Save Me (The Me Novellas) (10 page)

Dear God.

“
And the speaker—Mitch someone or other—he urged them all to not waste the golden years of their lives. That even though they’d retired, they still had ways to contribute. To be active members of society. My mother finished the conference and called me. She knew what my goals were for the bookstore. And she offered to help.”

I stopped listening. Not only had my parents mid-life/elderly crisis cost me my house, it now looked like it had just cost me my job.

Carl talked some more, but I didn’t hear him. All I could think about was what the hell I was going to do.

I couldn’t call Dani. She was still on cloud nine with wedding news and I’d already taken her down in the stratosphere with my roommate admission. I couldn’t call my parents—I was pretty sure I’d devise a way to off them over the phone, I was so furious. Ben was absolutely out of the question. I couldn’t make heads or tails out of what was going on with him. Or with what I wanted.

So I grabbed my purse and said a terse goodbye to Carl and headed home. Well, my home for the next month, anyway. Because without a job and with more than half of my mother’s loan already spent, I absolutely was not going to have enough money for next month’s rent.

My vision blurred just a bit as I walked into my freshly painted room. I remembered what Meg said to me when I first walked through the house.

It’d be nice if you had plans to stick around.

The worst thing was, I wanted to. I felt at home in that house, a part of a unit with those roommates. There were friendships blossoming and for the first time in a long time, it felt like the beginning of something, not the end. And I was on the brink of losing it.

I flopped down on my bed face-first and let the tears come. I cried for my job and for my lack of money. I cried for being an awful friend to Dani. And I cried over losing Ben and saying goodbye to the only house I’d ever known and the people who’d always been there with me. My parents.

After an hour, the tears subsided and I was limp with exhaustion. I was also incredibly thirsty. I listened for movement upstairs but heard nothing. I glanced at the clock. It was almost 4 o’clock. I had no idea what kind of schedules the others kept during the week. With the exception of Dylan, everyone seemed to flit from thing to thing. Meg would leave for her studio at all hours of the day, whenever inspiration struck. Andy had a steady stream of applicants to review and properties to show but sometimes he showed in the morning, sometimes in the afternoon. Even Dylan’s schedule varied from day to day. Like me, he worked around his classes.

I sat on my bed for a few minutes longer, straining to hear any sound that might indicate someone was home. I didn’t need a mirror to know I looked a mess and the last thing I wanted was to have to explain why my face was a mottled, bloated disaster. I didn’t hear anything.

A quick trip up the stairs, I thought. I knew there were bottled waters in the fridge. I could grab one and sprint back down to my room and get myself under control. And then spend the next few hours trying to figure out what the hell I was going to do with my life.

I took a deep breath and stood up. I smoothed my shirt and wiped the last remaining tears from under my eyes. I inhaled, my nose still stuffy and raw, and sighed. First things first. A drink.

It should have been simple enough. But when I opened my bedroom door, someone was standing outside of it. Waiting for me.

Dylan.

THIRTEEN

“
What are you doing?”

Dylan’s face reddened just a bit. “I was just gonna see if I could borrow your computer for a minute. My power cord broke and my battery is dead. I just need to send a quick email
…
are you alright?”

“
I’m fine.” I stepped back from the door, turning my face away so he couldn’t see. “Sure. Help yourself.”

He hesitated. “You sure? I mean, if now isn’t a good time
…
”

“
No, it’s fine.” I faced my bed and started messing with it, straightening the comforter, plumping the pillows. I flipped one of them over to hide the large stain of tears spreading across the pillowcase.

He sat down at my desk and his fingers pecked at the keyboard. “It’ll just take a second. I have to register for an event. Deadline is today.”

“
An event? What kind?” I asked, hoping that if I kept him busy talking, he wouldn’t ask why my face looked like I’d just suffered a million bee stings.

“
Yeah, a volunteer night at DSS.”

“
DSS?”

“
Department of Social Services,” he said. “It’s a monthly event. They host a seminar for job training and stuff, and they need volunteers to hang with the kids while the parents are in session. We play games and do art projects and stuff.”

“
Cool,” I said. “When is it?”

“
Tonight.” He kept typing. “I had to switch my shift at work—wasn’t sure I could swing it. But it all worked out.”

“
Cool.” For an English major, I was struggling to find other adjectives.

“
It is.” He closed my laptop and stood up. “Thanks.”

I nodded. “Sure.”

“
You should come with,” he said, his eyes on me.

“
Oh?” I sniffled a little. “Why is that?”

He shrugged. “Pretty sure that after you spend time with those kids, whatever has you in tears won’t seem like such a big deal. Not compared to what they’re going through, anyway.”

I took a deep breath. He had noticed.

Because he wasn’t Stevie Wonder.

My initial reaction was to say no. I couldn’t imagine what I had to offer any of those kids. Other than to tell them to never trust their parents, work at a part-time bookstore or open the door to their room after they’d been crying for an hour. But the thought of staying home alone actually seemed worse.

“
OK,” I said slowly. “Maybe I will.”

Dylan grinned at me. “Good. We can go together. Be ready in an hour?”

“
Sure.” What else was I going to do except sit and wallow? “Hey—do I need to register or something.”

He paused in my doorway. Without glancing back, he said, “I already signed you up.”

FOURTEEN

The Department of Social Services building was a few blocks from the Stone Arch Bridge, just north of the Warehouse District. Dylan drove, the heat cranked in his older model Toyota Camry, the radio tuned to Cities 97. It was another chilly night with temperatures hovering in the high 30s and I held my hands in front of the vents, warming them.

“
How long have you been volunteering?” I asked, letting the heat burn my fingers. It felt good.

“
A couple of years?” he said, his voice a question as he tried to remember. “I can’t make it every month, but I try. It’s good for the kids to have some consistency.”

“
But don’t they come and go?” I asked. “How long do they receive services?”

“
It depends,” he said. He lowered the volume on the radio just a little. “Some families are only there for a few weeks. Others stay longer. Every situation is unique. There are some kids who have been in and out of the system for over a year. And some just stay in permanently. Head Start. WIC. Things like that.”

I nodded, even though I really didn’t understand. I came from a solid middle-class background. The only public service I’d ever received was my education and even that was done through a charter school. I didn’t know what it was like to depend on an agency for clothing or food. Or shelter.

Of course, I was also precariously close to being in a position to need those things. Those services. I swallowed my apprehension about my current situation and tried to focus on the kids instead. It was one thing to be on the verge of adulthood, broke and jobless. It was another thing to be a kid and watch helplessly as your parents struggled to provide for you.

Dylan found on-street parking right outside of the building and we hurried inside, the wind biting at us as we crossed the sidewalk. I held my jacket close and he walked slightly in front of me, using his body to block me from the cold.

Once inside, I followed him down a hallway to a large conference-like room. Stations were set up throughout the open space. Tables brimming with art supplies—markers and crayons, pieces of felt and glue, paper plates and hole punchers—and stations set up for games. Some type of Nerf basketball game. A ring toss. A stacking game using large fuzzy dice. To the right there was a cozy reading nook. A plush area rug had been rolled out, milk crates spilling over with books forming a low perimeter. A worn, wooden rocking chair sat just off center, a gigantic stuffed teddy bear occupying the seat.

And, everywhere, there were kids. Preschoolers and grade schoolers and stoic middle schoolers, too. Black kids and white kids, Asian and Hispanic, boys and girls. Some raced around the room, shrieking and laughing, but most hovered by the tables and stations, eager to start projects and games.

“
Here we are,” Dylan said, smiling at me. He shrugged out of his coat and helped me out of mine.

“
Dylan!”

The chorus of voices was deafening. Before he’d even hung up our jackets on the rolling rack by the door, the kids swarmed him, chattering at him, each one jockeying for his attention.

He bent down on his knees, lowering his 6 foot frame closer to the kids, and they crowded around him, hugging him and laughing. He was like the Pied Piper. A dark-haired, cuter than I wanted to admit, Pied Piper.

I stood there awkwardly for a moment and watched. Dylan glanced up at me and smiled.

“
Hey guys,” he said, and the voices instantly quieted. “I want you to meet a friend of mine. This is Katie.”

Shy smiles and soft hellos. Hesitant, friendly faces.

“
Katie works at a bookstore,” Dylan told them.

Worked, I wanted to say. Until about five hours ago. But I kept my mouth shut.

“
She knows every book there is,” he boasted, then winked at me. “Pretty sure she’s read every book on the planet.”

“
No way!”

“
No one’s read
every
book on the planet!”

“
Hmm,” he said. He cocked his head toward the reading area. “Why don’t you take her over there and check it out? See if she knows all those books? Any one she doesn’t, she has to read to you.”

Before I could utter a word, grubby, chubby hands reached for me and propelled me toward the rocking chair. For the rest of the evening, a rotating group of kids brought me books and quizzed me. And I pretended to not know any of them and spent a blissful two hours reading out loud to an eager, anxious audience. My worries were nowhere to be found in that room with those kids.

And my throat was raw by the end of the night.

“
You were awesome with them,” Dylan told me as we hustled back to his car. The temperature had dropped even further and our breath was visible in front of us, white bursts of steam that hung suspended in the air.

“
They’re a great group of kids,” I croaked. I sounded an awful lot like Stevie Nicks.

He nodded. “They really are.”

He turned on the ignition and cranked the heater. But the engine wasn’t warm and the air blew cool. I shivered. He cupped my hands in his and rubbed hard. The friction warmed me and I felt my blood begin to thaw. And I also felt a little thrill of delight, having my hands cradled in his.

“
I hope you didn’t mind reading to them,” he said, letting go of my hands. “I sort of put you on the spot. You could’ve gotten up. Done something else.”

“
Yeah and been faced with a riot.” I shook my head. “No, they kept me prisoner in the reading cell.”

He looked stricken. “Oh God. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have sicced them on you.”

“
Dylan. Kidding. I loved reading to them.”

“
You sure?” He sounded doubtful.

“
Positive.” I smiled. “It was the best part of my day. By far.”

And it had been. Spending time with those kids had put everything into perspective for me. Sure, I didn’t have a job. But I wasn’t up against the same obstacles some of those kids’ parents were. Some had little formal education, others were new to the country. Their prospects were slim. I was two weeks shy of a college degree. I was pretty sure I could find something that paid a few hundred dollars a month, even if it was just working at a fast food place. I could earn enough to pay my rent and cover minimal living expenses. Unlike those adults sitting in the conference room down the hall, I didn’t have extra mouths to feed or bodies to clothe. My problems were infinitesimally small in comparison.

It was time for me to grow up.

“
Yeah?” he said.