So Much More (31 page)

I’m introduced to the staff, the vast majority of which are volunteer residents. They cook, they clean, they do maintenance, they act as security, and they manage tangible donations like clothing, food, and hygienic items. They’re the engine that powers this train. By the time I make the rounds, I’ve learned a few things. One: I need to buy some different clothes for work. A five thousand dollar pantsuit doesn’t earn me respect from someone in secondhand, ten-year-old, stained, frayed denim. Two: The smell of Pine-Sol gives me a headache. I’ve never set foot inside a Costco, but I’m stopping at one on my way home and filling the back of my SUV up with cleaning supplies that don’t smell like a lemony, antiseptic, artificial, mountain forest. Third: Benito, the shelter’s crisis manager, is a good person. I hope he hasn’t already figured out I’m a bitch because I need him to stay and help me turn this place around.

You don’t get a medal for trying

present

My body is being a bastard today. My legs are killing me and my head is thumping like a bass drum, that’s been the norm for a week now. But today I feel dizzy, like I’m walking the deck of a ship on rocky waters. I’m leaning into my cane fighting the urge to topple over. Things could be worse, things could always be worse, but I’m in a bad mood, and irritation has put an end to my ability to parley with Miranda.

My kids are in bed. I need to be in bed myself, but I need to have this conversation before I do.

Miranda is sitting on the couch drinking a glass of wine, when I approach and sit on the other end. I lead in with, “How’s the new job?”

She nods slowly, I don’t know whether she’s gearing up for a negative response or if she’s just tired. “It’s going well.”

Good
. “Good.” Now that I know she’s employed, I don’t feel bad following it up with, “Your time is almost up here, Miranda. I need you to move out this weekend.”

More slow head nodding, but it’s different this time, she’s thinking, scheming. I know that look. “I’m going to buy a house. I want you and the kids to move in with me.”

A sigh whooshes out of me like an angry gust of wind. Maybe I don’t have the patience to have this conversation after all and should’ve gone to bed. I close my eyes to ward off the beginnings of an argument and simply say, “No.”

“But, it would make life easier for everyone. You could get rid of your rent payment and save some money. And we could all be together.”

For a split second she makes sense: convenience, save money. But then I come to my senses, and
we could all be together
rings like an alarm. “No, Miranda. You need to get your own place. And I need to stay here.”

“I’m trying, Seamus,” she says softly.

“I know you are.” It doesn’t sound convincing. I don’t have it in me tonight to sound convincing.

“Why aren’t you?” she asks.

I’m too tired to decode. “Why am I not what?”

“Trying,” she says it as if she’s justified in asking. She’s pointing a self-righteous finger at me with that one little word.

“That’s my goddamn life, Miranda.
Trying
,” I say it louder than I should. “Trying to be a good dad. Trying to be a good counselor. Trying to be a good person. Trying to be patient and accepting of my body, and this disease.” I could go on and on. “That’s what life is,
it’s fucking trying
. You don’t get a medal for it. It’s expected, as a member of the human race,
that you try
.”

She’s good at keeping her mask on, but I know that’s not what she wanted to hear. “Think about the kids. They’re thriving with all of us under one roof again.”

I shake my head. “They’re thriving because they’re happy to have two parents who are engaged in their lives. It’s all they’ve ever wanted. Hell, it’s all I’ve ever wanted. Propinquity isn’t driving the parent-child relationship, effort is. Effort can be made successfully from two houses divided by miles, especially if it’s a handful of miles instead of hundreds.”

She’s thinking, not about what I just said, but about what she’s going to say next.

I stand before she decides to continue the debate. “I need you out this weekend. Goodnight.”

I know this will turn into a fight, not an arguing match, but quiet evasion. She’ll stay, hoping I’ll cave to avoid confrontation—the passive aggressive approach. I mastered passive aggressive for years, so I know it when I see it. I’m prepared to put her shit in my car and drive her to a hotel myself. I’ll show her how aggressive this pacifist can get.

I see myself in you

present

“Faith, can I speak to you for a minute?” Benito asks as I’m mopping the floor of the dining hall.

“Of course. What’s up?” I’m worried that because I got a job yesterday, they’re going to ask me to leave. But I can’t find a place to live until I save up some money.

“I hear you got a job yesterday?” he asks.

“I did. Waitressing evenings at a diner. I start at five tomorrow.”
Please don’t ask me to leave. Please don’t ask me to leave.
 

He smiles his big, gentle grin and I relax into it. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

“And because you’re already working, I understand if you decline my offer. I’m opening up a bakery with my brother in a few weeks. It’s always been a dream of his.” He smiles as if the thought makes him happy. “I would like to hire you.”

“Pardon me?” I only ask because I need time to calm my excitement.

His smile grows as I’m unable to contain mine. “I want to hire you.”

“I would love to, but I don’t know how to bake. Except bread pudding. Oh, and chocolate dump cake, I can make a mean chocolate dump cake.” I’m rambling, so I stop.

He’s laughing quietly. “My brother is the baker, he’ll stay back in the kitchen. He needs someone friendly and competent to run the front end, selling goods to customers, both walk-in and phone orders. His wife will work Monday through Wednesday. Your schedule would be Thursday through Sunday from five in the morning until two in the afternoon. Does that sound like something you’d like to do?”

My head is nodding very fast. “Yes. Yes! Yes, please. Thank you. Thank you so much.” And before I know it I’m hugging him, which makes him laugh harder.

“No. Thank you, Faith. One more thing, I live with my brother. He and his wife rent out a few rooms in their home. They set up the basement like a co-op. There are three small bedrooms, so you would have your privacy; and a community living room, kitchen, and bathroom that you would share with two other tenants. They charge four hundred dollars a month, but that includes utilities. They have a room opening up this weekend. If you’d like to check it out, I can give you the address. No pressure, but if you like it, it’s yours.”

I’m waiting for the punchline. I’m waiting for him to tell me this is a joke. But I guess the joke is I don’t have four hundred dollars. I shrug. “That’s so kind of you, but I don’t have the money. It will take me a week or two to earn that much.”
 

His face softens at my admission. “I know you don’t. My brother is aware of your current living situation and is willing to let you move in and pay him when you’re able.”

Being genuinely stunned by overwhelming kindness is one of my favorite occurrences in life. Maybe because it happens so rarely on a grand scale like this. Or maybe because it comes out of the blue and you’re not prepared for it. But it threatens to knock me off balance and bring me to my knees every time. There are tears in my eyes when I hug him again. I hug him hard and long, and I cry into his shoulder. When I release him, I look him in the eye. “Why? Why me?”

“Remember the first night we met? After dinner, we talked, and I shared my story?” he asks thoughtfully.

I nod. I’ll never forget that night.

“Like I said, I see myself in you. That and I’ve watched you working hard at the shelter this week; any task you’re given you do it without complaint, and you do it well. All with a smile on your face and a grateful heart. You show kindness toward others, never judging circumstance. That’s refreshing. As I said earlier, you have so much potential. You just need a little help.”
 

Claudette’s words spring to mind, something she told me on my recent visit about superheroes walking amongst us, and that they have the ability to make someone who felt unseen, unwanted, and unloved feel special. I’m convinced Benito is a Batman angel like Claudette, and that’s all it takes for me to accept his help and stop questioning myself. “I’ll take the room. Thank you.”

He writes down the address for the bakery and the home, they’re only blocks apart, and hands it to me. The paper feels heavy in my hand, heavy with hope and promise and new beginnings.

“Thank you,” I tell him again. I have a feeling I’ll tell him that a lot.

Nobody pisses on my rainbow

present

I’m a jealous person. I think most people are if they’re honest with themselves. I feel a small degree of jealousy most of the time. Whether it’s directed at the person in front of me in line at Starbucks who the handsome barista flirts with, or the twenty-year-old running on the beach with the perfect body who reminds me those days are gone, and it’s all about maintenance from here on out, or that goddamn Bobby Flay because he can cook his ass off. I’m jealous.

But, what I feel when I look at this woman is a raging variety, so rare that its presence is manic, and I’m unable to function normally when I’m bound by it.

It’s her. Faith. God, even her name makes my insides tighten up into a fist. An MMA fist. The kind of fist that can pummel another human being into unconsciousness. Seeing photos of Seamus’s hands on her, his mouth on her, are burned into my brain. And meeting her face to face was sickening: skin so flawless it glowed, eyes so blue they look Photoshopped, hair so edgy it only adds to her sex appeal, a body so perfectly youthful that any man would beg to give it a ride, and her goddamn sweet disposition. Beautiful and nice; fuck the creators of that little angel. She makes me feel like hell.

I pried her and Seamus apart with lies. She didn’t make it hard, she was a stripper for Christ’s sake. Not that I blame her, with a body like that I’d show my tits to the free world too. But she wasn’t a prostitute. I paid men to approach her with outrageous amounts of money, so I could get the proof I needed. She always denied them. In the end, I lied instead.
 

Why is she here at the shelter? Hope said she moved. I thought she was long gone. How am I supposed to get Seamus back if she starts poking around again?

Fuck.
 

The longer I stand here and look at her the more deranged I feel. It would be wrong as the director of this facility to punch her in the throat, right? But she’s ruining my mojo. I was having a good day. My lunch meeting with a key contributor resulted in a six-figure donation. We fed fifty additional people this morning. And it turns out my ass looks fantastic in utilitarian denim, who knew?

I march to my office and call in Benito.

“What’s Rainbow Bright up to?” I ask before his ass hits the chair.

“Excuse me?” I know political correctness has its place in the corporate world, but anyone who’s ever worked directly under me knows I leave that shit at the door. I guess Benito is about to get an introduction.