Retribution (19 page)

Half a dozen workers, many of them teens, busied themselves putting away supplies, mopping floors and carrying out trash. They seemed to be working like a seasoned team, even though many were first-timers, like him.

He stared at their faces: intent looks of concentration, smiles, some chatting as they went about their assigned tasks. No one seemed to resent being there, serving bums. Shrugging his shoulders, he wondered if he would ever understand the mentality of the working class.

Bill looked his way. “Ted and I have dish duty tonight. Jimmy likes to wipe off the tables. I guess you're done unless you want to help dry.”

“Jimmy has to finish his homework first,” Sandra said as she lowered her handful of ladles into the soapy water. “If not, he'll never get it done. I can't believe how much homework second graders have nowadays.” She wet a dishcloth at the sink and laid it on the counter.

In the back of the room, a thump sounded as Jimmy closed his school book. He slid off the stool, grabbed the dishcloth, and rushed past Roger, almost making it through the kitchen door before Sandra grabbed his arm.

“Hold on there. Let me check those math problems first.”

Sandra, with Jimmy in tow, headed toward the discarded homework.

Bill added detergent to one sink, and bleach to a second of the three-sectioned unit.

“Where's Lillian?” Roger asked. Once she had finished, maybe she had slipped out to spend time with Trina, who stayed at home on family work nights.

She's in the infirmary,” Ted replied as he grabbed a white cotton dishtowel off the stack by the sink. “Middle of the hall on the left.”

Roger gritted his teeth. First a food kitchen and now an infirmary.

She wasn't a doctor, and she certainly didn't need to be holding the germy hands of sleazy old men. Some things never changed. She had been out of control in Cleveland, and now, here she was again, taking things to extremes.

The hall felt cold. Half a dozen suspended lights provided light, but not the brilliance of the kitchen. He squinted as his eyes adjusted to the change. The smell of roast beef mingled with the scent of body odor and antiseptic, and he grimaced as he tried to control his breathing.

Men lined the wall in front of an opened door where light spilled into the hall, some of them standing, while others slouched against the green glazed tile.

His hard shoes clicked on the marble floor and he wished he had taken the time to change from his suit into blue jeans and sport shoes. Next time. But no, there wouldn't be a “next time.”

None of the men glanced his way as he passed. Reaching the room, anger suffused his face. “What in the world?”

~*~

Lillian examined his skin, so cracked and calloused. She looked up at Joseph and smiled. “Go ahead and put your feet in the water.” She squeezed soapy liquid from the cloth over his toes as he slowly immersed them under the sudsy foam.

While other men remained in line to see Margaret, the nurse practitioner, Joseph was the last for Lillian. Both last week and today, he had waited until she had cared for the others. It allowed her to spend extra time with him. “Let your feet soak awhile. I'll be back.”

The room, intended as a storage area, held a chair against the left wall for those receiving Lillian's ministrations, while across from her the nurse practitioner had positioned a cot, a small wooden table with two chairs, and a metal rolling supply cabinet, the gray paint scratched and aged. A small dorm-sized refrigerator sat in the corner. Various plastic bins held used towels and medical supplies inside red plastic bags twisted closed in preparation for disposal. The room lacked windows, but the incandescent light melted harsh shadows to puddles of slush.

Lillian sat in one of the vacant chairs, giving Joseph's feet time to absorb the benefit of the warm water.

Margaret, the nurse practitioner, handed a paper cup to the man standing beside her. “You know the routine,” she said, smiling. “I need a urine specimen. Put the cup on the shelf over there when you're done.” The man ambled from the room and the nurse practitioner slumped into the empty chair beside Lillian.

“Hey there,” Margaret said as she wiped the back of her hand across her forehead. “Busy night.”

“It has been busy, but that's good, isn't it? That means the men trust us.”

Margaret chuckled. “It is a mixed blessing, for sure.” She got up and pulled a bottle of water from the small refrigerator. “Want some?”

“No thanks. I still have to finish my last person.”

“Ah, Mr. Callahan.” The metal chair squeaked as she sat. “Seems he appears every night you're here. You must have made quite an impression on him.”

Wincing, Lillian looked toward the man.

His head rested against the tile wall, his mouth gaped open slightly.

“I made an impact on him all right. I almost ran over him.”

“I heard about that.”

Lillian's eyes widened. “How did you…?”

Margaret chuckled. “Gossip spreads like thin molasses in small towns.” She took a sip from her water bottle. “Speaking of gossip, I hear you bought all those.” She tipped her head toward a laundry basket full of clean cotton socks.

Lillian blushed. “Yes, well…when I asked you what I could do to help, and you mentioned foot care, I noticed that most of the men didn't have clean socks to put on when I was done. Something simple I can do.”

Margaret raised an eyebrow. “Not everyone can lower themselves to wash the smelly, calloused feet of homeless men.”

Lillian glanced back at Joseph, his head still resting against the wall. “These men have touched my heart.” It was true; she never felt more alive or needed than on her weekly night at the shelter. And it wasn't just Joe, even though she had to admit he was her favorite. All of the men touched a place in her that had been buried a long time—perhaps all her life. “I had better get back to Joe before his footbath turns to ice.” She stopped to pick up a pair of clean socks, a bottle of foot lotion and powder.

“Joseph.” Lillian touched his shoulder and his eyes opened.

She knelt on the floor and submerged her hands into the water. Gently she massaged one foot, focusing on the toes and the heel.

“He is not good.” Joseph stared at Lillian. “Not like you.”

“Who's not good?” she asked lazily, still cocooned in her personal thoughts.

“The man who was with you. He is here tonight.”

“Oh, you mean Roger.” She chuckled. “It's nice to know you like me better than him. Thank you.”

Joe shook his head. “You should not be with him.”

His black eyes blazed with intensity and she stopped. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

“He is not a good man.”

What could Joe have against Roger? Surely he was confusing one man for another. After all, he lived on the street; ophthalmological appointments probably were not high on his list.

She smiled at Joe, trying to send reassurance. “Roger is a good man. He works with the homeless and poor people every day. He helps find them places to live.”

“He is angry.”

“Joseph, it's sweet of you to be concerned, but Roger is very kind to me.” She searched his eyes, wondering what caused such depth of emotion. “I promise, though, I'll be careful.” She returned to her work, running her fingers between each toe of the second foot, just as Margaret had taught her. She lifted his feet out of the water and wrapped them in a clean towel. He didn't speak as she exchanged the soapy water for fresh.

After rinsing his feet and examining each one for cracks or red areas, she rubbed them with a good foot lotion and applied powder before rolling on the first of the new socks.

A voice cracked the companionable silence. “What in the world?”

Lillian turned. “Hi, Roger.”

“What are you doing?” Roger's voice reminded Lillian of her father.

Joe's muscles tightened against her hands.

“Helping with some much needed foot care,” she said, forcing a smile as she slipped the second sock over Joseph's left foot, trying to calm the anger that rose in her throat. “Nurse Margaret suggested it.”

“If there's a nurse here, she should be doing that, not you.” Roger sent a glaring look toward Margaret, who remained busy taking the blood pressure of one of the men.

Lillian's throat burned.

Joe stared at the floor, and she could only imagine his pain. Another rejection, one more example of being demeaned, and by a man who made his living helping the poor.

She had thought if Roger actually spent time at the shelter, he would see that the men appreciated the help. And he had willingly come. She turned back to Joseph.

“I came to see if you were ready to go home. I thought maybe we could grab a cup of coffee somewhere.”

Joseph jerked under Lillian's touch. A silent challenge seeped from his eyes as he stared at her.

“I'm not quite done.”

“The nurse can finish.”

“But this is
my
job.” She put a reassuring hand on Joseph's foot. “I won't be long.”

Roger glanced at his watch. “Forget it. Some other time when you aren't so busy with your
job
.”

As his footsteps echoed up the hall, she tried to suppress the tears that threatened to fill her eyes. “I am so sorry,” she mumbled. “I am so sorry.”

Joseph slipped his feet into his worn shoes. He looked long at Lillian before silently walking out of the room.

~*~

As Lillian cleaned her work area, Margaret finished the last patient. Once finished, Margaret grabbed two bottles of water and motioned for Lillian to sit. “He isn't our usual volunteer,” she said. “Friend of yours, I assume?”

“Yes, he's a friend,” Lillian mumbled, her brows drawn together. “Tonight was his first time to volunteer. He helped serve supper.”

Roger continually confused her. One minute he seemed kind and caring, but then she would catch an expression that hinted at a storm building deep inside him. She shook her head, pushing aside the internal conflict that brewed in her head, and turned to Margaret. “So you work in Darlington?”

“No, I'm a nurse practitioner at McLeod Regional Medical Center. I work with cancer patients there.” She sipped her water. “Volunteering here a couple of times a week helps keep me grounded. I check blood pressures, help with medication issues, and provide minor first aid. Things like that.”

Lillian rubbed her lower back, trying to remove the ache from her muscles. “How do you manage such long days? No family at home missing you?” She wasn't sure why she asked the question, but she felt a kinship with this woman, as though somehow connected intrinsically. When a hint of sadness formed around Margaret's eyes, she regretted her forwardness. “I'm sorry. It isn't like me to pry.”

“It's just Jack and me.”

Lillian raised her eyebrows. “So there is a significant other.”

“Jack is my cat,” Margaret said. “I had a child once, but now there's just Jack to fuss over.”

Lillian's gut ached. “I'm so sorry, Margaret. I had no idea. I didn't mean to bring back painful memories.” She thought of her own loss, the sleepless nights and the days that had been darker than Hades itself.

Margaret smiled. “Thinking of my daughter doesn't cause me pain; it brings me joy. She's the reason I became a nurse.”

The sound of footsteps shuffled down the hall and past the door. The men were settling in for the night, staking their claim to cots and lockers.

Margaret stared at her water bottle. “I got pregnant in college.” She looked up and smiled, sharing a rueful expression. “I was attending the University of South Carolina—go Gamecocks!” She pumped a fist into the air. “When I told my boyfriend, he bailed on me. I dropped out of college for the year, intending to go back and finish my degree in business once the baby was born.”

“How did your family react to all of that?”

“That actually wasn't a problem. My parents died while I was in high school. We had no close relatives, so I lived with foster families until I turned eighteen, and then I was on my own.”

Lillian thought of her own family, and the disagreements she had with her mother. Now the arguments seemed petty when compared to Margaret's life. Even with the conflicts, her parents would be there for her.

“I was excited about having a baby. It meant someone who would belong to me.” Margaret took a sip of water. “Shannon seemed fine at birth, but when I got her home, she fussed for hours at a time, and I couldn't get her to eat. At about six weeks, she started with projectile vomiting.” Wistfulness mirrored in her eyes. “That little thing could send formula all way across the room.” She chuckled. “We had the nastiest windows.”

“And that was a good thing?”

“No, it was a bad thing, but hey, how many babies do you know who can shoot vomit six feet?”

Lillian smiled, but her heart ached for Margaret.

“Shannon lost weight, and the doctor put her in the hospital. I was a new mom, on my own, and scared to death. Thank goodness for my pediatrician. He explained that Shannon's behavior was not my fault, and he would run some tests and try to figure out what was going on. Her first seizure happened the next day; I was so glad she was in the hospital. I screamed for help and the staff came running. An MRI showed she had a smooth brain.”

“A smooth brain?”

“You know how brains are all wavy and full of ridges?”

“Yes.”

“Well, the surface of Shannon's brain was smooth. The doctor called it lissencephaly.” Margaret smiled as Lillian furrowed her brow. “I had never heard of it either; it's a rare genetic disease. Shannon lived to be two, but she spent most of her life in the hospital. During those long days and sleepless nights, one thing kept me going: the love of the nurses. They gave my Shannon such wonderful care, and their concern included me. They were there for us during her illness and even after. I never would have gotten through those tough months without their help.”