Saturday Morning (8 page)

Adolph whined outside the back door to be let in.

“What, did Celia run you off again, or did you smell breakfast?” she asked as she held the door open for him.

Tail wagging, Adolph walked past her, sniffed at his dish, raised his head to check the air for flavors, and, tongue lolling, stopped in front of the stove.

“Yours is in your dish.”

His tail thwacked across her knees, as if to say, “I don’t want what’s in my dish. I want what’s on the stove.”

Hope shook her head. “I don’t care how much you wag. The vet said dog food only.”

Adolph sat down and scratched his ear with a back foot, the foot thumping on the floor practically rattling the windows.

Just as Hope was putting the plates on the table, Roger entered the kitchen. “Perfect timing.”

Hope nodded toward Adolph. “Tell your four-footed friend that table scraps are no longer his divine right.”

“Sorry, Adolph, the boss has spoken,” Roger said, his voice grave.

Just as Hope sat down, the phone rang.

“Let the machine pick it up.” Roger bowed his head. “Father God, we thank Thee for food, for home, and a work that we pray always honors You. Amen.”

Hope raised her gaze to look at the man across from her. Succinct and to the point, that was Roger.
Thank You, Father, for this man. Thank You for his love and for his strength.

She’d taken two bites when Celia knocked on the back door and
entered before they could invite her. “They’re here early.” Hope groaned, took another bite, and put her napkin on the table.

Roger put his hand over hers, staying her. “They’re early. They can wait. You eat.”

“Yes, dear.” Hope smiled. His thoughtfulness always stirred a warm glow around her heart.

“Now, that’s a first,” Celia said beneath her breath, then poured herself a cup of coffee. “You want me to get started on the paperwork?”

Roger spread grape jam on his toast. “No, they said ten, and it’s only eight thirty. They’re going to have to learn that we have lives too. Have you had breakfast?”

Celia shook her head. “I ain’t hungry.”

Adolph plunked himself down beside her, his head just beneath her fingertips. When he didn’t get the ear scratches he was hinting for, he lifted his head and whined.

“You surly mutt.” Celia’s fingers tapped the top of his head. “So what’s on the list for today?”

Hope thought while she ate her eggs. “The duty roster needs to be updated to work this new girl in. Someone needs to go to Costco. And the checklist needs to be gone over for the market tomorrow.” She paused, glanced at the clock, then at Roger. “We need to see if Starshine is back. I’d like to talk to her if she’s in. Oh, and I have a meeting with Peter Kent at eleven thirty, and you”—she looked at Roger—“have one this afternoon at … ”

“Two o’clock,” he supplied. He glanced at his watch. “I’ll do the Costco run first thing this morning.”

Celia ignored Adolphs whines for more pats. The dog was never satisfied. “And I’ll do the roster, call Starshine, and go over the market checklist.”

Hope’s thoughts were already elsewhere. Intake was always Hope’s department.
Please, God, let this child be clean
. While she knew
the prayer was pretty hopeless, she nevertheless lived up to her name—and hoped.

Casa de Jesus started as a dream in Hope’s heart after she gave her life to her Savior. It became a reality thanks to a grant from an unknown benefactor that covered purchasing the building. Money came in from several sources: her church gave her a small budget for daily expenses; the Saturday Market, held in what used to be the church’s parking lot, brought in money through space fees charged to the vendors and through the sale of deep-fried dough called elephant ears, chai, and coffee to the shoppers. A good portion of their budget came from Social Services.

Still, they struggled to keep the doors open. Every day brought a new challenge that tested Hopes creativity and her resourcefulness.

After breakfast, Hope and Roger worked side by side to clean up; then they were off to their individual duties. It was a little after nine when Hope left the kitchen. She waved to the two girls cleaning the common area as she headed toward her appointment.

“Good morning, Officer Langley.” Hope reached out and shook the young woman’s hand. They had met before under similar circumstances and had found that they shared a common goal, helping the girls and women get off the street and into a safe environment.

“Sorry to spring this on you,” the officer said, “but you know how things are … ”

“Could you use a cup of coffee?” Hope asked.

“No thanks. Celia kept our cups full.”

Hope smiled at the girl sitting beside the woman in uniform, then extended her hand. “Hi there, I’m Hope.”

No response from the emaciated teen dressed in black leather short shorts and a black bustier that only emphasized a flat chest. She wore four-inch spike heels and fishnet stockings that had seen better
days. Her bleached blond hair had been teased to near extinction, and her long jagged bangs fell like a curtain over her eyes.

As she did with all the young girls who came through the doors of J House, Hope wanted to tuck the hair behind this girl’s ears, wash her face, and hug her close. It was the unfulfilled mothering instinct in her coming out. She longed for children of her own but had been told she would probably never conceive because her internal damage was too extensive.

“Come on in so we can talk.” Hope led the way to her office, ignoring the reception areas stacks of file folders and papers, awaiting a magic fairy to put them into file cabinets that didn’t exist. “Is she court-mandated to be here?” Hope asked, walking around her desk, a 1940s oak monstrosity that she’d found at a yard sale for twenty dollars. Her entire office was furnished with yard sale finds, and though nothing matched, the office had a warmth that Hope loved and that seemed to put other people at ease.

Officer Langley walked behind her young charge and indicated that she should sit in the chair closest to Hope’s desk. “No. We just hoped you’d have room for her.”

Hope poised her pen over a pre-printed admittance form. “What’s your name?”

“Kiss.”

She wrote the name down, then looked up and saw the girl cross her legs. “Is that your street name?” Kiss shrugged, her skinny shoulders reminding Hope of the way she’d looked at the end of her own street career. “Where are you from?” Something made Hope think the Midwest, though she wasn’t sure why.

“Just around,” Kiss said, deliberately evasive. She wiped her runny nose with the back of her hand.

Hope handed her a tissue.

A spark of anger widened Kiss’s eyes, which were enlarged by a thick line of black pencil and layers of mascara. “I don’t have to stay here, you know.” Her voice rasped, as if she had a bad cold. She ignored the proffered tissue.

Hope didn’t let the girl’s obstinacy get to her. In her own special way, she understood how Kiss felt. She tossed the tissue in the trash. “No, you don’t, and nobody will force you. But whether you decide to stay here or not, you might want to take advantage of a hot shower, a decent meal, and a soft bed—all to yourself. No strings attached.”

“King will come for me.” The tough-toned words belied the hands clenched over her bony knee.

“King—he’s your pimp?”

Kiss turned her head and stared at the gold-framed print of the San Francisco Bay.

Hope glanced at Officer Langley, who nodded and mouthed,
He’s bad.
Taking a deep breath, Hope scooted her chair back and stood up. “We’ve dealt with King before, Kiss. Tell you what. Let me show you around. You can talk with some of the girls who live here, then decide if you want to stay.”
Please, Lord. Help us help this one.

“I’ll be on my way, then, Hope.” Officer Langley stood and shook Hope’s hand, then touched Kiss’s shoulder. “These people can help you if you let them.”

Kiss jerked her shoulder. “Fat chance.”

Hope escorted Officer Langley to her office door. “Come on by the market tomorrow, and I’ll treat you to an elephant ear.”

“Oh, thanks for reminding me. My son wants to see the clown again. He kept that balloon hat he got last time, until it shriveled down to nothing.”

“See you tomorrow, then.”

“So what now?” Kiss asked, getting up.

Hope watched her and wondered what she would look like with
out all that makeup, and with her hair clean and soft around her face. “Well, that’s up to you. Once we leave this office, you can either go out the front door and back to your life, or you can come with me and meet some of the other girls.” With a confidence born of experience, Hope walked out into the reception area and headed toward the shelter’s kitchen. She smiled when she heard Kiss’s spike heels tapping after her.

The J House kitchen was the heart of the shelter. Here the guests worked together, talked, and shared their lives. The walls had been painted sunshine yellow, and the cupboards were the color of light cream.

“Hi, girls, this is Kiss.” Hope motioned to the two young women chopping vegetables at the counters. Steam rose from a tall pot of some kind of soup, and the aroma of applesauce spiced with cinnamon emanated from another pot on the stove. She sniffed the air. “Whatever you’re cooking smells wonderful.”

“Thanks,” one of the girls said with a smile. “Welcome, Kiss.”

“Lunch is at noon, but if you need something now, we’ve got some of last night’s dinner in the fridge.” Hope snatched two pieces of carrot and handed one to Kiss, who shook her head and shrugged—a gesture that seemed to be her main mode of communication.

Hope kept up the one-way conversation as they climbed the stairs. “Everyone works here at J House. That’s part of the agreement for those who stay. We have schoolrooms, and up here are the dormitories and a few private rooms, where the mothers with young children live.” Hope explained each area as they passed it. “We have room for twenty guests, many of whom are out working right now, since we are sort of a halfway house for those who really want to change their lives.”
Oh, my dear little one, I do hope you are one of those.

While Kiss wasn’t committing to anything by word or gesture, at least she was looking around. If she was feeling anything—anything
at all—she was hiding it well. What had happened to her to cause her to be so withdrawn and sullen? Every girl had her own story, some worse than others. Some left before they had a chance to recuperate from their physical and mental wounds, some healed quickly and then left … and some never healed. And some like Celia never left.

They continued down the hall, Hope leading the way, Kiss following at a safe distance. “Here are the showers,” Hope said, opening the door to a huge bathroom that had been transformed by a former guest into a garden of hand-painted sunflowers. “There’s soap and shampoo, and the towels are over there.” She pointed to a floor-to-ceiling set of shelves. “We ask that you use only one towel, and when you’re finished with it, please dump it in the hamper. While you’re showering, someone will bring you clean clothes.”

Kiss stepped back. “You’re not going to take these,” she said, sticking her hands in the pockets of her leather short shorts. “These shorts cost me big time.”

“No one will take them, but after you’ve eaten, you might want to throw them in the wash with the rest of your things. We have washers and dryers in the basement.”

Kiss walked over to the shelf and grabbed a towel. “I’ll take a shower, but I’m not staying here,” she said, turning to Hope.

“I see.” Hope glanced down at her watch. “Lunch is at noon if you decide you’re hungry.” She waited a moment, hoping for some response, but when none came, she smiled and left.

How many times over the last couple of years had she played this wait-and-see game? Dozens. If only there were something she could say or do that—She broke off, laughing at herself. She was doing it again—
if onlying.

Too much coffee leads to indigestion.

Hope knew no other way around the pressure, or so it seemed lately. She rubbed her midriff and felt a belch rising. Not now. But then, why not now? She was alone in the mauve and gray waiting room, so nobody would hear her. Better now than later, when she was in the middle of a conversation, she thought, putting her hand in front of her mouth to muffle the sound.