A Season for Family (6 page)

“We've gotta get his fever down,” Olivia insisted, drawing Heath's attention back to Amos.

“I gave him aspirin a couple of hours ago but it didn't help much,” Velma offered.

“Got any ibuprofen?” Heath asked. Olivia nodded and headed for her bathroom cabinet. She returned with two tablets, they propped Amos up and he swallowed the meds and a sip of water without resistance. But seconds later he burst into a fit of coughing, his chest heaving with the effort.

“Get some towels and a bucket in case he gets sick. I can handle fever and coughing but barfing is another issue altogether.” Heath looked from Olivia to Velma and back to Olivia again, sweeping his hands in a hurry-up motion. “Well, give me what I asked for and then get out of here.”

Olivia wasn't at all certain it was right to dump this on Heath. Community service meant he should cook and clean, not get exposed to the worst kind of seasonal sickness.

“Are you sure you want to do this, Heath?”

“Keep bugging me and I might change my mind.”

“Here ya go.” Velma plopped the requested items on the floor near the sofa. “Come on, Miss Livvy. Let's get away from this flu bug.”

Worry settled over Olivia's heart as she moved slowly toward her door. It was late, there were clients to check in for the night and dinner to serve. She had no idea what kind of shape the kitchen was in and if Amos had
been sick all day that probably meant the laundry was stacked up.

“You comin', Miss Livvy? There's a bunk open next to me, I'll make it up for you after dinner.”

She had no choice but to leave the two men alone in her apartment, her private sanctuary. It wasn't like there was anything of value in the place, but these few small rooms were her home. She glanced around at the meager, secondhand furnishings and many original paintings, then followed Velma into the stairwell and closed the door from the outside.

 

This wasn't even close to how Heath had planned to get into Olivia's apartment, but it would work. He looked down at the thin form of the man passed out on the sofa bed.

As long as he could keep Amos medicated and asleep, he'd be free to search to his heart's content, Heath thought to himself.

But at the mention of his heart, it seemed to ache a bit. He was going to invade the lady's private space. And, as he'd just discovered, it seemed to be hung wall-to-wall with incredible art that he'd wager had never seen the light of day. Her talent deserved to be celebrated, not locked away inside a shelter that was under surveillance by the police. He felt another twinge of guilt. Well, he'd just have to get over this dose of conscience, and in a hurry. There was no room for regret in undercover work.

Heath was about to tiptoe toward Olivia's bedroom when Amos struggled to support himself on one elbow like he was determined to share some news.

He opened his mouth to speak. Instead, he began to heave.

T
wo changes of bedsheets later and Heath was afraid he might be sick himself.

But the last three hours of tending to a sick person had taught Heath a new sense of respect for his mama. The woman had a constitution of steel. Not much had bothered her when Heath was growing up. She hadn't shuddered when he'd come home with a nail through his hand, hadn't shrieked when he'd wrestled a wounded squirrel from the cat next door, and never shied away when too much partying left a fraternity brother in a disgusting heap on her bathroom floor.

Now that Heath thought about it, she'd never even hounded him on those occasions. Not unless he counted her scriptural references on each subject as hounding, and back then he had. While he scrubbed his hands for the umpteenth time he made a mental note to send his mama flowers and a thank-you card.

“Heath?” Olivia called, her voice loud over knuckles hammering at the locked door.

He hurried to answer before she disturbed Amos, who'd only just settled back down. Heath cracked the door a few inches expecting a dinner delivery that
wouldn't appeal to him no matter what was on the plate.

Olivia's face was flushed, pink and gleaming from warmth. Her eyes were wide, almost panicky.

“What's wrong?” He pulled the door wider but didn't want her to come closer for fear of Amos's nasty germs.

“Bruce just passed out in the men's room.”

“Not another one,” Heath muttered, knowing the answer. A runaway train was bearing down on him and there was no way to stop it. “I suppose you want to bring him up here.”

“We don't have any choice. Nick will be along in a minute with a roll-away bed and as soon as it's made up I'll need you to help us get Bruce upstairs.”

Good grief! One sick guy I can handle, but with two I'm never gonna get this apartment searched.

“Have you considered taking them to the emergency room? Amos has been a handful so maybe that's the best place.”

Olivia shook her head, pushed past and headed for the small closet where he'd found extra sheets. “I already called two hospitals. They're swamped and won't do anything more than test to confirm the flu and then send both men back here with medical bills they can't pay.”

She pulled out the remaining linens, tossed them on a chair, then pushed a footstool and table against the wall, presumably to clear a path for the cot.

“Miss Livvy?” Nick stood in the doorway they'd left open.

“Right here, Nick,” she directed him.

The roll-away snapped together and fifteen minutes later Bruce was shivering beneath blankets, complaining of the worst headache of his life.

Heath motioned for Olivia to join him in her small kitchen, kept his voice low. “Are these garden-variety flu symptoms or could it be something worse?”

“I Googled this year's strain. Fever, chills, aches and cough are common. Most people don't get the stomach issues.”

“Well, Amos won the flu lottery this year, because he's got it all.” Heath pointed to the large shopping bag stuffed with sheets. “Better get these washed and back up to me. I have a feeling the night shift in the infirmary might be a busy one.”

Olivia's spine slumped as a visible shudder passed through her body. Heath hoped it was a sign of concern and not illness. If this tough lady started sinking he'd have to find a way to call for backup. And if he did that after less than two days on the case, he'd never hear the end of it from the guys in his unit. He felt a twinge of shame for his selfish thoughts.

“I'm sorry about this, Heath. If you want to change your mind and help out downstairs, I'll trade duties with you.”

“Nope.” He grabbed the handles of the paper bag, turned her around and marched her as best he could toward the door. “Go take care of your business. Being up here only increases the chance you'll come down with it, too.”

She pointed toward an old-fashioned black phone mounted on the wall. “If you need anything, give us a call downstairs. Just press the pound sign and it'll ring at the front desk and in the kitchen. Nothing's off-limits up here, so make yourself at home.”

“Got it. Now get away from these germs.”

At the door she paused. “Heath, I need to ask you for another favor. The Bible says that when two or more are
gathered in God's name, He is present. Will you agree with me in prayer?” She dropped the paper bag and held both hands outward, like a child needing the comfort of touch. “Please?”

He'd watched her every move for almost twenty-four hours. Her nature was the antithesis of his. She was a giver and everything she did was out of concern for others. How could he deny her such a small request? Heath pressed his palms to hers, and tried to ignore the electricity where his fingers and Olivia's touched. She squeezed his hands, bowed her head and he did the same.

“Father God, Your mercy is new every day. You are bigger than our needs, bigger than this illness, bigger than our worries. I pray Your healing powers upon Bruce and Amos, I plead Your protection over everyone else in the shelter and I praise You for Your boundless love that no one can fathom. Thank you, Lord, for sending Heath to Table of Hope at a time when You knew I would need his help. He is a blessing and a treasure. In the sweet name of Jesus we pray. Amen.”

Heath was fortunate that Olivia turned and hurried down the stairs instead of waiting for his reaction to her prayer. There was a pumpkin-size lump in his throat, and he couldn't have spoken in his own defense if a SWAT team kicked in the door.

He wasn't worthy of her kind words, but he was grateful for them. She thought his presence at Table of Hope was somehow God's doing. How hurt the sweet lady would be when she learned the truth. Olivia certainly wouldn't call Heath a
blessing
if she knew he was about to trespass on her private space, searching for clues to her guilt.

Or her innocence.

It was several hours before Amos and Bruce were asleep at the same time and Heath was free to poke around. He gently probed Olivia's personal belongings, careful to leave everything as he found it. He admired each piece of original art before checking for anything secured to its backside. Remorse over violating another person's privacy was an unfamiliar and unsettling feeling. He'd like to ignore the new emotions that had crept into his mind and stirred his heart since he'd crossed the threshold at Table of Hope. But overlooking hard facts had never been his style.

And he couldn't pretend there was nothing to be suspicious about when he spotted the old-fashioned hope chest in the back of Olivia's closet with its cedar lid fastened tight. If nothing was off-limits, as she'd said, why the need to keep something under lock and key when it was already buried out of sight?

Heath rifled through the drawers of the small kitchen and bathroom for something to pick the antique lock. He was generally a fair locksmith with a letter opener or cuticle scissors but every effort proved frustrating in this case. Too much probing would cause damage to a piece that might be a family heirloom. His search warrant didn't mention anything about being careful, but this was Olivia's private property, after all.

“What is wrong with this picture?” he grumbled. Caring about a person under suspicion created too much drama.

“Help me.” Bruce's cry was weak.

Heath backed out of Olivia's closet and turned into the hallway to find the man prostrate on the floor only halfway into the bathroom.

Oh, Lord, help me, too!
Heath had little time to consider whether or not his short prayer would be welcome
in heaven. But he was certain his presence would be welcome in the bathroom.

He pushed up his sleeves and went to work.

 

Olivia stood alone in the kitchen, absentmindedly drying the last of the soup bowls while she prayed.

“Abba Father, this is the first night since we opened our doors that I haven't had someone to share worship with me. Please rest your healing hand over our staff and place a hedge of protection around Heath. We are so grateful You sent him to us. May Your will for his life be undeniable in the hours he's at Table of Hope. Amen.”

A thump and scraping noises drew her eyes toward the ceiling. She wasn't accustomed to sounds of movement overhead. Her stomach quivered each time she thought of poor Heath all alone with two very sick men to care for. But he was a healthy guy who'd been immunized against the seasonal bug, and he was so insistent.

What choice did she have anyway? Her other residents were doing all they could, but the evening had been an uphill battle. Velma made it through check-in, all the while complaining about a throbbing head and an aching back. Nick's tired eyes and constant cough caused him to miss class and crawl back into his bunk, ostensibly for a nap, but he hadn't been seen outside the men's dorm for hours.

Another muffled thump rattled the kitchen ceiling. She hoped it wasn't one of her friends collapsing on the floor of her tiny apartment. Olivia was thankful she'd found someone to spell Heath, who was bound to be worn out by now. When she'd asked for client volunteers to help with dinner, several regulars who'd had flu shots
were identified. One of them was Dick Sheehan. He'd been a medic in the Army and said he didn't have any problem caring for a couple of sick guys for a while. She'd sent him upstairs to relieve Heath a few minutes earlier.

The intercom phone buzzed.

“This is Olivia,” she answered.

“What do you know about this guy?” Heath's voice was muffled, as if he was covering his mouth.

“You mean Dick?”

“That's who he claims he is, anyway.” His suspicious nature was raging.

“I have no reason to believe otherwise.”

“You shouldn't let strangers up here in your home,” Heath barked. “He could be an axe murderer for all you know.”

“And so could you!” she bit back. “Look, you have to rest eventually. Dick says he has medical training, so let him help for a while.”

“I hope he's trained in getting pain relievers and orange juice down a guy's gullet and then cleaning up the stuff that won't stay there.”

Olivia dipped her chin and covered her eyes. Sooner or later illness was bound to hit the shelter and she just had to deal with whatever issues came along with it. Right now getting Heath to follow her instructions was the issue.

“Heath, that's all the more reason for you to get away for a little bit. Come on downstairs and have something to eat.” She stood her ground.

“Ugh. My appetite went out the door with the first bag of trash.”

“At least let me make you a peanut butter sandwich.”

She waited for his acquiescence, wondering if his reluctance had to do with food or with leaving Dick in her apartment. Either way, Heath needed to take a break.

“Hello?” she prompted.

“I'll be down as soon as I give Sheehan instructions and I'm convinced he can handle things for a while.”

She hung the receiver back on the hook and felt her lips curl into a smile. His servant's heart was emerging and he was being the hands of Christ whether or not that was the original purpose for Heath's days at Table of Hope.

She came out of the pantry several minutes later to find his brown eyes glaring at her from the kitchen doorway.

“Perfect timing! I'm finished in the kitchen and ready to start Bible study.” Olivia bit the inside of her lip to hold back laughter at the way his jaw sagged in disbelief.

“What do you mean Bible study?”

“You know exactly what I mean. As soon as dinner is cleared away we always meet in the big room for worship and study.”

“Even with the sick folks we have upstairs, and all the work we need to do down here?”

Olivia's heart danced against her ribs at Heath's use of
we,
as if he felt like part of the staff.

“This place is in crisis,” he insisted.

“And that's why we need to take a moment to ground ourselves in God's grace and mercy. All good things come from Him and He's our rock in times of trouble.”

Heath closed his eyes, gave his head a slight shake of disbelief and then fixed his gaze on her again.

“I get it, Olivia. Faith is a big deal to you and I admire that. But sometimes we have to adjust for reality.” He swept his palm outward to indicate his surroundings. “You can't require people to crowd into a room that might be filled with germs.”

“The only ones required to participate are you and me and both of us have already been exposed to the flu.”

“What about your front desk girl and that kid at the back door?”

“I've sent them both to bed. If they're not better in the morning, we'll move Nick upstairs with you and I'll call a local church about finding a volunteer to take Velma in for a few days.”

Heath released a loud sigh. “Sounds like you've got it all figured out.”

“No, I don't, but God does.” She dropped her apron into the laundry hamper and squeezed a clear blob of hand sanitizer on her palm. “Now, grab that covered dish with your soup and sandwich and let's go see what His Word has to say about the Fruit of the Spirit.”

He picked up the tray, sniffed at the soup beneath the cover and nodded approval. “I think you're right, I do need to eat. Maybe it will improve my disposition.”

Heath caught her smiling behind her hand.

“Go ahead. Laugh. I know I'm a grouch. I admit that I didn't possess much of that spiritual fruit when I got here yesterday and what little I had is long gone.”

“And that's why Jesus said, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness.'”

“Since you're gonna quote Scripture at me anyway we might as well go to the big room and get comfortable. I'll need a strong cup of coffee to help me swallow
another dose of religion.” His comment wasn't exactly music to her ears but at least he was cooperating.