my experience, too,” she admitted.
“What happens if you catch somebody stealing?”
“We haven’t had to face that situation yet, but I’d remind the person we require honesty and accountability for our supplies. The clients have to respect that if they want to remain at Table of Hope.”
“A reminder is good, but removing temptation is still the best defense.”
She nodded in agreement. “That’s why we keep a close watch on our pantry and almost everything goes under lock and key at nine o’clock.”
“Want me to close this back up for you?” He opened his palm. Olivia removed the keys from her neck and dropped them in his hand.
“It’s the one with the black plastic tag, the same color as the dot beside the lock.”
He stood, returned her keys. “So everything’s color-coded?”
“You got it.” She moved toward the door, motioned for Heath to follow as she headed for the check-in area. “I hope you’re an early riser. The newest resident always gets the first shift.”
“I don’t sleep much, so that’s no problem. Midnight to four is about the only rest I can count on. So sign me up for crack-of-dawn duty.”
Passing into the front lobby, Olivia took the clipboard from Velma, blocking any chance for her to pounce on Heath. “Amos will love you for being an early bird.”
“First he has to get over hating me for being clueless in the kitchen.”
Olivia ignored the concern and motioned toward her office, a head-high cubicle that shielded a metal desk and two chairs.
“Amos is a wonderful person and I couldn’t get by without him.” She felt the need to explain. “But he lost everything at an age when a man should be enjoying life. I hope we can turn it around over time, but he’s become a glass-half-empty kinda guy.”
“The last time I heard somebody use that term they were talkin’ about me,” Heath offered as he settled into her creaky desk chair.
“Would you agree that’s true?”
“Pretty much.”
“Doesn’t that bother you?” Olivia pressed.
“Should it?” His head hitched to one side, a challenge in his eyes.
“I suppose not if you’re okay with your perspective being defined by lack instead of abundance. It seems sad, choosing to limit your possibilities in life.”
“I didn’t say I was okay with it, but I can’t help the way I’m hardwired,” he insisted.
“Sorry, but I don’t accept that excuse from you any more than I buy it from Amos. We may be predisposed to certain behaviors, but God gave us free will for a purpose. Every moment we’re awake presents a new choice with different consequences. The pessimist’s life is bound by doubt and doing without. James says we have not because we ask not. When we reach out to God with unselfish motives, He listens.”
“You sound like my mother. She’s always quoting the Bible.”
“Then I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It’s a waste of time for her and it will be for you, too.” He pushed the words through clamped teeth. “The day my folks moved to a retirement community was the day I was freed from their efforts to give me religion.”
He lowered his eyes and his head, took up a pen and began scribbling answers on the questionnaire. The finality in Heath’s words was like a blanket smothering the potential for fire in his spirit. Olivia’s heart was sad for him.
Her own sainted mother had lost the battle with diabetes in her thirties. But in the fourteen precious years they’d had together Anne Wyatt faithfully discipled her only child, as if knowing Olivia would be alone one day, needing the Truth as her anchor.
And here this foolish man sat complaining about his mother’s desire to give him a spiritual upbringing. Well, maybe he’d escaped the efforts of his parents, but for a short while anyway he’d be seated at Table of Hope where the glass was perpetually full because the Holy Spirit was always present.
Olivia watched him pressing pen to paper, probably giving as little information as possible. She’d check his answers first thing in the morning. As he wrote, she silently prayed for her personal witness to somehow have an impact on his heart. Heath hungered in a way that resonated more profoundly than a desperate client’s need for food.
“Hand the clipboard to Velma when you’re finished and she’ll assign you to a bunk in the men’s dorm and give you a welcome kit. That should get you through the night, and then we’ll cover the rest in the morning.”
Heath could tell from the determined set of Olivia’s jaw that he’d just become her new cause. Good. That meant she’d stay close to him. She’d learn soon enough he was a lost cause, but that was her business. His business was to dig deep beneath the surface of this place and its owner until the core was exposed.
“So, that’s it for tonight?” He tapped the pen against the metal clip on the board. He hadn’t made much progress so far. “I thought you wanted to review my form?”
She cupped her right hand behind her neck, squeezing as she tipped her face forward. “That was my plan until my head started to throb a couple of minutes ago.”
“I have that effect on people.”
She raised her face, a tired smile in her eyes.
“You get partial credit, but mostly I suspect the barometric pressure is dropping along with the temperature. I’m gonna call it a night, go upstairs and settle down with my favorite old quilt.”
“Should I slip this under your door when I’m done?”
“Thanks for offering, but there’s a locked stairwell between my apartment and the first floor of the shelter. A male resident always works the back exit and he keeps an eye on my entrance, too.”
“It’s smart you take precautions. A woman alone in this world needs to guard herself constantly.”
“I volunteered and studied missions for years while I planned Table of Hope and I gave a lot of thought to my personal space. So don’t worry about me.” She locked her desk drawer and pushed out of her chair. “Get a good night’s sleep because we have a busy day tomorrow.”
She disappeared around the wall of the cubicle, then several seconds later poked her head back into view. “And I look forward to reading about your family so don’t scrimp on the answers.”
With Olivia out of sight and Heath alone behind the small desk, he smacked his palm against his forehead.
What on earth made me mention my parents? Now I have to make something up about them.
Or did he? This could be a golden opportunity to test the waters, discover how it felt to be himself instead of some version he concocted as he went along. He pondered it for a moment. Nope, he shook his head. Not a good idea to start unearthing the truth when a lie worked perfectly well.
Heath’s shoulders slumped lower as he accepted how easily fabricating a background came to him, along with each assignment. It seemed the obvious way to protect his real family history. He was the only child of adoptive parents, but he had two natural sisters out there who wanted their brother to be part of their lives. Considering it seriously had always been too risky. And how would he deal with it if his sisters turned out to be dominated and abused like their birth mother? Or worse, what if they were single-minded, Bible-verse-quoting women like the one who had just lectured him about his pessimistic attitude?
“Lord, I sure hope my sisters fall somewhere in the middle of those two extremes,” Heath muttered.
“You need somethin’ over there, sugar cookie?” Velma called across the