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“Robby,” Sara called out, “you gonna come in, doll, or just stand there, prettying up the sidewalk?”
Busted. Shrugging, with an aw-shucks grin, he followed her inside. A handful of sofas, a TV, and a large throw rug dominated the right side of the room, while three office-style cubicles lined the left. Two tower-style computers with monitors were set up in open stations beside them.
A few steps further in, he stopped beside a scuffed and scarred wooden rectangular table, surrounded by about a dozen mismatched chairs. “Where is everyone?”
“It’s early yet. Most kids don’t start trickling in until the late afternoon.” Sara gestured to the two closed doors along the furthest wall. “Those are the overnight rooms.”
“This is a shelter?” A place like this could have transformed his life.
“No. Not officially. And minors don’t stay here. As much as I wish we could take them in, it could shut us down.” An older man with white hair and a Santa Claus beard stepped out from one of the cubicles. “But from time to time, we do offer an alternative for someone who would otherwise have to sleep on the street.”
He offered his hand. “Paul Foster. I’m a pastor at the Episcopal church a few streets over. My husband Chris and I run this place.”
Robby accepted the handshake. “Robby Jordan. You’re doing important work.”
The reverend nodded. “Where are you from, son?”
Just thinking about Sherman made Robby break out in a cold sweat. “Um, a small town a few hours from here. You’ve never heard of it.”
“I might. Try me.”
Robby swallowed, his eyes already scanning for the exit. “I don’t like to talk about it.”
“Stop giving him the third degree, Paul.” Sara’s chiding was gentle but effective. “I think Robby might be willing to help out as a volunteer, maybe mentor some of the street kids.”
“Really?” Paul raised his eyebrows. “Excellent. We’re always looking for volunteers. Sara will get you started.” With a wave, he went back to the cubicle where he’d been working.
Robby bit back a sigh of relief. “The guy’s really a pastor?” he asked under his breath. “Old Reverend Green would have an aneurism over a man of God married to another man.”
His childhood preacher had been all hellfire and brimstone. Old Testament through and through. All of his sermons felt like a warning about what would happen to anyone who strayed from just the right path. It was a miracle Robby managed to hold on to his faith all these years, despite the damage his old church had done to his heart.
“Paul’s the real deal.” Sara pulled out one of the heavy wooden chairs and sat down. “So is this place. I think you could make a difference here.”
“Me? I barely made it out of my teens alive. All the stuff I did? What I lived through? I’d make a terrible role model.”
She tilted her head. “You said it yourself. You lived through it. The same things they’re trying to live through right now.Youmade it to the other side. And you made an impression on me, which isn’t easy to do. Just think about it.” Grabbing his hand, she pulled him toward the cubicle where Paul had stepped in. “In the meantime, there are plenty of other things you can do to help. How are you with paperwork? I’ll introduce you to Chandler, our outreach organizer. He can always use some help.”
Now she was speaking his language. “I’m a pro. Just hand me a clipboard and point me in the right direction.” Sara could kill two birds with one stone. Pawn off her paperwork and help him avoid thinking about a rocky past both distant and far too recent for comfort.
***
Thanks to a head-clearing day of distraction at the Q-Center, by Monday morning, Robby had almost convinced himself he could ignore everything that had happened between him and Matt both Friday and Saturday nights. They’d been friends before, and they would keep being friends now. And friends didn’t judge. Not for ill-advised kisses or drunken jealousy. Or even admitting a drug problem.
What the hell had he been thinking, sharing some of his shame?
He should’ve gone to a meeting last night.
Taking a deep breath, he relished the last few moments of solitude before the rest of the team arrived at the work site. Flipping to the back page on his clipboard, he scribbled one of his favorite affirmations.
God forgives my wrongdoings and never remembers my sins.
It was from Hebrews. He’d always been more partial to the New Testament.
Maybe it wasn’t fair to expect Matt to take the high road to the same degree as his Heavenly Father, but one could always hope.
Hope is a many splendored thing.
He squinted at what he wrote.
