She put her jacket on, grabbed the bag, and made her way out the door. Humming one of the chorus songs, she ambled along the sidewalk. The lovely autumn smell of ripened leaves laced the nippy air as it tingled on the skin of her cheeks. Mark and Chris had already begun grousing about the soon return of winter. Mark called it “the dead time.”
“The dead time?” she’d asked the first time she heard it, thinking he meant it as a joke.
“Yeah.” He nodded at her while he stirred some sauce. “Everything’s dead outside until spring.”
“Everything isn’t dead. The trees and plants are resting, that’s all. And some birds are still here. Winter’s quiet and pretty, don’t you think?”
Chris snorted. “I thought my wife was quiet and pretty, too. But baby, when she wants to storm, look out.”
Mark let loose a guffaw and shot Julie a sideways glance. “Quiet and pretty? I say winter is bleak, ugly, and cold.”
Chris chuckled and gave Mark a nod. Julie shook her head. “Guess you guys shouldn’t live in this part of the world, then.”
“Hey, that’s one of the enjoyments of living here, right, Chris? Griping about the weather.”
“You said it, pal.”
She kept quiet, not wanting one of their first conversations to end on a sour note, though over the last two years, despite her continued efforts, so many of them had. Could be Mark was one of those disguised blessings Mom always talked about. Someone to teach her patience and acceptance. Grace under pressure. Or long-suffering, maybe? That sounded more like it.
She rounded the corner, traveled past the bakery’s front, and down the alley to the back. Jade and Zach, the unofficial leaders of the local freegan community, stood near the back door of the bakery, talking with their heads close together. They both carried their usual assortment of empty plastic bags.
“Hey,” Julie greeted them. “Got some good stuff from the restaurant tonight.”
“Great.” Jade’s cute face brightened in a grin. “We haven’t opened the bakery’s bags yet, but there’s a lot here tonight. Have you got any spare freezer space in case we need it?”
Julie nodded and set down the bag she’d brought. “Enough to fit a few bags. Plus, my church said they can store things if necessary. They started a weekly free meal and food pantry program, and some of the ladies said they’d help make the daily soup stock.”
Jade gave her a quick hug. “That’s awesome. You’ve been doing that for so long by yourself.”
“I had a great idea yesterday.” Zach beamed at Julie. “Listen to this. My brother gave me this food dehydrator he hardly used. I figure we can wash, cut and dehydrate a lot of the discarded produce we find, and save it to reconstitute in the soup stock, and that will help with storage space, since the food shrinks so much in size. Dehydrated stuff doesn’t need cold storage, so we’ll save energy, too.”
Jade added, “And kids love dried fruit for snacks. It’ll be nice to give them something healthy that won’t spoil if we can’t get it to them right away.”
Julie’s heart lifted while she laughed and exchanged a high-five with Jade and Zach. Spending time with like-minded people always energized her, and kept her from becoming discouraged at the mountain of work that needed doing, and the lack of willing hands to pitch in. But that was changing.
Voices sounded in the alley, and Julie greeted the people as they trickled toward the back door and the loading dock. She waved at Wally, the middle-aged, skinny fellow who always wore a frayed ball cap. Julie liked his craggy, distinctive features and the intelligent expression in his eyes. She used to think of him as “the garlic-bagel guy” until he finally introduced himself to her.
When he’d gone home the night after he first spoke to Julie, Jade elbowed her and said in a low voice, “Consider it an honor. Wally rarely speaks to anyone besides Zach and me, other than to ask if there are any garlic bagels in the bags of day-olds.”
Julie had grinned at her, and glanced at Wally’s retreating figure. “Guess he’s got a real thing for garlic bagels.”
“His wife Monica loves them. He gets them for her.”
“Oh. I’ve never seen her with him.”
“You probably won’t, either. She’s disabled. I don’t think she goes out much, since it’s hard for her to walk. I stopped by last month to drop off a box of assorted yarns my mother gave me. Wally mentioned Monica likes to knit, so I thought she’d like them. They live in a camper van parked at his brother’s house.”
Julie worried about Wally and Monica for days, searching her mind for how to help them. Over time, she could tell that Wally, though quiet, didn’t seem to harbor any despair over his difficult circumstances. Tonight he even showed a bit of jauntiness in his step.
“Hey, Wally.”
He nodded at her. “Julie.”
“We haven’t checked the bags yet, but it looks like a good bagel night.”
A slight grin flickered under his whiskers. She hoped someday he’d let her come visit him and his wife. She’d asked him once if she could stop by, and he’d said, “Maybe sometime. We aren’t fixed up for visitors right now.”
Julie unpacked her offerings from the restaurant, describing the root vegetable medley she’d brought, and handing out small plastic containers of soup she’d made at home and chilled the day before.
Her eyes widened at Casey’s approach. He never showed up on Mondays, or without his father. “Doesn’t Kevin have the night off? I thought Monday was football night for you guys.”
“He’s having a hard time with his leg. He went to bed already.”
Kevin wouldn’t want Casey roaming around at night alone. If Sheila found out, she’d hit the roof.
Casey’s expression lightened. “Thought I’d see if the bakery threw out anything sweet today.”
Julie quenched the impulse to admonish Casey. Bags were opened, and the careful, systematic gleaning began. Jade and Zach instructed the few newcomers on proper freegan etiquette. Julie could have recited the speech right along with Zach.
He launched in. “We leave the place as clean or cleaner than we found it, and seal the bags back up. If you find something first, and there’s only a few of it, you don’t need to share, but it’s appreciated if you do. Anything nobody wants, or that’s too spoiled or squashed can be left here for trash pickup, or if any of you know a farmer with pigs, or someone into composting, let them know there’s a lot of free stuff they could come and pick up after we’ve left each place.”
He cleared his throat and continued, “As far as anything with meat in it, it’s your call if you want to try it. We have no way of knowing if the food is still fine to eat. Just be very careful and really examine and smell it before you try it. We don’t worry much about dairy products or eggs, but you need to use your judgment with those, too. Nobody we know of has gotten ill, and we’d like to keep it that way, so be cautious.”
Julie finished handing out her offerings, and helped Casey find a treat. Squatting near a bag, she smiled at him and held up a piece of pie in a small plastic, triangular container. “Apple pie sound good?”
Casey’s head bobbed. “Is there another one for Dad? Bet he’d like that for breakfast, or to take it to work with him. He probably won’t feel like breakfast tomorrow.”
She opened the small bag wider. “Found another apple one, and some kind of berry pie, too.”
She handed them to Casey. “Put them in with your other stuff. I bet your dad will like the roasted vegetables, too. I tried some at the restaurant. Yummy. Made them myself.”
She held up the bag. “Anybody want some pie? There’s more pieces in here, all separated in their own containers.”
A few people trickled over. The sounds of murmurs and rustling plastic meshed with the quiet whoosh of cars passing on the street. Once the gleaning halted, Zach said, “There’s almost a full grocery bag of assorted rolls and bagels left over here. If nobody wants any more, can you take these and freeze them, Julie?”
; “Sure.” She strode over and lifted the plump bag. “I’ll say goodnight, now. See you tomorrow. Want to go with me, Casey?”
He nodded. Farewells followed her as she and Casey made their way down the alley.
She slowed her steps to stretch out the time with him and accommodate his limp. “Say, let me drop these bagels off at my place, and I’ll walk you home. Your Dad wouldn’t want you out alone at night.” She gave him a slight scowl for emphasis before patting his shoulder. “Maybe we should’ve gone on the rest of the route with the gleaners. We might have snagged you a slice of pizza or a calzone outside one of the pizzerias.”
Casey shook his head. “Dad wouldn’t like it. He says it’s okay to have the bakery stuff, or your leftovers, but the other food ought to be for the people who don’t have jobs or anywhere to live.”
Always thoughtful. That was Kevin. She breathed in to counteract the pang in her throat. Her heart ached for Kevin. He managed to scrape by even though he and Casey were a one-wage household now. Any way to free up money from their food budget would help them, and she wanted to find some way to ease Kevin’s struggles. Besides, the food would be wasted if nobody used it. Sometimes she got so frustrated at the thought of edible items rotting in landfills, instead of nourishing people or animals.
Doesn’t that upset you, too, God? All this stupid waste while people go without? The thought pricked her eyes with a sudden urge to cry. She pressed it down and made her voice light.
“Your dad’s a good, kind man.”
“Mom says—” Casey’s voice lowered. “She says he’s a drunk.”
Julie glanced at his downturned face, her own heart falling. She struggled to find a diplomatic response. The poor kid had enough to deal with.
She drew in a breath. “Well, even good men have faults and problems to work on.”
Casey’s face lifted and his pinched brow relaxed. “I think Dad’s a good man, too. He spends all his extra time with me. We play games, and he helps me with my homework. And he makes good scrambled eggs.”
They shared a laugh. A flash of anger at Casey’s absent mother surged for a moment. Sheila should be here with Casey, helping him grow. A whisper inside her mind said, “You’re here. You help him.”
The thought jolted her to a halt. How true. She could help him. What a waste of time to be angry at Sheila. What good would it do?
“You okay, Julie?”
Awareness of her surroundings returned, and she smiled at Casey’s wide-eyed expression. “You bet. Come on, let’s drop this bag at my house. I’ve got some rocky road ice cream we can share. That way you can save your pie for tomorrow and still eat a treat tonight.”
Casey grinned up at her. “It’s a deal.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Mark re-read the pharmacy leaflet for the third time. Taking this anxiety medicine sounded like a bad idea. The small bottle on the table in front of him seemed to give off an unfriendly aura. His disoriented sensation had lessened almost to nothing, but this weird perception of the pill bottle highlighted the change in his inner world since the afternoon.
His eyes roved over the ominous list of possible side effects from the pills. Lack of concentration, difficulty thinking, emotional dysfunction, depression. He couldn’t be a good chef if he ended up with any of those. Why risk it because he felt weird for a while today? Besides, he wasn’t anxious about anything before it happened. The problem might be blood sugar shifts like Chris got sometimes.
He shook his head at the pills. Nope. It wasn’t worth the risk to his job performance. Mark rose, threw out the pamphlet, and put the pill bottle in his desk drawer. He paced a circle around his one-room apartment, and then slouched onto the sofa and stared at his dusty gray rug. He’d been glad the carpeting was that color. It took a long time for dust to be obvious. But last time Mom stopped over, she asked him how often he ran the vacuum.
“Is that a hint, Mom?” he’d asked, and chuckled.
“Mmm-hmmm.” Mom had given him her mischievous face, one brow raised accompanied with twinkling eyes. “You don’t want to be the stereotypical bachelor, do you? You should keep tidy, and put your best foot forward to attract a nice girl.”
“If she’s nice, then she wouldn’t mind that I’m messy.” His apartment always seemed fine to him, anyway. Nice and comfortable. “Besides, if I need to be somebody else to attract someone, maybe I shouldn’t bother. It hasn’t panned out into anything so far, so why try? Anyway, Dad’s sloppy, and you love him.”
“Yes, I do. But I get annoyed with him at times.” Mom had crossed her arms. “Girls today are pickier, I think. They expect more.”
Mark had found himself running through a quick slide-show of the complaints he’d gotten from various girls he dated. “You don’t spend enough time with me.” “I’m tired of watching cooking shows on your night off.” “What do you care about besides your job?” “Why don’t you get a bigger apartment?” “Would it kill you to open up a little?” “If you knew I was coming over, why didn’t you straighten the place up for me?”
He remembered how Mom’s eyes had rounded at his explosive burst of laughter. “Yeah, Mom. You’re right about that.”
She had tilted her head. “Then what’s so funny?”
He’d quit laughing and patted her arm. “Just that I agree, that’s all.”
“Okay.” Mom’s shrug and puzzled expression had almost started him laughing again.
Mark couldn’t help a smile at the memory. Sure, he figured he’d be with someone by now, someone who loved him as he loved her. But he’d resigned himself to the occasional relationship, the attraction and fun of the beginning, and watching that fade into the uncomfortable sensation of the other person’s dissatisfaction.
Was it his fault he didn’t feel anything more than attraction for the girls he took out? He rose up and stood by his window. He should get a dog. If he did, he’d really be a stereotypical bachelor. He thought of the way little Freddy stared right into his eyes, with an almost human-like expression. A dog might be a comfort.
His thoughts spilled out into words. “Why would I want to be married, anyway? That guy Kevin got married, and look where he is now.”
Poor guy. His wife leaves him, he’s got a painful leg and a kid to raise. Mark contemplated Casey’s obvious love and closeness with his father. An unexpected pang twisted in his gut. He strode to the fridge and grabbed a soda before he sat and flipped on the television. He’d watch some cooking shows and keep his mind on the thing he loved to do. Someday he’d have his own show creating recipes that delighted people.
His mind wouldn’t focus on his shows. He muted the sound and closed his eyes. Something inside underwent a shift earlier, a change. But what? Why?
This is You, isn’t it, God? Trying to get my attention.
He shook his head.
Not an easy thing to do, is it? I guess You had to yank me off my hamster wheel and remind me what’s important. I lost track. I haven’t put any priority on my spiritual life. I think I’ve gotten out of balance somewhere. Obsessed with bettering my skills and ignoring everything else. But aren’t we supposed to do things with all our might?
Scriptures sounded in his mind. Seek ye first the kingdom of God…man does not live by bread alone…unless the Lord builds the house, they labor in vain that build it.
These weren’t mere words anymore, but struck an answering chord inside him. He flipped off the television and sat still. Head bowed, he opened himself to the cleansing love that washed away the anxiety and confusion. Like a weary traveler returning home, he sank into the comfort of a remembered peace. A smile flickered as he let out a sigh.
Okay, You know I’m a thickhead, but I’m listening.
* * *
Julie glanced up when Mark muttered, “What’s this?”
He shot a glance at Chris, busy at the stove, and held up a tray from the meat locker. “Now where on God’s green earth did this beef come from?”
“I know,” Chris nodded. �
�Not very marbled, is it?”
“Not very? It looks more like venison.” Mark scowled at the meat.
Julie continued slivering bell peppers and said, “Barlow stopped in before you guys got here and told me to give you a heads-up. He decided to offer a grass-fed steak option starting this week. Guess some of his pet customers asked for it.”
Chris groaned and stooped to check a pan inside the oven. “Great. I haven’t worked with grass-fed. We’re not going trendy, are we?”
“Who knows?” Mark shrugged at him, replaced the tray in the cooler, and brought a different one to the cutting area. “If the meat is anything like venison, we might need to marinate it or pound it to make the steaks tender. Guess I better study up on it.”
Chris’s jaw worked the gum to the side of his mouth and he shook his head. “If they ask us to offer a vegan option in a steakhouse, are we gonna do that, too? Stupid. I think it’s a waste of time. Bet we hardly sell any grass-fed steaks. It’ll just get thrown out.” He chuckled and raised an eyebrow at Julie. “I’m thinking you encouraged him to do it, so you’d have healthier leftovers for your doggie bags. Woof-woof.”
Something inside Julie bristled. The faces of the freegans, and Casey, flashed in her mind. The anger faded when she realized Chris didn’t understand that the food she took home fed people. But even if it was for animals, why should he be flippant about that? Didn’t their health matter, too?
She swallowed down a mixed tide of disappointment and irritation at Mark and Chris. Their attitude seemed snobbish to her, but she supposed they needed to think like chefs. That wasn’t her job, and she didn’t want it to be. A line cook’s work suited her fine, and made it possible for her to do what she cared about.
She reached for another pepper, appreciating its shiny bright skin as she sectioned it and inhaled its delicate scent. “Well, Barlow will be in later to tell you what he’s adding to the menu after tonight.”
“Just great. Delusions of grandeur, that’s what this is.” Chris slammed his hand down hard on the counter, his jaw chewing in fury at the gum in his mouth. “I get used to one set of regular entrees, and here he goes again.” His voice rose to a near shout, face reddening. “The man knows nothing about cooking and expects us to change our whole system whenever he gets some wild idea. Can’t we just run a simple, solid steakhouse?”
A Work in Progress Page 3