A Season For Family

Heath nodded.

“Well, holding that sign is less embarrassing than hearing yourself say the words over and over again. I know some people see us as bums who just won’t get a job, and for a handful that may be true. But my experience at shelters tells me otherwise. If it wasn’t for Miss Livvy’s Christian heart, everybody here tonight might be sleeping in a doorway, and it wouldn’t be because they’re too lazy or proud to work.

“Trust me, if all I had to do was eat some crow to get my mama to invite me back to her table again, I wouldn’t hesitate. But my parents never read about the prodigal son. I’m grateful that Miss Livvy believes in helping folks get another chance, no matter what they’ve done.”

Warmth stirred beneath Heath’s breastbone. Was there any possibility the woman he was investigating was truly as beautiful inside as she was on the outside?

Did that kind of person even exist in the world today?

Olivia stood before her bathroom sink, tipped her face toward the ceiling and made a gurgling sound through a mouthful of salty water. Too many encounters with the day’s blustery wind had left her with a raw throat and throbbing ears. Thank goodness for home remedies. She couldn’t afford medical insurance, so anything less critical than a severed limb had to be handled out of her first aid kit.

Two aspirin and a cup of hot tea should do the trick.

She rinsed her mouth, finger-combed short hair that stuck up every which way and dragged a favorite old Baylor sweatshirt over her head for added warmth. She padded into her small kitchen and pried open the tea bag tin.

Empty.

“Oh, that’s right,” she muttered. “I used the last one this morning.” Crawling back under the blankets would be the simple thing to do, but when had she ever taken the easy road? She scooped up her wad of keys and flipped on the stairwell light. At the bottom she poked her head out, hoping to get Nick’s attention and ask for a favor. He was nowhere in sight.

“It figures,” Olivia griped as she trudged toward the big room. She’d make quick work of pocketing some tea bags from the drink station and get back upstairs before she was seen.

She found the room silent and empty, lit only by a plug-in night-light near the coffee urn.

“Yes!” Olivia cheered quietly, then hurried across the floor and reached for the tea canister. The lid flipped open easily. She grasped a handful of the small bags, raised them to her nose and closed her eyes to appreciate the fragrance.

“Excuse me,” a male voice rumbled in her ear.

Olivia gasped! Her eyelids flew wide in the dark room.

The terse baritone and the fist gripping her wrist sent a shock wave shivering through her body. She gawked for a split second at the shadowy place where a strong hand held her captive. Her gaze raced upward to the man’s face. Sober eyes loomed close to hers.

“I believe under these circumstances I’m supposed to remind you about honesty and accountability, showing respect for the supplies at Table of Hope.”

“And I believe under these circumstances I oughta have you skinned alive, Heath Stone. You scared the daylights out of me.” She attempted and failed a defense training move to break his hold on her arm. “Let me go!” she hissed.

He squeezed harder and gave her a slight shake.

“Pay attention for a minute,” his voice was insistent.

She stopped struggling, propped her free hand on her hip. “Okay, you have exactly sixty seconds before I call Detective Biddle to have you removed from my place.”

“Fair enough, but listen. That little twist thing you just did with your arm might work with someone who’s not expecting you to fight back. But you need to learn more aggressive tactics if you intend to hold your own against an attacker who won’t give up easily.”

He talked her though a judo maneuver that would put a man flat on his back and knock the wind out of him, giving her precious seconds to run for help. “Now, that’s what you need to do the next time a guy grabs you by the wrist.”

“Dumping somebody on the floor that hard is cruel.” She doubted she could be so brutal to another human being.

“Exactly! Always think of your own safety first. No man has the right to put his hands on a woman without her permission.”

“The way you just did, you mean?” She rubbed the skin below her shirtsleeve.

“That was only to make an important point.”

“Do you frequently make this point with women?”

“I’ve never shown that self-defense move to another person.”

“Not even to your own mother?” Olivia asked.

Heath’s expression went blank. He inhaled and exhaled before responding. “My mother’s been dead for twenty-seven years.”

Ten minutes later Olivia was seated on one of the big room’s sofas at a right angle to Heath’s chair. Her furry slippers were propped on the edge of a secondhand occasional table, and both hands cradled a mug of strong, hot tea. She should have made the time to retrieve his chart from the office, but the Holy Spirit was urging her to seize this moment and make it more personal, less about business.

“I’m not sure what possessed me to say that because I rarely think of my birth mother.”

Olivia watched Heath cross one ankle over the other knee, jiggling his support leg in time with some cadence only he could hear. She’d seen the gesture before in applicants who were nervous. Or lying.

“Well, she was on your mind for some reason. Wanna tell me about her? I apologize if it seems like I’m prying, but as long as we’re sitting here together at midnight we might as well get acquainted.”

“Or I could show you another judo throw,” he joked. The most mischievous grin Olivia had ever seen on a male over the age of eight dimpled Heath’s cheeks. This handsome man must have been an adorable-looking child.

“I’ll take you up on that offer in a few days when I’m feeling at the top of my game. Tonight the only thing I’m going to throw is a soggy tea bag if you don’t tell me something about yourself.”

His leg stopped jostling. He stared at the cup in his hands.

“When I was a toddler both of my parents were killed in an accident.”

“Oh,” Olivia pressed three fingers to her lips to contain a gasp. “I’m so sorry, Heath.”

“I wasn’t more than a baby, so I don’t have any memories of them. It’s not like I’m emotionally scarred or anything. But they didn’t leave a will and nobody in the family could take me, so I was eventually adopted.”

“Still, that’s a terrible loss for a child no matter what the circumstances. How long have you known this?”

“Since middle school when my folks thought they should tell me the few facts they had.”

“Have you made contact with any family members of your birth parents?”

“No.” He shook his head. “There’s no reason why I should after all this time. If anybody cared about me, they’d have made an effort by now.”

“Maybe it’s as simple as not having your name.”

“My name was never changed.” His eyes were downcast. “When the Brysons adopted me, they just tacked their last name on the end. I dropped Bryson when I turned eighteen.”

Her heart was heavy with sadness. His adoptive parents must have been crushed by such an action from their son. “May I speak frankly?”

“Go ahead.” He seemed to accept whatever might be coming.

“You’ve only been here a few hours and I’ve already heard you mention resenting your parents’ faith and now your rejection of their name. Have you considered how terribly painful that must have been for the people who raised you as their own?”