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Authors: JUDY DUARTE
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found himself drawn to the people in the room.
“Do you mind if I spend some time introducing myself to our guests?” he asked the senior minister.
“Not at all. That’s a very good idea. Go right ahead.”
Craig made his way to the gray-haired gentleman with the VFW cap. Ever since he’d lost his father in Operation Desert Storm and the local American Legion had reached out to him and his mom, he’d held a soft spot for veterans.
Each Memorial Day, they used to hold a special event for kids who’d lost a parent in the war. And while it was toughbeing fatherless, he’d appreciated the legionaries who’d been so understanding, so supportive of his mom.
“Do you guys mind if I interrupt you for a minute?” Craig asked the three men.
The tall, lanky fellow with the VFW cap smiled. “Not at all. Have a seat.”
Craig sat next to a short, heavy set man wearing a pair of blue coveralls. “My name is Craig Houston, and I’m the new associate minister here. I don’t mean to bother you, but I wanted to tell you that I appreciate your service to our country.”
They seemed to light up at his comment, and the one wearing the cap stuck out his hand to shake. “I’m Ward O’Sullivan. A veteran of Korea.”
Ward went on to introduce his buddies, Jacob Porter, a marine who’d fought in Vietnam, and Harold Schlictning, a medic who’d served in Europe during World War II.
They talked a few minutes, then Craig excused himself and strode toward the two elderly women who were seated together. When they looked up, he introduced himself.
Kathryn Ellings shared that she was on a fixed income, and that the soup kitchen had been a real blessing to her. Her friend, Ellie Rucker, whose hair was matted in back as if she hadn’t used a comb in a while, didn’t say much.
Craig chatted with them for a moment, then excused himself to speak to the only one he had yet to meet—a teenager, he suspected. But by the time he started toward her, she’d cleaned her paper plate and was carrying it to the trash can.
He watched as she scanned the buffet line, where a woman wearing a red plaid apron had just added an insulated carafe next to a pitcher of lemonade.
“There’s more coffee,” the woman announced, before returning to the kitchen.
The girl, who’d been standing next to the buffet line, snatched a couple of rolls and shoved them under the ribbed hem of her sweat shirt, causing her belly to pooch out.
Stocking up for dinner? he wondered.
When she turned toward him, her hands holding the hem of her bulky shirt against her stomach to hold the bread inside, he averted his eyes so she wouldn’t know that he’d seen what she’d done.
As she drew closer, he allowed himself to look at her and smile. “Thanks for coming.”
She nibbled on her bottom lip, as though her conscience might be at some sort of impasse, then returned his smile. “Thanks for having me.”
“I’m Pastor Craig,” he added. “And you’re …?”
“Renee Delaney.”
He didn’t even consider offering a handshake. No need to embarrass her if those rolls fell out. Instead, he said, “It’s nice to meet you. I hope to see you back here again sometime. Maybe tomorrow?”
“Yeah, maybe. The food was really good, so you probably will. Unless I get a job.”
“You’re looking for work?” he asked.
“Yeah. I can do just about anything. So if you know anyone who’s hiring …?”
If Craig had a home of his own, if he’d managed to stockpile a couple of paychecks already, he’d offer her some kind of employment, even if it was just to mow the yard or wash windows.
“I’ll keep you in mind,” he said. “Do you have a phone number? In case I need to get ahold of you?”
She bit her bottom lip again. “No, not yet. I just moved here.”
“Me, too.” He offered her another smile.
Her feet seemed to do a little shuffle, and she nodded toward the door. “Well, I guess I’d better go. I’ll see ya around.”
“Okay.” He
“Do you mind if I spend some time introducing myself to our guests?” he asked the senior minister.
“Not at all. That’s a very good idea. Go right ahead.”
Craig made his way to the gray-haired gentleman with the VFW cap. Ever since he’d lost his father in Operation Desert Storm and the local American Legion had reached out to him and his mom, he’d held a soft spot for veterans.
Each Memorial Day, they used to hold a special event for kids who’d lost a parent in the war. And while it was toughbeing fatherless, he’d appreciated the legionaries who’d been so understanding, so supportive of his mom.
“Do you guys mind if I interrupt you for a minute?” Craig asked the three men.
The tall, lanky fellow with the VFW cap smiled. “Not at all. Have a seat.”
Craig sat next to a short, heavy set man wearing a pair of blue coveralls. “My name is Craig Houston, and I’m the new associate minister here. I don’t mean to bother you, but I wanted to tell you that I appreciate your service to our country.”
They seemed to light up at his comment, and the one wearing the cap stuck out his hand to shake. “I’m Ward O’Sullivan. A veteran of Korea.”
Ward went on to introduce his buddies, Jacob Porter, a marine who’d fought in Vietnam, and Harold Schlictning, a medic who’d served in Europe during World War II.
They talked a few minutes, then Craig excused himself and strode toward the two elderly women who were seated together. When they looked up, he introduced himself.
Kathryn Ellings shared that she was on a fixed income, and that the soup kitchen had been a real blessing to her. Her friend, Ellie Rucker, whose hair was matted in back as if she hadn’t used a comb in a while, didn’t say much.
Craig chatted with them for a moment, then excused himself to speak to the only one he had yet to meet—a teenager, he suspected. But by the time he started toward her, she’d cleaned her paper plate and was carrying it to the trash can.
He watched as she scanned the buffet line, where a woman wearing a red plaid apron had just added an insulated carafe next to a pitcher of lemonade.
“There’s more coffee,” the woman announced, before returning to the kitchen.
The girl, who’d been standing next to the buffet line, snatched a couple of rolls and shoved them under the ribbed hem of her sweat shirt, causing her belly to pooch out.
Stocking up for dinner? he wondered.
When she turned toward him, her hands holding the hem of her bulky shirt against her stomach to hold the bread inside, he averted his eyes so she wouldn’t know that he’d seen what she’d done.
As she drew closer, he allowed himself to look at her and smile. “Thanks for coming.”
She nibbled on her bottom lip, as though her conscience might be at some sort of impasse, then returned his smile. “Thanks for having me.”
“I’m Pastor Craig,” he added. “And you’re …?”
“Renee Delaney.”
He didn’t even consider offering a handshake. No need to embarrass her if those rolls fell out. Instead, he said, “It’s nice to meet you. I hope to see you back here again sometime. Maybe tomorrow?”
“Yeah, maybe. The food was really good, so you probably will. Unless I get a job.”
“You’re looking for work?” he asked.
“Yeah. I can do just about anything. So if you know anyone who’s hiring …?”
If Craig had a home of his own, if he’d managed to stockpile a couple of paychecks already, he’d offer her some kind of employment, even if it was just to mow the yard or wash windows.
“I’ll keep you in mind,” he said. “Do you have a phone number? In case I need to get ahold of you?”
She bit her bottom lip again. “No, not yet. I just moved here.”
“Me, too.” He offered her another smile.
Her feet seemed to do a little shuffle, and she nodded toward the door. “Well, I guess I’d better go. I’ll see ya around.”
“Okay.” He
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