Total pages in book: 54
Estimated words: 53233 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 266(@200wpm)___ 213(@250wpm)___ 177(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 53233 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 266(@200wpm)___ 213(@250wpm)___ 177(@300wpm)
“This from the same mouth that kissed me less than a week ago,” he mutters.
“That was for Amnesty.”
“Sure it was. You could have given me a peck, but you didn’t, did you?”
“If you don’t stop running your mouth, no one else is going to get a chance to hurt you, because I’ll do it myself.”
Grinning, he says, “Let’s get to work, Miss Barrington. I’m at your disposal.”
I don’t speak directly to him again until almost an hour later, when we’re about a mile from the shelter on foot, all of us carrying a loaded pack. And Olivier’s is loaded extra heavy, because I’m that level of petty.
“Make sure you leave your hat on and keep your head down. It makes you less recognizable.”
“Don’t worry about me, Daph.”
“I’m not worried about you, I just don’t want any problems. Having someone on my crew murdered creates a lot of paperwork for me.”
“Why are you so surly tonight?”
I groan. “How are you able to pull out the least used words in the English language when it’s not even your first language?”
He shrugs. “I’m versatile. Protean, if you will.”
I can’t help laughing. He smiles in return.
“See? You missed me, didn’t you?”
“I’ll answer that in exchange for a generous donation to the Southern Poverty Law Center.” I give him a quick grin and head over to a woman who is pushing a shopping cart with her possessions inside and isn’t wearing any shoes.
I introduce myself and ask her if I can help with anything. She asks me if I have any money, and I tell her I don’t, but I show her what I have in my backpack.
“Pretzels. I love pretzels. And a pair of those gloves, if I can pick two things.”
“Absolutely.” I pass her the pretzels, the gloves and a card for Safe Haven. “This is the address and number of our organization. Call or come in if you have needs we can help with.”
She thanks me and I join the group again, watching as the college kids hand out supplies on the other side of the sidewalk.
“You’re good at this job,” Olivier says.
The compliment touches me, because my work means a lot to me.
“Thanks,” I say.
We’re just entering a block where a lot of homeless people congregate before sundown. We fan out to pass out supplies and talk to people. A lot of the time, being asked how they are and having someone listen means more to people than the supplies we bring them.
By the time we make it out of the neighborhood, it’s dark and my bag is light on supplies. Everyone else’s is, too, but we have enough to go to the area beneath a bridge where tents and makeshift camps are being set up for the night.
If there are photographers trailing us, none of us have seen them. We seem to be getting a much-needed break tonight.
I send all the volunteers but Olivier to pass out supplies to a group of people congregated around a fire for warmth.
“We’re going to check out this car over here,” I tell Olivier.
“It looks abandoned.”
“It might be. But people live in their cars sometimes, so we check them.”
He nods.
As we get close to the car, I see that there are people in it.
“Keep your eyes out for weapons,” I tell Olivier in a low tone.
“This is fucking nuts, Daph,” he mutters. “Let me approach them first.”
“We’ll go together.”
The car is an old, rusting sedan with a flat rear tire. Olivier and I walk up to the driver’s side window together, and the woman sitting there sees us and opens the car door.
“Can’t roll it down because I’m out of gas,” she says. “I hope you’re not here to tell me to move it because I can’t. I can’t afford a new tire or even one gallon of gas.”
In the backseat, I see the heads of three children. Everyone in the car is bundled up in coats and hats.
“It’s nothing like that. We’re here to see if you need help,” I say.
The woman looks at me for about two seconds before bursting into tears.
“We do,” she says. “We’ve been out of food for three days and I have to walk a mile to get to a drinking fountain where I can fill up our water bottles. It’s just me and my kids. We got evicted from our apartment last month and we’ve been living in the car ever since.”
“You guys are hungry?” I ask her.
“Yeah. And cold. If you have some blankets…and cough medicine? My youngest has a real bad cough and I’m worried about him.”
Olivier and I exchange a glance. I don’t think pretzels and socks are going to change anything for this family.
“Have you tried to get into a shelter?” I ask her.
“I don’t have a phone.”
“Okay, I can help with that.”
She sighs deeply. “Thank you. Oh, I don’t even know what to say. Thank you so much. I’ve been praying for God to send someone to help us, and He did. I’ve never been so scared, but it’s not me I’m scared for, it’s my babies.”