Home Fires Read online

  About the same time as her salad arrived, so did that woman from next door along with a man who must be her husband.

  Allie something.

  Cyndi squirmed in her seat. If it hadn’t meant walking past her on the way out, she’d have left right now. Something about them made her feel small and frumpy. Why did they have to be so tall and thin? And the way they carried themselves—it was as if they knew they were better than everyone else in the room.

  Cyndi hunted for croutons and cheese bits in her Caesar salad to avoid looking at Allie and her husband. She wasn’t half finished when a man’s voice drew the attention of everyone in the room.

  “I said no mayo!” It was the accountant.

  “I’m so sorry about that, sir. I’ll have the kitchen make you a new one.” The server looked like she wanted to disappear.

  Cyndi knew the feeling.

  “I’ve already sent it back once, but you didn’t make a new sandwich, just changed the bread. What’s the white stuff on my tomato?”

  The server, just a high school student working for tips, scrutinized the sandwich. “It looks like mayonnaise. I’m sorry. Let me get that replaced for you.”

  “Again? What, so you can rinse the tomatoes this time and throw them back on the same sandwich? I don’t think so.” He didn’t shout, but the rest of the diners had fallen into an awkward silence.

  Cyndi—and everyone else in the room—heard every word, every inflection, clearly. She cringed.

  Only Allie seemed unfazed by the scene. She was probably used to him getting his way.

  “I want to talk to your manager,” he demanded.

  “Yes, sir.” The server went to find her superior.

  Allie and her husband didn’t seem to notice everyone in the room was staring at them.

  Cyndi had seen enough. She left a dollar on the counter and slid down off the stool. She beelined for the door, carefully avoiding eye contact with Allie. Wouldn’t you know, as she passed Allie’s table, her foot caught on something. It dragged behind her and she stumbled.

  “Watch it!” Allie cried out. She grabbed her purse and snatched it against her chest.

  “S-sorry,” Cyndi stammered. Her cheeks warmed. She rushed for the door.

  Her scalp tingled with anger. “Ooh, they made me so mad,” Cyndi muttered to Mike for the fortieth time that night. “Who do they think they are?”

  “Don’t let them get to you,” he said, like he had several times already. “Why are you letting some secretary ruin your day?”

  “I don’t know. She just—they were so snotty. It was like they thought they were better than everyone else, better than me. They don’t even know me.”

  “Give them time. They’ll love you once they get to know you. They won’t be able to help themselves.”

  “Sure they will.” Most relationships weren’t that simple. Cyndi retreated to her favorite chair. She flicked on the TV, but none of the prime time drivel captured her attention. She scanned through the channels three times, then pushed the off button with a disgusted sigh. She picked up her Bible, not because she thought she could concentrate on reading but because it was close at hand and she hadn’t settled down enough to sit still. She bent the flexible cover back and leafed through the crinkly India pages until the book fell open at a comfortable spot.

  Proverbs.

  She scanned the page, not really reading, until she came to some underlined words. She’d read them a hundred times.

  She read them again.

  “If your enemy is hungry, give him food to eat; if he is thirsty, give him water to drink. In doing this, you will heap burning coals on his head, and the Lord will reward you.”

  She slammed her Bible closed.

  Well, that wasn’t helpful. No way was Cyndi going to go out of her way to be nice to this woman who wasn’t even hungry. Or needy. Or nice.

  Cyndi exchanged her Bible for the remote again and flipped to the public television station. Talking heads droned on about economics or politics or something. Their gray suits and gray hair blended with a drab background. Cyndi poised her thumb to switch the channel to something more colorful, something that might lift her up. But before she did, they cut to a photograph of an old man dressed in ragged clothes. His face was lined with years of hard living. He reminded Cyndi of the homeless man in front of the bookstore. She turned up the volume.

  “—crisis of homelessness is not just in major cities anymore. This growing problem is spilling over into the suburbs. The last five years have seen a 64 percent increase in suburbs of people living below the poverty level. There are more poor people in the suburbs than in cities.”

  Cyndi’s heart skipped a beat. She muted the program. Could that be true? It reminded her of the old woman she’d seen getting off the bus right in front of the church building right here in their neighborhood.

  When she’d felt the need to feed the hungry, she’d automatically thought she had to go into the city to find them. But Riverton must have its share of hunger, poverty, and homelessness. Why had she never noticed it before?

  Cyndi thought about what a fiasco trying to feed people downtown had been. But there were hungry people in Riverton, too. Maybe she could do something for the people closer to home.

  An idea began to form in her head. What if, instead of renting out that extra space in the mall, she turned it into some kind of soup kitchen?

  It was a crazy idea, but maybe . . .

  Where to start? She’d need to check out the numbers with Simms to make sure she could afford to lose the rent on that space. And she’d need to do some asking around. And there might be some hurdles with permitting and the health department. It was an intriguing question, though.

  Cyndi popped out of her chair, eager to get started but not knowing where to begin.

  “Mike? Honey?” she called. She couldn’t wait to find him before blurting out her plan. “I’ve got a great idea! I think I finally figured out what to do in Madi’s memory!”

  Chapter 12

  “A soup kitchen? Are you nuts?”

  The idea was new to Mike. It would take him time to come around.

  “It feels right,” she said. “It’s a perfect blend of running the mall and helping people.”

  “I’ll tell you what it’s a perfect blend of—lunacy and trouble.” He set his reading book on the bedside stand. “What do you know about running a soup kitchen?”

  “About as much as I know about running a mall. I’m a fast learner.” She didn’t want to sound desperate, but she wanted this so, so bad.

  “You don’t have any experience at all.”

  “I did work at a B&B for a while.”

  “Not the same and you know it.”

  It didn’t matter. “I could visit the missions down in the city and see how they do it. I know it’ll be a challenge, but I really, really want to do this.” She stopped short of falling on her knees, hands clasped together in a plea.

  Mike tapped his hand against his thigh. “Why don’t you take some time to learn your role as proprietor before you take on something new?”

  “I hate being proprietor. I just want the property manager to handle all the tenants.” Wasn’t that what she’d hired him for anyway?

  “You’ve only been at it for a day. Give it time.”

  Cyndi felt the explanations piling up in her, racing to tumble out. “It’s for Madi. I bought that mall with her money. I don’t want it to be just a business or, worse, just a way to keep myself busy. I want her to be proud of me.”

  Mike shook his head. He patted the bed beside him. “Hon, Madi’s not coming back, and nothing you do can change that. No mall, no soup kitchen, no project is ever going to replace her.”

  She didn’t sit down. “I know she’s not coming back. Don’t you think I know that?” The pitch of her voice rose. Tears would follow soon. She bit them back. “I have to make her life count. She didn’t have time to do all the great things I know she would have wanted to.”

>   “I’m not saying not to do it. I’m just saying to wait awhile.”

  “I don’t want to wait. I’m tired of waiting.” She took a deep breath.

  He reached out a hand and pulled her down beside him.

  “If it’s that important to you,” he said, “then I guess you should do it. But this is your life, not Madi’s.”

  Cyndi’s heart beat a little stronger with a dose of hope. “I know.”

  “We’ll always remember her. Just don’t lose yourself.”

  “I won’t.” She rested her face in the palm of his hand. “I promise.”

  Already her mind swirled with new ideas. She needed a notebook. She had a menu to make.

  “Where do these big pots go?”

  Cyndi could hear her friend Nance’s voice but couldn’t see her face behind the huge pile of saucepans. “Over here on the counter for now. Thanks, Nance.”

  Nance shook out her arms. “That’s the four big pots. I think there are still eight of the medium ones left in the van. I’ll go get them.”

  “Don’t try to bring them all at once!” Cyndi yelled after her.

  Mike placed a hand on her arm. “Will you help me with the tables?”

  Once she’d convinced him she wanted to do the hot meal program, he had thrown himself in as if it was his own idea.

  She picked up one end of the first rectangular folding table from a stack leaning against the wall and, with Mike lifting the other end, carried it to the middle of the room. The walls and floors were still bare, and it didn’t look much like the dining room she imagined yet. Cyndi pictured it full of people, working and eating together.

  The city had issued all the permits. The health department had done their initial inspection. The fire inspector would be by later in the week. Most of the nasty paperwork behind her, Cyndi looked forward to the reward for all the legwork, the chance to finally do something worth doing.

  Mike pulled the table legs into their extended position and helped her set the table upright. They went back for another one.

  “I was thinking,” Cyndi said, surveying the arrangement, “what if we put all the tables down on this end near the kitchen and leave a space up front for a seating area? Sort of an area for those who want to hang out and visit. Like gathering around the fireplace, only without the fireplace. What do you think?”

  Nance came over to join them. “I think a seating area’s a great idea,” she said. “Maybe we could get people from church to donate old recliners and a couple of coffee tables. We’ve talked about feeding souls, not just stomachs. Why not give them a place they can be comfortable and get to know each other?”

  Maybe we can buy one of those electric fireplaces,” said Mike. “And put a TV over it for when the big game is on.” He winked at Cyndi. He turned to Nance. “How’s the kitchen coming? Do they need any help in there?”

  “Looks like it’s all under control. It’s amazing how many people you know have been in the restaurant business. They have all the info about health department regulations down pat. They’re arranging things and posting regs, and I was just in the way. Then again, it’s amazing how many volunteers have come in from all over.”

  “I know,” said Cyndi. “I never expected this many people to get behind this project. Pretty incredible.”

  What else can I do?” Nance asked.

  “You want to stave off the rabid wolves?” Mike said, looking out the window.

  Cyndi smacked him in the shoulder, then looked to see who he was referring to. An older couple stood at the front window, shading their eyes to peer in through the tinted glass. Cyndi recognized them as the owners of the craft store on the other end.

  Oh boy. She’d been waiting for the first head to head with the tenants. She’d expected it to be the Ridleys, the accounting couple she’d had such an unpleasant start with. She tried to remember their names. It was a nautical term. Mast, maybe? Starboard?

  Stern.

  Chip and Amanda Stern.

  From her other encounters with them, the last name fit them, though how such a bitter-looking man ended up with a name like Chip was hard to guess. It was as if the man doubled up on his sourness to compensate for his first name.

  “Uh, nope,” Nance said. “This one’s for you. I think they might need my help in the kitchen.” She shot a grin over her shoulder and hurried out of sight.

  Cyndi greeted the Sterns with as firm and friendly a handshake as she could muster. “Chip! Amanda! Great to see you!” She knew this wasn’t a pleasant social call, but she tried to act like it was.

  Mike shook their hands and greeted them too.

  Cyndi was grateful for the backup on this first face-to-face encounter with a business owner. She mustered enough confidence to say, “Please, have a seat. You’re just in time. We just got the first table set up.”

  “And the first pot of coffee made!” came Nance’s voice from the kitchen.

  Bless Nance.

  Mike got some folding chairs. By the time he had four set up, Nance and one of the kitchen workers had placed four cups of coffee and a paper bowl of sweetener packets on the table.

  Cyndi went to look for spoons. She couldn’t find a matched set but scrounged two, one white and one beige, and a handful of mismatched napkins.

  “Leftovers from my kitchen at home,” she said with a crooked smile. “Our supplies haven’t been purchased. I know it doesn’t look like much yet.” She waved her arm to take in the room. “But it’s coming together. We’ll be ready to open in a couple of weeks.”

  Amanda poured a packet of sweetener into her coffee cup but didn’t stir it. She kept the yellow paper in her hands and twisted it into a skinny tube, then untwisted it, then twisted it again. She avoided looking Cyndi or Mike in the eye.

  Chip, though, was not shy to speak his mind. He sat in his folding chair, arms crossed against his chest. “I don’t like what you’re doing here,” he said. “Going off and making a big decision like this without considering the impact to our businesses. You’ve got no right—”

  “Not to be disrespectful, sir,” Mike said, “but I think you’re ill informed. We’ve gone through the proper channels, and we’re filling a need that really must be addressed. A lot of people from the community are pitching in, sharing their talents. Cooks, carpenters, plumbers, electricians. I had no idea we had so much untapped talent. There’s a whole group of people who are really behind this project.”

  “Not to be disrespectful,” Chip countered, “but I think you’re forgetting about us. Your clients. Remember? For you it’s a project—for us it’s our livelihood. And not just us, but all of us business owners.”

  “I hear what you’re saying, but I think if you give it some time, you’ll see that we’re doing our best to help some people who really need a leg up. We’d love to see you get involved, too. I know you’ve got some talents we could use. Did you see our sign out front?”

  “I didn’t notice.”

  “I did,” said Amanda.

  “Pretty terrible, huh? I tried making it myself, but it’s a mess. I bet you could do a much better job.”

  Chip ignored the broad hint. “There are a lot of other ways to fight social injustice without inviting a bunch of bums into the neighborhood,” he said. “You’re asking for problems.”

  “What kind of problems are you anticipating?”

  “Parking, for one. Increased fire hazard, not to mention increased crime. And a huge drop in business. Who’s going to want to come in our stores if there are vagrants hanging around the entrances? Who’s going to trust their car in a parking lot full of street people? You start inviting drunks and druggies and mental cases, you know what you’ll get. Trouble. That’s what.”

  While Mike and Chip were going at it, Cyndi turned toward Amanda a little. She didn’t expect to find an ally in the older woman, who, after all, was in the same situation as her husband. But at least she could try to erase her frosty glare.

  “That’s a beautiful vest you’
re wearing. Is it quilted?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where did you buy it?”

  “I made it.”

  Cyndi whistled. “You made it? It’s gorgeous. I’ve always wanted to learn how to sew.”

  “I teach classes. You should come. A vest like this is too hard for a first project, though.”

  “What do you suggest?”

  “Something with lots of straight lines is best.”

  Cyndi looked around the room. “What about curtains? I’d love to learn to make curtains.”

  “You could do that. Curtains are easy. What color is the room you’re thinking of?”

  Cyndi thought for a second. “Maybe yellow? I’m talking about for in here.”

  Mrs. Stern looked at the huge front windows. “You’d need to order a special kind of tension rod to fit those window frames. I have a source—” She glanced over at her husband. “I’m sorry. I really can’t help you.”

  Cyndi didn’t know how to respond. She ignored Mrs. Stern’s concerns and plowed on with her ideas. “We need some color to cheer the room up a bit. Yellow is such a friendly color. I think we need to make this room a friendly place. Do you sell fabric at your store? Maybe I’ll come by and see what you have. How much fabric will I need? Oh, and I’ll need material for tablecloths, too.”

  Amanda stammered and looked puzzled, like she’d been hit from the side. She looked at the windows, tall tinted glass that ran the whole front and one side of the room, fourteen sections in all.

  “. . . minding our own business,” Chip was saying. Amanda tapped his arm.

  “Dear?” she said. Chip stopped talking. “Dear, did you bring your measuring tape? I need to measure some windows.”

  Chapter 13

  April 17

  Dear Mrs. Finch,

  The Riverton Heights community prides itself on its safety and cleanliness. You can’t just invite a bunch of bums into our neighborhood.

  I know poverty is a problem, but it’s not my problem. I donate plenty to the poor, but that doesn’t mean I want them moving in with me.