Her lips drew together in a smirk. “Not much when I am either. Let’s say, he likes his flexibility.”
“Well, does he ever come in?”
“Oh, sure. An hour here and there. I pretty much run things there. He poses that as a compliment—‘oh you’re so competent. I feel like I can take a little time for the family.’ But I know better. Take a little time for the girlfriend is more like it.” The more she spoke, the more her vowels elongated.
I sat back, enjoying the show. “I take it you aren’t a Ray Brockman fan?”
“You think? Leaves me to the job of running three facilities for twenty-six thou a year? Job responsibilities of a CEO, salary of a receptionist. Can’t even boast a better job title on a resume.”
I couldn’t resist a smile.
Her arms crossed in front of her. “What’s so funny? I’m not amused by any of that.”
“Nothing. Let’s order.” This might be the quirkiest lunch date I’d ever had.
Our waiter approached the table, and Caroline called out her order. “Chilean Sea Bass without the cream glaze, a Caprese salad, balsamic on the side, and the almond brie appetizer to start.” She lifted her menu with a detached demeanor and held it up to our waiter without making eye contact. Caroline McMann must have assumed a class distinction.
I was still processing the menu items but, once again, attempted to counter her rudeness with appreciation. “Excellent menu. How’s the roast duck? Would you recommend that or the salmon?”
After hearing his detailed description, I thanked him and ordered the duck.
While we ate, I ventured again into the topic of Three Rivers Missions.
“So, you have a lot of responsibility to keep the shelters afloat. Do the directors report to you?”
“Not officially, but in reality, yes. When they want something, they call me. I do all of their ordering and pay the invoices. Each director oversees their own employees and volunteers. Ray keeps tabs on the grant and charitable giving.”
“How about the rehab in Greensburg? You said it’s a profit-making facility.”
She took a sip of her tea and frowned. “Northerners don’t know how to do tea.” She emptied three packets of an artificial sweetener into her glass and stirred. “There’s a director for that center as well. It’s a little different since they have more employees and ones that are trained in their fields. Less volunteers. They have a small accounting office, but I get their financial statements. Ray expects them to make him a profit.”
“Does that profit subsidize the other two centers?”
“Oh no. It subsidizes Ray Brockman.”
Interesting.
~*~
We stepped inside the Botanical Gardens at Phipps, moving from autumn to a balmy summer atmosphere. It welcomed us with a splash of color and fragrance. I found myself with a different Caroline—one I liked much better.
“Oh look. A gardenia. Breathe in and imagine a backyard filled with that aroma.” She lowered her eyes and inhaled the sweetness. “Oh, and there’s redbud and crepe myrtles. We have all of them around our house. It’s incredible when they’re all in bloom.” She became a portrait of excitement. Yet with each discovery, a shadow crossed her face.
“When’s the last time you were home?”
She stood, pulling her face from the hibiscus. Her snarky side resurfaced with speed. “Are you writing my exposé?”
“Just wondering. You seem to be missing it.”
“I haven’t been home since I left two years ago. Seems I’m no longer welcomed there. My good southern family didn’t approve of my new relationship. No more questions, Mr. Reporter.”
“Sorry. No more questions.” I put my arm around her shoulder to provide some element of comfort.
She stared at me, raised her eyebrows in question, and walked away, finding another hibiscus to smell.
~*~
Today had been quite amusing, but I needed to get back to business. I had Tyler to worry about, needed to get notes on paper, and I still needed a third contact.
I opened the door to find Tyler and Stella on opposite sides of the Scrabble board, Ginger laying on the floor, and takeout containers from the café beside them.
“So, the tour guide returns. Phipps ready to hire you?” Stella’s eyes never left the game board as she spoke.
I kicked off my shoes. “They can’t afford me. Who’s winning?”
“The kid’s killing me.”
That brought the first full smile I’d seen on Tyler’s face. “I read a lot. Helps with the vocabulary.”
“Well I cook a lot, and I’m saying uncle. Got things to do at the deli.”
I walked outside to have a word with Stella. She made no eye contact with me, and I wasn’t sure why.
“You OK, Stel?”
She swung around to face me. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I don’t know. You seem kind of hurried. Are you upset I brought Tyler here?”
That softened her face to its normal pleasantness. She pointed toward the house. “That’s a nice young man. I hate to say you were right, but…guess you were right.”
“I hoped you’d see it, too. I want you to know he was leaving that business even before I caught up with him. He almost hopped on a bus to leave town before I located him. He knows right from wrong. He needs to catch a break here.”
Stella reached one arm up to hug me. “Glad he found you.”
Her hug lingered a little longer than usual, convincing me that something still troubled her.
“Stel, you sure you’re OK?”
“Yep. I’m fine. Did you have an enjoyable time today?”
“Sure. Phipps is a beautiful facility.”
“And your date? Did she enjoy it?” She emphasized the word date.
“She did. Not exactly a date. More of a business investment.”
She arched one eye. “Hmph. What was she wearing?”
I leaned back and squinted at her. Where had that question come from?
“Skirt and sweater. Why?”
“Short skirt and heels?”
“I guess short, and yes, heels.”
She nodded. “It was a date. Gotta go. Call me when you get hungry.”
She walked the distance to her house without looking back. I watched until she entered and shook my head. What had gotten into her?
Tyler had already put away the Scrabble and tossed the food containers into the trash.
“Hope that was OK. She stopped with lunch for us, and when I told her you had a date, she stayed and ate with me.”
“Always OK. She’s a good neighbor.”
He paused as he wiped the table and turned, regarding me. “That all she is?”
“What does that mean?”
“I thought it may be something more.”
I shook my head. “No, not with Stella. She’s a good friend.”
“Does she see it that way?”
“Of course. We’ve always been friends.” Where did that come from? “Hey, let me show you what I’m working on.”
I opened my laptop and clicked on my notes for Pete.
“The highlights indicate missing facts I’m still working to track down.”
Peter (need last name), born in Somerset County in 1950
Youngest of six siblings
Married, (need date, wife’s name, children)
Served in the United States Marines, part of the Wild Weasels, POW for two years
Returned with signs of PTSD and began drinking
Worked on construction site, welder, and truck driver at various times
Alcohol interfered with each employment
Wife died in (need year)
Tried rehab (need dates)
Became homeless at the age of (???)”
Tyler scanned the printed notes as I read aloud.
“Well, I’m no reporter, and I’ve never met this guy, but I could’ve written that. That fits half the men on the streets.”
A defensive te
nsion gripped my chest. It was preliminary. I had a vision for how it would come together.
“It’s not done. These are notes. It doesn’t have any resemblance to what I’ll write. It’s the way I put it together that will give him some identity, some…” I searched for a word. “Some humanity.”
“So what are you going to do with me? I still haven’t decided to let you use my name.”
How could I convince Tyler that my words would represent him well? Without a real name and pictures, the story would lose significant impact.
“Ty, you’ve been a victim all your life. I want to show that you’ve risen above all of the junk that life has thrown at you, and you’ve come out on top.”
“Well, you might be a long time waiting. I’m not on top of anything yet.” A little grin came. “Except the Scrabble game.”
I gave his shoulder a playful punch. “You will be.”
“If I climb out of the pit, will I want to be looking back down into it? And have the world read about the worst part of my life?”
“Ty, trust me on this. I think you’ll be happy with the end result. Hey, I’m headed to town tonight. You want to come and meet Pete and D.J?”
He shook his head. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to stay as far away from town as possible.”
“Oh yeah. Forgot.” I glanced at Ginger curled up and pressing against Ty’s leg while she slept. “Well, I guess Ginger can stay at home. She likes your company. Did you find something to read?”
“Yeah, I took a few books to my room. Is that OK?”
I glanced to see the one sitting on the end table. “Integrity in Journalism.”
Why, Tyler?
16
Claire Bassett
It didn’t take long before Jonathan was asking me out again.
“Saturday afternoon. How about that Lake Arthur picnic? We’re running out of days before the snow flies.”
I shook my head. “I can’t. I need to save weekend days for Isabella. She’s in school all week and needs time with me.”
“Bring her. I’d love to meet her. You know how smitten I am with Hannah.”
That would definitely not happen. I gave him a sad smile. “You know I can’t do that.”
“OK. Saturday night? How about a movie?”
“Not this Saturday. I’ve got some things I need to do.”
Things like reading my daughter a book or watching a movie with my parents.
I couldn’t fully explain. I did want to see him again, but every weekend felt like a commitment I wasn’t prepared to make. My mother would jump to conclusions. She’d have me out looking for a divorce lawyer. Besides all of that, I was far too vulnerable around him. No, I needed to limit the time spent with Jonathan.
I offered an alternative so he wouldn’t be too disheartened. “How about the following Saturday? A movie sounds good. I haven’t been to one for ages.”
He flashed a broad grin. “The following Saturday it is. I’ll check to see what’s playing when it gets closer.”
“I better get back to work.” I swept my hand over the stacks of paper on my desk. This was our workplace, deserving of respect. There were enough wagging tongues whispering my name.
“Lunch today?”
Without answering, I repeated my hand motion, indicating a heavy work load.
With his back to anyone within view, he touched his fingers to his lips, and with the same fingers, tapped my cheek. Then he turned and was gone. My cheek warmed with the heat of his touch.
~*~
I was two separate people with two distinct focuses. I continued to pray for Andrew, to caress the face in my frame, and dampen my pillow at night with tears. And then I’d find myself eager to walk into my office, see Jonathan’s impish grin, and feel him weaving his fingers with mine. How double-minded was that. I was betraying both men.
And if that wasn’t enough confusion for my mind, I kept seeing Andrew sleeping in doorways or begging for food. That seed of thought was planted even though my logical mind told me it was impossible. Every time it surfaced, I chased it away with a prayer or Bible verse or by humming a tune. Anything to erase the picture. Take captive every thought.
Following dinner, Dad took Isabella and Drew for a short walk around the neighborhood. A text message came in, but I continued cleaning the dishes.
Mother turned toward the sound. “Claire, did I hear your phone making little noises?”
I dried a plate and stacked it with the others. “Yes, Mom. No hurry. It’s in my bedroom. I’ll get it in a little bit.”
She stopped in the middle of wiping Drew’s highchair tray. “Do you want me to go get it for you?”
“No, thanks. I’m almost done here.”
I so needed my own place. My parents meant well, they really did. I desperately needed their help. But the heart of me missed the control of my own home. Every day it was the same. I’d check my incoming text messages. She’d ask me who it was. I’d have to explain. It was probably one of the girls from the neighborhood checking on me. But it could be Jonathan, and then I’d have to dodge my mother’s questions.
I hung the dishtowel up to dry, peeked in the yard, and saw that Dad was back with the kids. I pulled my bedroom door behind me. The message was from Molly. I saw the subject line before opening it. This is the man Jason saw.
As the attachment opened, a stranger, thin with shaggy clothing and a receding hairline appeared. As the pixels came together, there was the face of my husband. A gasp left my throat. Surely my mother would come running. My legs refused to hold me, and I collapsed onto the bed.
He was alive. Alive and living as if he had no home, no family. What should I do? How would I find him? The playing field went from anywhere in the whole world to the streets of downtown Pittsburgh.
“Claire, are you coming out? Dad needs to leave for his church meeting.”
“Coming.” How could I go out and take care of my children when my life was toppling?
“Who was on the phone, Claire?”
It took her longer than usual. “It was Molly checking in on me.”
“I’m glad you have such good friends.”
~*~
Tomorrow was a work day. I desperately wanted to change my day from Wednesday to Thursday. I was told I could do that anytime I desired, but I couldn’t fabricate a believable story for my parents. I certainly wasn’t ready to tell them about this latest news.
When I got to my desk, once again my chair contained a surprise photo, a still life. It took me a moment to realize what it was. Dante’s. The table we shared, or one like it, complete with a center candle, table setting, and a bottle of Merlot. It could be vintage Italy and would be beautiful framed. But today, I couldn’t even muster a smile. I slid it into the drawer where I kept my purse and got busy with my tasks, thankful for a cubicle in the back of the room.
No one bothered me except to call out a “good morning,” and I didn’t venture away from my desk until lunchtime. I picked up my bagged lunch and disappeared into the confines of my car. I ate my sandwich while driving nowhere.
Riding on rural roads was the best I could do to avoid seeing people and holding casual conversations. Yet I couldn’t hide from my own thoughts. I purposely turned my attention to the landscape, taking in details to occupy my mind.
The trees were almost bare, a few straggling leaves holding on even while their color faded to a lifeless brown. The occasional burst of color came from fall-blooming mums in orange, gold, and russet. As I turned back onto campus, green grass replaced the colors of autumn.
I parked and returned to the complex that housed my cubicle in the far corner. But my solitude had ended. Jonathan was loitering around the office, no doubt waiting for my return.
“Well, how’d you like it?” he asked the moment I sat down.
“The picture? It was beautiful. Thank you.” I took a deep breath. “Jonathan, I have tons to do today, and I’m a little distracted. I need some space.”
> He held his hands up in submission. “Space you will have. I’ll talk with you later in the week.” If his feelings were hurt, he didn’t show it.
Before returning to my tasks, I opened a search engine and began to hunt for anything about the homeless in Pittsburgh. A few resources came up, and I intended to visit each. I’d print the picture and show it in each place. Tomorrow—my day off. I couldn’t take Drew, but I couldn’t leave him home without providing explanations.
I picked up the phone. “Molly, will you watch Drew tomorrow? I’ll explain when I get there.”
“Of course I will. You OK?”
“No, not one little bit. Talk with you in the morning.” Far from OK, and I couldn’t masquerade. I’d find an excuse to take the kids out somewhere this evening, or my parents would see right through to the heart of me. In the morning, I’d tell them that Drew and I would be visiting a friend.
17
Scott Harrington
October 19. Edwin’s birthday. He should be turning thirty-five today. Nineteen years and still I hadn’t done anything that measured up to all Edwin could have been. All that Charles Harrington wanted in a son. My father had been determined that a son of his would attend his alma mater. That dream died with Edwin.
I perused the awards on my shelf, the plaque on my wall. Paltry accomplishments. Edwin was on target to be valedictorian, headed to Yale. I’d never have gotten in even before I turned my back on law school.
All of a sudden, even the coveted Pulitzer seemed insignificant. Perhaps my real accomplishments wouldn’t be quite so visible. Perhaps helping to stop a drug ring and getting a troubled kid off the streets would be enough. I didn’t need external approval from those around me. I only needed it from two people. One would never give it. The other one was dead.
I’d work for the Pulitzer. When the project ended, I might check into a foreign correspondent position. I’d been approached about that in the past but hesitated to abandon visions of a normal life with a wife, kids, and a minivan. That started to feel like a pipedream. I chuckled. What man has a pipedream that included a minivan? I guess it wrapped into a bundle I called normal.
Back to my to-do list: find Sam Pulkowski; get missing info on Pete, including birth name, wife, children; consider D.J.; try to get him talking; stop to see Caroline. No, scratch that last item. She didn’t fit into a bundle anywhere close to normal. Reporting in a foreign land would be more normal than Caroline McMann.
The Least of These. Page 11