finally asked.

“Not in the way you mean,” Heath admitted.

“It's more humbling than you can imagine. You never get past the shame of asking a stranger for a handout. You've seen those WILL WORK FOR FOOD signs, right?”

Heath nodded.

“Well, holding that sign is less embarrassing than hearing yourself say the words over and over again. I know some people see us as bums who just won't get a job, and for a handful that may be true. But my experience at shelters tells me otherwise. If it wasn't for Miss Livvy's Christian heart, everybody here tonight might be sleeping in a doorway, and it wouldn't be because they're too lazy or proud to work.

“Trust me, if all I had to do was eat some crow to get my mama to invite me back to her table again, I wouldn't hesitate. But my parents never read about the prodigal son. I'm grateful that Miss Livvy believes in helping folks get another chance, no matter what they've done.”

Warmth stirred beneath Heath's breastbone. Was there any possibility the woman he was investigating was truly as beautiful inside as she was on the outside?

Did that kind of person even exist in the world today?

 

Olivia stood before her bathroom sink, tipped her face toward the ceiling and made a gurgling sound through a mouthful of salty water. Too many encounters with the day's blustery wind had left her with a raw throat and throbbing ears. Thank goodness for home remedies. She couldn't afford medical insurance, so anything less critical than a severed limb had to be handled out of her first aid kit.

Two aspirin and a cup of hot tea should do the trick.

She rinsed her mouth, finger-combed short hair that stuck up every which way and dragged a favorite old Baylor sweatshirt over her head for added warmth. She padded into her small kitchen and pried open the tea bag tin.

Empty.

“Oh, that's right,” she muttered. “I used the last one this morning.” Crawling back under the blankets would be the simple thing to do, but when had she ever taken the easy road? She scooped up her wad of keys and flipped on the stairwell light. At the bottom she poked her head out, hoping to get Nick's attention and ask for a favor. He was nowhere in sight.

“It figures,” Olivia griped as she trudged toward the big room. She'd make quick work of pocketing some tea bags from the drink station and get back upstairs before she was seen.

She found the room silent and empty, lit only by a plug-in night-light near the coffee urn.

“Yes!” Olivia cheered quietly, then hurried across the floor and reached for the tea canister. The lid flipped open easily. She grasped a handful of the small bags, raised them to her nose and closed her eyes to appreciate the fragrance.

“Excuse me,” a male voice rumbled in her ear.

Olivia gasped! Her eyelids flew wide in the dark room.

The terse baritone and the fist gripping her wrist sent a shock wave shivering through her body. She gawked for a split second at the shadowy place where a strong hand held her captive. Her gaze raced upward to the man's face. Sober eyes loomed close to hers.

“I believe under these circumstances I'm supposed to
remind you about honesty and accountability, showing respect for the supplies at Table of Hope.”

“And I believe under these circumstances I oughta have you skinned alive, Heath Stone. You scared the daylights out of me.” She attempted and failed a defense training move to break his hold on her arm. “Let me go!” she hissed.

He squeezed harder and gave her a slight shake.

“Pay attention for a minute,” his voice was insistent.

She stopped struggling, propped her free hand on her hip. “Okay, you have exactly sixty seconds before I call Detective Biddle to have you removed from my place.”

“Fair enough, but listen. That little twist thing you just did with your arm might work with someone who's not expecting you to fight back. But you need to learn more aggressive tactics if you intend to hold your own against an attacker who won't give up easily.”

He talked her though a judo maneuver that would put a man flat on his back and knock the wind out of him, giving her precious seconds to run for help. “Now,
that's
what you need to do the next time a guy grabs you by the wrist.”

“Dumping somebody on the floor that hard is cruel.” She doubted she could be so brutal to another human being.

“Exactly! Always think of your own safety first. No man has the right to put his hands on a woman without her permission.”

“The way you just did, you mean?” She rubbed the skin below her shirtsleeve.

“That was only to make an important point.”

“Do you frequently make this point with women?”

“I've never shown that self-defense move to another person.”

“Not even to your own mother?” Olivia asked.

Heath's expression went blank. He inhaled and exhaled before responding. “My mother's been dead for twenty-seven years.”

Ten minutes later Olivia was seated on one of the big room's sofas at a right angle to Heath's chair. Her furry slippers were propped on the edge of a secondhand occasional table, and both hands cradled a mug of strong, hot tea. She should have made the time to retrieve his chart from the office, but the Holy Spirit was urging her to seize this moment and make it more personal, less about business.

“I'm not sure what possessed me to say that because I rarely think of my birth mother.”

Olivia watched Heath cross one ankle over the other knee, jiggling his support leg in time with some cadence only he could hear. She'd seen the gesture before in applicants who were nervous. Or lying.

“Well, she was on your mind for some reason. Wanna tell me about her? I apologize if it seems like I'm prying, but as long as we're sitting here together at midnight we might as well get acquainted.”

“Or I could show you another judo throw,” he joked. The most mischievous grin Olivia had ever seen on a male over the age of eight dimpled Heath's cheeks. This handsome man must have been an adorable-looking child.

“I'll take you up on that offer in a few days when I'm feeling at the top of my game. Tonight the only thing I'm going to throw is a soggy tea bag if you don't tell me something about yourself.”

His leg stopped jostling. He stared at the cup in his hands.

“When I was a toddler both of my parents were killed in an accident.”

“Oh,” Olivia pressed three fingers to her lips to contain a gasp. “I'm so sorry, Heath.”

“I wasn't more than a baby, so I don't have any memories of them. It's not like I'm emotionally scarred or anything. But they didn't leave a will and nobody in the family could take me, so I was eventually adopted.”

“Still, that's a terrible loss for a child no matter what the circumstances. How long have you known this?”

“Since middle school when my folks thought they should tell me the few facts they had.”

“Have you made contact with any family members of your birth parents?”

“No.” He shook his head. “There's no reason why I should after all this time. If anybody cared about me, they'd have made an effort by now.”

“Maybe it's as simple as not having your name.”

“My name was never changed.” His eyes were downcast. “When the Brysons adopted me, they just tacked their last name on the end. I dropped Bryson when I turned eighteen.”

Her heart was heavy with sadness. His adoptive parents must have been crushed by such an action from their son. “May I speak frankly?”

“Go ahead.” He seemed to accept whatever might be coming.

“You've only been here a few hours and I've already heard you mention resenting your parents' faith and now your rejection of their name. Have you considered how terribly painful that must have been for the people who raised you as their own?”

Oh Father, how hurtful it must be when so many of Your beloved children do the same thing to You!

“Of course I have.” Heath dropped his chin, not so much to look contrite as to indicate that he got the point. “Look, they're good, Christian folks and I show my gratitude the best way I can. But in all our years together we never saw eye-to-eye on anything important. So it didn't come as a great surprise when they told me about the adoption. All of a sudden our failure to connect kinda made sense.”

Olivia sipped cautiously while she considered his revelation. This man was as confused and complicated as anybody she'd encountered in her social work career. He seemed to have everything going for him and nothing to show for it emotionally or relationally.

“I know what you're thinking,” Heath insisted. “I'm beyond redemption.”

“Nobody's that far gone, no matter what's in their past or how big their issues may seem. We serve a God of second chances. He forgives us when we truly repent. He always welcomes us back.”

Heath gave a dismissive shake of his head. “I have a hard time buying that logic, but I realize it's a big part of what makes the whole faith deal seem attractive. I can see where people like you would think God's forgiving and reliable. There's not much reason to challenge that kind of teaching when you grow up in a picture-perfect family.”

Olivia didn't need to consider whether the moisture burning her eyes was brought on by the steam from her tea or the sarcasm in his tone.

“You're not the only person who hasn't lived a happily-ever-after life, you know. My mother died when I was fourteen and my father fled the country over tax
evasion charges when I was nineteen. I woke up alone one morning and realized God was all I had, and that was the day I also understood He was all I needed. He would never leave me or forsake me. It sure was
attractive,
as you put it, to have one thing in my life that was reliable on all those nights when I was flat broke and alone in an empty house ashamed to show my face in this town.”

 

Heath's normally complacent heart thumped as he watched color deepen the lines in Olivia's face. Her eyes gleamed with indignation. He had the strangest urge to pull this woman into his arms and hug her protectively until the painful memories of her youth faded. But the firm set of her jaw warned him to keep his distance. She was likely to practice that judo throw he'd just taught her if he got too close.

I pushed too far, too aggressively. But the job is what it is. I'm here to search and destroy, not rescue and recover. And this lady is not exactly a damsel in distress, anyway.

What if she made good on her threat to call Biddle? Yeah, so what? He was the one who'd decided that using a disguise wasn't necessary on this job. But Biddle didn't realize that Heath's alter-ego characters were comfortable inside their borrowed skin, able to wing it no matter what the circumstances.

Not so for the flesh-and-blood man who couldn't seem to get his stories straight. He'd just pulled that accident stuff out of thin air. With this new twist to his lies, he'd have to be careful not to slip up.

“Why'd you get quiet all of a sudden? No more profound wisdom to share with me?” Olivia was torqued.

He should apologize. Contrition always seemed to make ladies happy.

“I'm sorry,” he made the effort with as few words as possible.