“Thank you,” said Marisol.
“Well, good luck. If you need anything, let me know. We do intake in the morning, so if you don’t get a bed, come back and we’ll see what services you qualify for.”
“Services?”
“Yes,” said Flo. “They have social workers in here in the morning taking applications for food stamps, housing, medical, legal, that sort of thing.”
“They’ll help with all that?”
“We do what we can,” said the girl. “Services are limited, and it takes a while to process things through the State. It can take up to a month to get a determination. And not everyone qualifies, but we can point you in the right direction for emergency services.”
“That sounds very generous,” said Marisol.
“That’s nice of you to say, but really there’s not enough to go around. That would be generous.”
“Come on, Flo,” said Billy grumpily. “I’m not waiting all night to eat.”
“Go on,” urged Marisol. “I’ll catch up with you later.” She suspected Billy had more need of Flo than she did and she didn’t want to cause trouble between the two.
“Billy,” said the woman. “Make sure Flo gets to the clinic tomorrow to test her blood sugar and blood pressure. Okay?”
“Yeah, sure,” grumbled Billy.
“I’m sorry,” said Marisol. “I didn’t catch your name.”
“Margaret Kelley, but everyone calls me Peg or Peggy.”
“Nice to meet you,” said Marisol. “Let me ask you. Is Flo going to be all right?”
“What do you mean?”
“She seems a little disoriented.”
“It happens on the street. The endless dealing with the elements, finding shelter and food. She’s doing well, all things considered.”
“But can’t something more be done for her?”
“Not if she doesn’t want it. We can’t force her to take services. Her children tried to put her in a nursing home. From her description, it was an awful place. They kept her so drugged she didn’t know what day it was. One day she just walked away. She’s afraid if she applies for her social security again, her children will find her and put her back in a nursing home.”
“That sounds awful.”
“Believe or not, there are worse places than the street.”
“Yes,” said Marisol. “I know about that.”
“Do you?” asked Peggy. She looked over Marisol with an appraising eye. Marisol supposed that after the incident in the park she was bedraggled, but not as much as other people in the shelter.
“Do you need to see someone?” Peggy said. “We have a nurse here—”
“No,” said Marisol. “I’m fine. Just a little hungry.”
“Well, the dining room is through there,” she said pointing to the door Flo and Billy went through. “And you probably should hurry. We close the line at eight.”
Marisol walked into the dining room. Immediately she was overwhelmed with the scope of what she saw. There were a least two hundred people at the tables, from every age group from the very young to the elderly. She had no idea that homelessness had such scope in a very rich country like the United States.
She took a tray as she saw other people do and slid it along the metal ledge. There were several people dishing out food, but the one that immediately caught her eye was a blond headed man. He was wearing simple clothes, a white button-down shirt and khakis, but from the fine sheen of them the clothes were of obvious high quality. A small boy, maybe around six, was ahead of Marisol, along with an elderly woman and the man’s eyes lit up when he saw him.
“Hello, Simon. How did school go today?”
School? Marisol never considered that the homeless went to school, but then she didn’t imagine that so many children were homeless.
“It was great! We learned about dinosaurs!”
“Come along, Simon,” said the woman. “Let’s not bother Mr. Ryan today. There are other people in line.”
“It’s no bother, Mrs. Harrigan. Here let me help you with Simon’s tray.” The man hurried around the end of the hot tables and helped Simon and Mrs. Harrigan taking the unwieldy trays from both.
“One moment,” he said, turning to Marisol. He stared a Marisol for a moment and then blinked. “I’ll be right back.” Quickly he led them to a table with a few empty spots, settled the trays and returned to his station.
“Thanks,” he said with a wide grin. He spooned Marisol a generous helping of the stew. “You’re new here aren’t you? I mean, I haven’t seen you here before today.”
“You’re right. I haven’t been here before today.”
“Well, come back whenever you like. We’re here to help.”
“Thanks,” said Marisol feeling her skin blush. She liked this unassuming man with an easy manner.
A nun in a black habit came up behind Ryan.
“Mr. Kelley, let’s move the line along. We’re closing the kitchen in five minutes.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Ryan. He smiled at Marisol.
“Catch you later.”
Marisol shook her head as she headed to the tables to find a place to sit. It used to be that she was out of the league of many men she met. Now the tables were turned. She was homeless, and someone like Ryan Kelley were out of her league.
CHAPTER FIVE
The End of Her Rope
For the third time this evening, Marisol was unable to eat. The stew tasted good, though it wasn’t something she was used to eating. She nibbled on the biscuit she was given, but even that didn’t soothe her jangled nerves.
What am I doing here? What have I gotten myself into?
Her father must be worried sick. Gustav, their head of security, who her father surely would have called by now, must be ready to tear apart the streets of New York. She should return and apologize to her father.
Marisol fingered her cell phone in her pocket. Maybe she could at least call him and let him she was all right. But no. He’d talk her into coming back and she couldn’t. Each time she contemplated that thought the image came to her of Tristan being rude to her, saying those awful things, but what was the absolutely the last stray was him fingering her in her intimate places at the head table while she was sitting next to her father. No. The man was intolerable. She couldn’t marry him, not now. Not ever.
She noticed Ryan talking to Simon and Mrs. Harrigan again. He smiled and joked with them, and then brought out a small red car from his pocket.
“No. Mr. Ryan. You’re spoiling him.”
He winked. “No, I’m not. Simon isn’t spoiled at all, are you.”
“But the other children, Mr. Ryan.”
“Not a problem,” he said. “Peggy,” he called.
Peggy came around the corner holding some bags. “You could help, you know.”
Ryan smiled and took one of the bags, while Peggy trailed him with other. Out of the bag came different things: Small toys, or penc
ils and notebooks, or books. He seemed to have something specific for each child. Marisol watched Peggy follow him. They were both blonde and attractive. Marisol sighed. Of course, Ryan Kelley would be married, and of course, to someone who matched him perfectly.
“Sister Margaret,” snapped the nun in the black habit.
Peggy turned around.
“What have I said—”
“Don’t blame her, Sister Mary Agnes. I brought them,” said Ryan. “Please. A little something to brighten their day can’t be bad.”
A nun? Peggy Kelley was a nun? Then she couldn’t be married to Ryan.
“It is when they come to me expecting the same thing.”
“Kids, don’t go to Sister Mary Agnes for toys, okay?”
“Yes, Mr. Ryan,” they said in unison.
He turned around and held out his hands. “See, no problem.”
“At least it’sn’t ice cream,” muttered the nun, but then she smiled evilly at Ryan. “Not this time.”
“Can we have ice cream?” one child said.
“Shush,” said her mother. “No ice cream. Not today.”
“Oh, please,” said the child.
Ryan shook his finger at the nun. “See what you did? This is your fault.”
Sister Mary Agnes laughed and walked back into the kitchen.
“Well, I guess the next time I come, I’ll have to bring ice cream,” said Ryan.
“Yay!” the children cheered.
“Now, who has homework?”
A few children raised their hands, and Ryan went to them while the adults cleared the tables. Some of the adults without children left quietly. Next to Marisol, a teenaged girl had her face squinting in frustration.
“Homework?”
“Yeah,” said the girl cautiously. She pulled her book back as if suspicious of what Marisol wanted from her.
Marisol managed to peek at the girl’s book.
“French?”
“Yeah. It’s a bitch. I can’t get it.”
“What are you trying to do?”
“I have to read this passage and translate it into English.”
“I remember when I learned English, I had to do the same thing.”
“You had to learn English?”