Paul nodded affirmatively to hide his true feelings. He was an award-winning investigative journalist, not a cub reporter. He had some pressing work to do regarding his feature on single-cup coffee makers, not to mention the hot tip he had just received concerning the Noxby Medical Center. But he couldn’t refuse the new assignment. Susan wasn’t asking him to volunteer. This was conscription, pure and simple.
“I’ll get somebody else to handle Jennifer’s other assignments,” Susan said. “The interview is scheduled for tomorrow morning at ten o’clock.” She got up as a signal the meeting was over.
“Tomorrow morning at ten o’clock,” Paul repeated, with forced enthusiasm. He would remain professional but complete the interview as quickly as possible.
He returned to his cubicle and checked the calendar on his iPhone. He had nothing scheduled until Wednesday, the day after tomorrow. But then Susan already knew that, which explained why he was assigned to do the interview. No one else was available. Lucky him!
CHAPTER 2
Rain McKenzie, twenty-five, placed a hand on her hip and narrowed her gaze. “We aren’t buying Twinkies, Charlie. So put them back on the shelf.”
“But I like Twinkies,” Charlie replied, scratching the stubble that covered his chin like a thin layer of rawhide.
Rain’s hair was pulled back in a ponytail, which now danced across her shoulders as she shook her head determinedly. “We can’t afford them today. So put them back.”
As she issued the directive, she noticed an elderly woman near her in the grocery aisle turn and stare, deep furrows lining her forehead. Rain had seen the expression before. Sideways glances often resulted whenever she went grocery shopping with Charlie. People looked at her in disapproval, sometimes sympathy, and she could almost read their thoughts: A poor social worker who can’t control her impulsive client!
“Tomorrow?” Charlie queried, his stocky frame swaying as he shuffled his feet.
Rain’s eyes flashed with determination as she took him by the arm and walked down the aisle, away from listening ears. “We’ll see. But you have to be good, okay?”
“Okay.” Charlie ran a hand through his dark hair, flecked with hints of grey, and stared at the floor, his bottom lip quivering.
Rain patted his shoulder consolingly. “We need some breakfast cereal. You can pick out whatever kind you want.”
Charlie’s expression brightened. “Whatever kind I want?”
“Uh-huh.”
He headed for the cereal section and scanned the varieties featured on the shelves, humming contentedly as he studied his options. He reached for a box of Froot Loops, but his hand froze in midair as a different brand caught his eye. Toggling between the two cereal boxes, he chewed his lip in indecision. Finally, he looked at Rain with big, puppy dog eyes. “Can I pick two?”
Rain mentally rummaged through the cash in her purse. “No, only one.”
Charlie whimpered and began talking like Elmer Fudd, mimicking actor Robin Williams’s vocal impression. “Can I pick two? I weally, weally want two. Pweeeeease.”
Not only did he resemble Robin Williams in physical appearance—at least according to some—but Charlie also could imitate any voice or accent he heard. It was one of the wonders of his condition, and sometimes it was the only thing that kept Rain from despair. He could make her laugh.
He could also embarrass her like he was doing right now. Several customers were staring, mouths open. To see a grown man acting and talking like a child was incongruous enough to attract attention. Negative attention.
“Okay, two,” she acquiesced, smiling weakly at the other customers and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “But no more.”
Charlie grinned excitedly and rubbed his hands together. He selected a box of Froot Loops and placed it in the shopping cart. Then he turned to make his final selection. “I’ll be having the Cap’n Crunch, me hearty,” he said, switching to his pirate voice, while covering one eye with his hand to suggest an eye patch.
“Put it in the cart,” Rain directed, unable to resist a smile. The pirate voice always got her.
“Welcome aboard,” Charlie said, placing the two boxes side by side in the cart and aligning the edges so they were precisely positioned. He lifted his hands as if to say, “Ta da,” and smiled proudly at his accomplishment.
Rain nodded in acknowledgment and then walked further down the aisle. “Now what should we have for dinner tonight?” she said, studying the shelves. She stood in thought for a moment and then turned to ask Charlie’s opinion. “What would you—?” She broke off when she realized he was no longer beside her. “Charlie?” she called, glancing behind her.
Leaving the cart unattended, she hurried down the aisle, careful not to attract attention by panicking. It was important not to lose her cool. The moment called for a clear head and a calm approach. Panic was like a virus that would soon infect everyone around her. And the last thing she needed was for Charlie to become a victim to it, as well.
She rounded the corner and glanced up the next aisle. There was no sign of him. “Charlie?” she called a little louder, chastising herself for letting him out of her sight.
Hurrying to the aisle on the opposite side, she scanned its length. Still no sign of him. How could he disappear so quickly? She proceeded to the next aisle and the next one after that, but he was nowhere to be found. When she reached the far end of the store where the fresh vegetables and fruit were kept, she turned and retraced her steps.
Fighting the urge to shout his name, she began searching every aisle as she passed by.
Her fears mounted. Charlie was impulsive and would follow a sudden thought or a desire to investigate something that piqued his curiosity. Last February he’d wandered outdoors in nothing but his underwear because he’d seen a stray cat out of his window and wanted to take care of it. But the cat ran away, leading him far enough from the apartment that he got lost. And in the spring he slipped out while she was cleaning the bathroom. An advertisement aired about kids having fun riding their bicycles, and it captured Charlie’s interest. He snuck down to the local hobby shop and rode a display bicycle up and down the aisles, chortling gleefully, until the shop owner called her and ended the fun. These and other instances concerned her deeply. What if the police were called in? What if social services placed Charlie in a facility?
Her panic level had almost reached critical mass by the time she got to the far aisle. She found Charlie standing there, intently studying a row of boxes on the shelf. Gasping in relief, she hurried toward him.
“Macaroni and cheese,” he said excitedly, looking at Rain as she approached. “Let’s have macaroni and cheese. Okay?”
It was several seconds before she could speak. Her mood determined the weather in Charlie’s life, and the more sunny days there were, the better. She drew in several deep breaths and said, “Charlie, you can’t wander off without telling me where you are going. I was worried.”
Charlie’s expression clouded over. “I’m sorry, Rain. Does that mean we can’t have macaroni and cheese tonight?”
Rain exhaled slowly and shook her head. “We had mac and cheese last night.”
“But I love it!”
It was an inexpensive meal, and she could always supplement it—like she did with the breakfast menu—with a piece of fruit or some raw vegetables.
“Pick two boxes of Kraft dinner, then,” she sighed, “and we’ll have mac and cheese tonight.” Again.
Charlie followed her back to the shopping cart and placed the items in it contentedly. She tried to maintain a stern countenance, but he pulled a face, teasing another smile from her. It was his way—his simple, guileless way—and it worked like a magic charm. Nothing could melt her heart faster than his puppy dog eyes.
Paradoxically, it was those same puppy dog eyes that could also break her heart. His helpless expression when he was sad or afraid almost devastated her, but she was careful not to let it show. Charlie wouldn’t understand. He’d think
he had done something wrong and blame himself for making her sad. And then there would be tears. Big, puppy dog tears. His!
“Now stay right beside me while we pay for this,” she said. “Then we’ll go home. It’s been a long day.”
Charlie grinned. “But a fun one. I got to spray the dishes today.”
“That’s great,” Rain replied, only half listening. She was counting the cash in her purse to make certain there was enough to get through the till.
There had been some unexpected expenses of late. The rent had just come off and so had the utilities, which were higher than usual because there were five weeks this month. And there had been a visit to the doctor recently. Charlie had strep throat, accompanied by a fever, and the prescription for antibiotics was expensive. Plus, bus passes had just gone up—along with everything else, except her wages—and there was little wiggle room for luxuries. Like Twinkies.
She was going to have to figure out a better budgeting system. Her salary was stretched to the max, and the only consolation was that she didn’t carry any credit card debt. So far, she had managed to squeak by without owing anybody anything. Her financial obligations would perhaps seem minimal to some people, but minimal was a relative term. And as she approached the till, her financial obligations felt oppressive.
Charlie enthusiastically placed the items on the conveyer belt and watched as the cashier scanned and bagged them.
Rain paid for the groceries and managed a courteous smile as she received the change and the sales receipt. Charlie grabbed the bag and headed for the exit. Rain followed, putting the change in her purse and calculating how much longer until payday. Why was there always more month than money?
She pondered the question and her situation during the bus ride to their apartment. She considered it while she prepared macaroni and cheese for dinner, which she supplemented with a few raw carrots. She thought about it as she set the table and called Charlie to come and eat.
Her mind wandered further during the meal. It was not until she heard a loud crunch and felt Charlie nudge her with his elbow that she came back to the moment. Glancing at him she noticed that he was grinning at her, carrot in hand.
“I just bit off your nose,” he said.
“Good. Keep eating.”
He dug into his macaroni and cheese, humming as he chewed.
Rain smiled to herself as she listened to his contentment. He was enjoying his meal immensely, like always, and it never ceased to amaze her. Simple fare but genuine appreciation.
She looked at her plate and wished she could share his simple thankfulness. Macaroni and cheese and raw carrots were hardly a king’s feast. More like a beggar’s portion.
Lost in thought, she stared glumly at her plate until Charlie chomped loudly into another carrot. She looked over at him and noted his amused expression.
“That was my nose,” he said.
She began to laugh. He joined in and that made her laugh all the more. She laughed until tears filled her eyes.
“I love you, Rain,” he said, bits of carrot clinging to his lips. “A whole bunch.”
She reached over and wiped his face with her napkin. “I love you, too, Charlie. Do you know how much?”
He extended both arms full length.
“Nope.” Rain pressed her thumb and index finger firmly together. “This much.”
Charlie wrinkled his brow and looked at her, perplexed.
“When I was a little girl, my dad used to do that to show me how much he loved me,” Rain added. “My love goes from my thumb all the way around the world and back to my finger.” She drew an imaginary circle in the air. “That much.”
Charlie extended his hand toward her, his thumb pressed tightly against his index finger. He held it there for a long moment. Then with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, he reached for another carrot.
CHAPTER 3
Paul sat at his desk Tuesday morning, chewing on the end of his pencil and drafting a few questions for his interview with Maria Sanchez. He was still not enthused about the assignment, and sleeping on it had not improved his attitude.
He wanted to follow up on the e-mail he’d received concerning the Noxby Medical Center. He had called Kaz Hirotoma regarding the tip, but there was no answer. So he had left a message and was anxiously awaiting a reply. The longer the story remained out there, the better the chances of another station getting a sniff of it. He wanted to gather more data for his single-cup coffee maker feature, too. The last thing he needed was an assignment to visit a homeless shelter and do a promo for their fundraiser!
His iPhone rang a moment later, pulling him out of his funk. He pumped his fist excitedly as he recognized the name on the call display: Kazuhiro Hirotoma. Greeting him warmly, he said, “Hi, Kaz. Thanks for calling back.”
“I’m glad to see you got my e-mail,” came the slightly accented reply. “Sorry I couldn’t take your phone call earlier. Sumi and I were at a concert until quite late.”
“No problem,” Paul answered. “By the way, how’s Sumi doing since her hip replacement?”
“Much better. She’s walking without the use of a cane now.”
“I’m glad to hear that. Give her my love.” Then switching gears he asked, “Can we meet to discuss your e-mail?”
“Of course. I’ve got some appointments today but I’m free tomorrow afternoon.”
“Would two o’clock be okay?”
“Yes, come to my home. Sumi would love to see you.”
Kaz lived in Capitol Hill on Fourteenth Avenue East, along what was termed Millionaire’s Row. Paul had gone to the Hirotoma’s with his parents many times over the years, and he enjoyed the Oriental flavor of the décor and atmosphere.
“I look forward to it,” Paul said. “See you tomorrow.”
He entered the date and time in his iPhone and then glanced at his watch. It was time to go to the homeless shelter.
Because a station van was unavailable and parking was a premium at this time of day anyway, he caught a taxi. When the driver dropped him off at the curb, Paul paid the fare and walked toward the red brick, two-story structure that stood between a pawnshop on one side and a craft store on the other. A sign above the front door read: Welcoming Hands. Several people loitered nearby, and a customer emerged from the pawnshop next door, carrying an old guitar.
As Paul stepped into the front entrance, he noticed a sign in faded red letters that was taped to the wall. Visitors must register upon entering. Push green button. He dutifully pushed the green button and waited while an African American woman approached from the reception desk.
“May I help you?” she asked through the glass.
“I’m Paul Blakely, with KNEX-TV. I have an appointment to see Maria Sanchez.”
The woman admitted him and then pointed to an office situated on the left.
“Thanks,” Paul said, pausing to peruse the interior.
Four long rows of tables and chairs sat in the open space behind the reception desk and occupied the center of the room. A small gathering area was situated off to one side. It had a TV on a stand in the far corner, and three young children sat on a worn couch, watching a program.
Several women were wiping off the tables and straightening the chairs in the eating area. An elderly man was sweeping up a small pile of what appeared to be wood shavings, and a younger man was wet-mopping the floor. A set of stairs led to the second floor, and two women were working their way down them, sweeping the treads and wiping the handrail. One woman was on her hands and knees, scraping at what might have been a wad of gum. A teenage girl was dusting the light fixtures, and a man near a set of stairs that led to the basement was emptying the garbage into a large plastic container.
Paul remembered hearing somewhere that guests were required to do chores in order to stay at the shelter. If they failed to help out, they were written up and ultimately shown the door. As harsh as that seemed, it was necessary for the good of the shelter. If conditions were allowed to deteriorate, si
ckness and disease would affect everyone. The transmission of diseases in homeless shelters across the nation was a growing concern.
The woman at the reception desk cleared her throat and pointed toward Maria’s office.
“Right,” Paul said, walking toward it.
The office consisted of an outer room and an inner one. A young woman sat behind a desk in the outer office, busily typing on a laptop.
“Good morning,” Paul said, noticing her large, brown eyes as she looked up from her work. She was slim—almost too slim, he thought—and wore her brown hair in a ponytail. “I’m Paul Blakely, with KNEX-TV. I have a ten o’clock appointment with Maria Sanchez.”
The young woman looked at him, puzzled.
“Jennifer Wheelan was supposed to do the interview,” Paul explained, “but something came up. I’m here in her place.”
“Okay, please have a seat and I’ll let Maria know you’re here.” She stepped into the inner office and returned in a moment. “Maria will be right with you.”
“Thanks.”
The young woman tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and returned to her work.
Paul glanced around the office, noting the posters and communications that were tacked to a bulletin board, announcing upcoming community events and special classes being held at the shelter. There was an appointment schedule on the bottom right corner of the bulletin board for meetings with Maria. Several names and specific times were scrawled in pencil on the schedule. Paul noted that her next appointment was in thirty minutes.
Good, the interview will be short and sweet, he thought, as his gaze returned to the secretary. She was good looking enough, although she wore very little makeup and her ponytail was held in place by a simple elastic band.
“So how many people do you have here?” he asked, turning on the Blakely charm.
She answered without breaking eye contact with the screen. “You’ll have to ask Maria.”
Following Rain Page 2