Kathryn Shay - A Time To Give

Sliding his plate and a dessert onto a tray, she hurried back to the table. Alice had served him milk and coffee, which he drank slowly, precisely, like he did everything. He seemed to savor each drop. “Here you go.” She set his meal in front of him.

He gave her what passed for a smile. “Thank you.”

She glanced around. “Can I sit with you a while?”

“All right.” As he ate, she studied him. His features were square cut and angular. Right now, his jaw sported about a two-day beard. In addition to being sexy, it was somewhat sinister. “You look tired, Emily,” he finally said, scrutinizing her face.

Another disagreement with her father. “Do I? I’m not sleeping well.”

He hesitated. “You’re not sick are you?”

“No. Family problems.” He glanced at her hand, her left hand, but said nothing.

“Are you married, Ben?”

He’d forked in a mouthful of meat and now he almost choked on it. The volunteers at Cassidy Place were friendly but they usually kept a professional distance from the guests.

He cleared his throat. “No, I’m not married.”

“Ever been?”

“No.” And then, he added, “Came close, though.” Still, he didn’t ask her.

“I was married. I’ve been divorced for almost three years.” And the breakup had done serious damage to her self-esteem. Sometimes when she tried to sleep at night, she could still hear Paul hurl insults at her, see his face suffused with disgust.

Again, Ben studied her. He ate some potatoes, then wiped his lips with his napkin. They were nice lips. “The divorce was tough?”

“That’s an understatement. You know, I just don’t understand intentional cruelty.”

“Me, either. Any kids?”

Her hand went to her stomach. “No, I…can’t. I wish we had some, though. I’d have a baseball team if I could.”

He laughed.

Emily cocked her head. “Why does the conversation always revert to me when I finally get you to talk?”

The corners of his mouth turned up. “Because you’re more interesting.”

“No way. Come on, tell me more about yourself. Do you have brothers or sisters? A father or mother living?”

“No. No living relatives.” He shook his head. “Alice need help tonight?”

She felt frustrated with the change of topic. “Probably with stacking the chairs and folding up the tables so the janitor can get in here tomorrow morning. He has a fit if that’s not done.”

From across the room, the one other guest left at a table yelled, “I need something here.”

She stood. “I’d better go talk to Hugo. He’s not very happy tonight.”

Ben nodded and looked back to his plate.

But when Emily rose and crossed the room, she could feel him watching her. Hmm, he was definitely different. And she liked him. She wished he’d pay more attention to her. Oh, well. The story of her life. She’d always wanted the attention of a mother, but hers had left home when Emily was five. For years, she’d craved more attention outside of work from her father. And, of course Paul, who’d walked out on her, had said outright she wasn’t worth anybody’s attention.

He was wrong, though. Emily was worth all of those things. She knew it, and she wondered if the man behind her, whom she’d been having these stilted conversations with for almost a year, would recognize it too. If he ever got to know her.

SURREPTITIOUSLY, BEN WATCHED her like a hawk. It was his only vice these days. Once every week, he allowed himself to feast on the sight of Emily Erickson. She had strawberry-blond hair, which right now escaped from her braid, and when she got close, he could see wisps framing her face, probably from the heat of the kitchen. She had the most flawless skin he’d ever seen, lips just a bit pouty, a cute nose…but it was her eyes that really got to him—they were a mixture of browns and greens and reminded him of a forest in the fall. As she walked away, she glanced over her shoulder and smiled.

He didn’t return it; instead, he shifted in the straight-back chair and picked up the newspaper to block her from his sight. Best not to encourage her. For almost a year, he’d been trying to keep his distance, though she’d done anything but cooperate and they’d gotten closer than was good for her. She was always sitting with him, asking him questions, paying extra attention to him. And too often he succumbed to spending time with her. Invariably he regretted it. When he was with her, Ben felt like a man starved for food, but when a banquet was set out in front of him, he was forbidden to eat. There was a time when he’d have gone after a woman like her with all he had, and gotten her, too. But that part of his life was over.

“Ain’t you got none left?” he heard Hugo, a regular, snap at her.

Ben looked over the top of the paper in time to see Emily step back. She seemed more vulnerable in the leotard and tights she wore under a filmy black skirt. She told him once that she took a dance class after her stint at the soup kitchen.

She spoke softly to Hugo, who then swore. Ben set down his paper and crossed the room.

He came up to them just as Emily let Hugo have it. “That language won’t be tolerated here. If you want to eat, you’ll behave yourself. Meanwhile, I’ll see if I can find more chicken for you.” She glanced at Ben, nodded and walked away.

He grinned safely behind her back; from beneath that cream-puff exterior, he’d often seen her tough side emerge. The contrast continually amazed him, and sometimes he wanted to plumb those depths—thoroughly.

Ben dropped into a chair. “Hey, Hugo, what’s going on?”

Desperate eyes leveled on him. Ben knew the expression intimately, had seen it in his mirror often over the past two years. “Aw, Ben, I didn’t mean to yell at that girl.” He shook his head then rubbed his hands over his eyes. “I wanna bring food to Josie, and Emily said they were done serving.”

“Cassidy Place doesn’t send home doggy bags, Hugo, you know that. Josie has to come here if she wants to eat.”

“She’s sick.” Translated, she’s either stoned or drunk.

Familiar with the latter, Ben laid a hand on Hugo’s bony shoulder. “There are free clinics to help her, man.”

Hugo’s body sagged beneath the old work shirt. “I dunno what to do.”

“Talk to Alice. She’s got names of places to help Josie.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“And apologize to Emily. She didn’t do anything to you.”

He returned to his seat before Emily came back, but he couldn’t focus on the paper. He was remembering when he’d needed one of those places that reformed drunks….

Ben had been on a long binge, and that night, dashing under a bridge to escape the rain, he’d slipped and fallen, and then passed out. He’d woken up with his face in a puddle of slime, a cop standing over him.

“Get up. You’re drunk.”

Ben had stared up at the officer through bleary eyes. His father had been a bum, often cornered by the police like this. And now Ben was the same. He’d struggled to his feet.

In a surprising move, the cop had pulled out a card. “This is a clinic to help you sober up, if you want to be more than a drunken bum.”

Something about the taste of slime in his mouth, the epithet of the cop, hell, maybe it was finally hitting bottom, had made Ben take stock and had given him the impetus to make changes. It had been a long road back….

Picking up the paper, he shook off the memories and turned to the business section, scrolling down the front page. When he found what he was looking for, his hand fisted, crumpling the edge of the paper. Mackenzie Enterprises’ stock was up another five points, credited to its hostile takeover two years ago of a company that made monitoring equipment for public utilities. That business was now flourishing. Earning money again. A lot of money. Ben’s hand started to hurt. Consciously, he forced himself to relax. Breathe deeply. That kind of tension would drive him back to the bottle and, though he’d lost everything, he wouldn’t go there again. Over the top of the paper, his gaze strayed again to the photo that graced the entrance. Mick Cassidy smiled down from the one and only picture Ben had managed to save of his father. Their nomadic travels from city to city, house to house, had made it difficult to keep mementos. Lost in thought, Ben missed Emily approaching his table.