Entertaining Angels (2 page)

She didn’t need to hear his sob story. Not when she had one of her own.

Jesse offered her another smile that crinkled the skin around those pretty blue eyes. “You’ll find everything you need in Fairbrook.” Then, instead of heading toward the buses, he walked in the opposite direction.

Weird, she thought, as she continued on her trek out of town. Jesse, the hippie guy, was probably crazy, but he’d offered her the first bit of kindness and respect she’d received in a long time. Especially from a stranger.

If he was right, and Fairbrook had a place where she could eat some free meals, she’d be able to conserve the money she had. And that was a top priority right now. She’d had her fill of foster homes and shirttail relatives like Mary Ellen. And it was time to make it on her own.

Fairbrook was as good a place as any.

The engine of the ten-year-old Ford Taurus sputtered again, and Craig Houston bit his tongue, holding back a profanity that wasn’t considered appropriate for a pastor to say. But the blasted car had been skipping and chugging ever since he’d left his granddad’s home near Phoenix. And as he neared the California line, he was growing more frustrated by the minute.

If his life had been part of some master scheme, he suspected his day would have gone a whole lot smoother than it had. So it seemed only natural to question the validity of his “call” to the ministry—or at least his assignment as an associate pastor to what he’d been told was “a fairly small congregation in a lovely beachside community in southern California.”

The car skipped again, and Craig let his temper slip just long enough to slam his hand on the dashboard. At this rate, he was never going to reach the Fairbrook city limits.

As he’d done several times since leaving Scottsdale, he pulled into the closest service station and asked if they had a mechanic on duty.

“Hey, Pete!” one guy yelled to a burly man in his late forties who wore a pair of grungy coveralls.

Twenty minutes later, Craig got the same answer from Pete that he’d been getting all day. “I can’t find anything wrong under the hood.”

“Honest,” Craig said, “it’s running hard and skipping like crazy.”

Pete agreed to take the car out for a test drive, only to come back ten minutes later and say the same thing three other so-called experts had said earlier.

“It ran like a charm for me.” Pete handed the keys back to Craig.

That figured. Instead of some master game plan, this was beginning to feel like one divinely inspired practical joke.

“Do you have a pay phone?” Craig asked, wishing he knew where he’d left his cell. He’d had it when he’d started out this morning, but somewhere along the way, he’d misplaced it.

Pete pointed to the back wall of the shop with a beefy, grease-stained hand.

“Thank you.”

While striding toward the telephone, Craig reached into the front pocket of his dress slacks and pulled out all the change he had, as well as the stick-it note with the name and the number of the couple awaiting his arrival.

When the line connected, a female voice sounded. “Hello?”

“Mrs. Delacourt?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“This is Craig Houston. I’m really sorry about calling like this. I know you’ve prepared dinner for me, but I’ve been having car trouble and have no idea when I’ll arrive.”

“Where are you? Can I send someone to pick you up?”

“I’m still in Arizona, so there’s no point coming to get me. I just called to let you know I’d be late and to tell you that I’ll pick up something to eat along the way.”

“I’m sorry you’ve had so much trouble.”

So was Craig.

“Is there something my husband or I can do to help?”

“I’m afraid not.” He’d just had the fourth mechanic in a row insist there wasn’t anything wrong with the engine, but that definitely wasn’t the case. Unless, of course, Craig was losing it and imagining some reason to go home and revamp his future.

“You take care,” Mrs. Delacourt said. “And don’t worry about the time you arrive. My husband and I stay up late.”

“Thanks.” Craig hung up the phone, then sighed.

What a lousy way for the new associate minister to introduce himself to the couple who’d offered to take him in until his place was ready.

He could, he supposed, resort to prayer, asking for smooth sailing the rest of the way, but he and God weren’t exactly on speaking terms lately.

Of course, from all he’d been taught in seminary, he suspected that was his own fault.

But under the circumstances, taking all the blame didn’t seem entirely fair.

As the sun dropped low in the western sky, and the transit bus drove off, blasting Renee and two other disembarking passengers with a diesel-fueled roar, she surveyed her new surroundings.

A self-serve gas station that offered a mini-mart and a car wash sat on the corner of a street lined with trees covered in purple blossoms, which made the city seem prettier than the one she’d just left. At least you knew it was spring here. Maybe Fairbrook had been a good choice.

She didn’t take anyone’s advice very often. Not because she was stubborn or anything. It’s just that most people she came across—young or old—hadn’t done a whole lot with their own lives and didn’t seem to know what they were talking about.

And those who did?

Well, they just didn’t understand the reality Renee lived with.

She’d talked to the high school guidance counselor about it once and tried to explain.

Well, sort of.

Mrs. Brinkley had seemed to think that all Renee had to do was keep out of trouble, buckle down, and study. Then, somehow, like magic, a scholarship and financial aid would make everything okay.

Some of what she’d said was true, but buckling down wasn’t so easy to do when there were people in and out of the apartment at all times of the day and night. Or when the lights went out while Renee was reading
A Tale of Two Cities
for English class because Mary Ellen hadn’t paid the electric bill. Or when the goofy guy who shared a wall with Renee kept his radio turned up high all night, listening to whacky AM talk shows where callers reported alien abductions and discussed a government conspiracy to keep them quiet.

Or when her stomach growled so bad it was hard to focus on 2+2=4, let alone 3x-5y=z, and the only thing in the fridge was a six-pack of beer, a jar of salsa, and a hunk of dried-out cheese.

So while it seemed a bit wild to follow the advice of a homeless hippie-guy, the need to conserve her cash and the promise of a soup kitchen had been key to Renee’s decision to go to Fairbrook.

Now all she had to do was find a place to stay for the night.

A gray-haired lady dressed in teal-blue slacks and a cream-colored sweater began a slow shuffle along the sidewalk. A worn black tote bag hung from the crook in her arm.

“Excuse me,” Renee said, easily catching up with her. “Can you tell me where I can find the community church?”

The woman cocked her silvery head to the side and squinted, as though she was new in town, too. Then she lifted her free arm and pointed a gnarled finger in the same direction she was heading. “This is Main Street. Follow it down about eight or ten blocks. You’ll come to Applewood. Turn left. That’ll
lead you to Mulberry Park. The church is on the same side as the playground, although the entrance is actually on First Avenue.”

Renee wasn’t all that good with directions, but she figured a park and a church would be tough to miss. “Thanks.”

She continued to tag along until the older woman turned down one of the side streets, and Renee trudged straight ahead. The sore on the side of her foot burned and stung something awful, and she found herself limping.

She counted blocks as she went, and while it seemed as though it took forever to reach Applewood, it had probably only been a few torturous minutes. Fortunately, the little old lady knew what she was talking about. The park lay straight ahead.

Renee glanced beyond the playground and easily spotted the church, one of those white, old-fashioned types that had stained glass windows, a bright red double door in front, and a bell tower with a steeple on top. Trouble was, the parking lot was practically deserted, and Renee felt like kicking herself for being so dumb and listening to a bushy-faced hippie.

An old guy wearing a pair of denim overalls and a blue plaid shirt was sweeping the grounds with a push broom. When she asked about the soup kitchen, he told her it was already closed for the day.

“Come back between eleven and two tomorrow,” he added, while he continued to sweep.

She wasn’t all that hungry yet, but she would need to eat something by tonight. She still got a little pukey sometimes, and it helped to have food in her stomach.

But after buying the cheeseburger and the bus ticket, her three hundred dollars was dwindling fast.

She ran a hand through her hair, her finger snagging on a snarl. She wished she’d taken time to comb it better this morning and to pull it back or something. But she wouldn’t stress about that now. Not when she needed to find a place to sleep. A place that wouldn’t cost very much.

As the old man continued to stroke the sidewalk with his broom, she called out to him again. “Excuse me. Sir?”

The swish-swish of his movements paused, and he turned around to face her. “Yes?”

“I’m looking for a motel, and I was wondering if you could tell me where I can find one.”

“The Happy Hearth is on Fourth Avenue, just past the post office. And the Welcome Inn is on Bedford Parkway.”

“Thanks.” She bent over, something that wasn’t quite as easy to do as it used to be, and ran her finger along the frayed edge of the sandal strap, where the skin on the inside of her ankle had started to bleed. If she thought the old man might have a first aid kit on him, she’d have asked him for a Band-Aid. But she doubted he did. So instead, she asked, “Which of the motels is closest?”

He stroked his chin with the hand not holding the broom handle. “The one on Bedford, I suppose.”

She bit down on her bottom lip.

“You new in town?” he asked.

For a moment, she was afraid to admit it. But if he got too inquisitive or mentioned her age, she always had the fake ID to back up her story, and it was a pretty good one. So she nodded. “Yeah. Just arrived today. I’m looking for a job, too.”

He studied her for a moment, as if really looking at her—inside and out—which was something most people never did.

So she stood tall, tried to conjure an aura of self-confidence and maturity, and smiled. “I’m a hard worker. And I can do just about anything. So if you know of anyone who’s hiring …?”

“Not off the top of my head.” He rubbed a hand over his thinning hair as if trying to joggle his memory. “But if you’re in a hurry, you can cut through the park. The jogging path that runs past the ball field is a shortcut to Bedford. Just head east. When you reach the street, hang a right.”

“Thanks.” She took a step, then froze. “I don’t suppose you know what the rates are?”

“I had to put my brother-in-law up there a couple of years
ago, and it cost sixty bucks a night. But I suspect it must be more now.”

Renee nodded, forcing her expression to remain positive and upbeat while her spirits were sputtering by the minute. Her money wasn’t going to last a week. But what else could she do?

More scared and desperate than she dared admit, she limped across the street and made her way to the park. Before crossing the newly mowed lawn, she removed her sandals and carried them.

The soft, cool blades of grass massaged her aching feet, as she continued on her way. She scanned the tree-dotted grounds, the empty playground, the baseball field, where a preteen boy pitched to a man squatting behind home plate.

It was a nice park, she decided.

If she knew where she’d be sleeping, she might have hung out for a while. But night was closing in on her, and an imaginary time bomb was tick-tocking in her head.

Could her life get any worse than this?

Yeah, it could.

If she ran out of money before she got a job, she’d really be in a fix, especially with a baby to think about.

Up ahead, a great big tree grew in the center of the park. Underneath the shade of its branches, a concrete bench rested, offering a seat to a weary traveler.

It seemed like she’d been walking since early this morning. Her legs ached, and she needed a rest.

What would it hurt if she sat down to rest for just a minute or two?

Instead of hurrying to find the motel, she padded to the bench, removed her backpack, and plopped down.

She’d known that her decision to have the baby meant that she was on her own, but she hadn’t realized how scary that might be, especially since it would be dark soon.

If she was a religious person, she might pray at a time like this. But she didn’t know what to say.

She’d gone to Sunday school with one of the foster families she’d lived with, but she couldn’t remember too much about it. Just that they sang songs, listened to stories, ate oatmeal cookies, and drank a lemonade-based punch that was yummy.

Still, she was running out of options at this point, so she clasped her hands, letting them rest in her lap, and bowed her head.

She didn’t close her eyes, though. She just stared at her toes and the red, angry wound on her foot, felt the tears sting her eyes and clog her throat.

“If you’re there, God—” She looked up through the dancing leaves in the tree, spotting a dappled glimpse of the sky. Oh, God, please be there. She glanced back at her feet and sighed, hoping her words didn’t fall on deaf ears. “I don’t know where to go or who to trust. And now I’ve got a baby to look out for.”

No answer.

A story she’d heard at Sunday school came to mind, and she wished that she could remember all the details now. But it was about a bunch of people who’d been in the wilderness for forty or fifty years. And God had sent a cloud to show them the way to go. He’d given them some kind of heavenly food to eat, too.

What she wouldn’t do for her own personal cloud and a decent meal right now.

So she took it a step further. “Can you please help me? I need to find a cheap place to live and a job.”