“With them losing their jobs?”
“Sure. Yes. That’s been really hard.”
There was more, Casey could read it in the tightness of his jaw. But Eric wasn’t saying anything else.
Casey watched him go, the stiffness of his shoulders the only other clue of his discomfort. Of some kind of pain.
“Eric!”
He stopped in the doorway, his face turned back toward her, eyes wary. “Yeah?”
“Oh. It’s nothing. Never mind.” Yes, Eric, Death told me a few minutes ago that…
He continued on.
The dining room soon filled, and Casey stayed busy helping Loretta serve the beef and vegetable soup (low on both beef and vegetables), mopping up a glass of spilled milk, and refilling the bread baskets, until the bread was gone. There was even dessert—day old cookies and brownies from the bakery, along with the remainder of a birthday cake. Casey wondered if the bakers got some kind of a tax break with all of their donations, or if they gave out of the goodness of their hearts. Perhaps both.
The guests ranged in age from an infant, still at his mother’s breast, to a man so old he needed help guiding his spoon to his mouth. There must have been sixty-five people around the tables, but from the noise level Casey would have guessed fewer. The lack of volume disturbed her, as if these people had no energy left to do anything but fill their stomachs. Had this room sounded like this a year ago? Or before last Christmas? A sudden cry rent the air, and Casey swallowed the lump in her throat as the young mother paused in her own eating to hold her baby over her shoulder and pat his back.
Eric came to stand beside Casey, an empty bread basket under his arm.
“It’s nice of his daughter to help him eat,” Casey said, indicating the old man, and the woman beside him.
“Oh, she’s not his daughter. He doesn’t have any family around. She’s his neighbor. Brings him along with her every day. Or the days he feels good enough, anyway.”
“Where’s his family?”
His face tightened. “Left at Christmas, when Karl kicked them out.”
“Karl? Who’s Karl?”
“What?” Eric blinked. “Oh, Karl Willems. He’s the CEO of HomeMaker. Made the final decision to move HomeMaker out of the country.”
Families were beginning to clear out now, bobbing their heads and mumbling thanks to Eric as they left. Casey watched him do his best to make eye contact with them, even hunkering down to talk with the kids, one of whom hit him on the head with one of Johnny’s carefully wrapped silverware bundles. The mother, horrified, snatched her child from the floor and hustled out the door. Eric saw the last of the guests out and locked the door before heading back toward the kitchen, rubbing his head.
Casey grinned. “Need an ice pack?”
“I’m going to have to ask Johnny to double-wrap the children’s forks and spoons. Come on, let’s see what he’s up to.”
They found him standing beside Loretta at the sink, a dishtowel in his hand as he lectured her about silverware and the best way to clean it. Together the two of them had already made quite a dent in the washing. Reassured that things were in hand, Eric led Casey back out to the dining room, where they cleared the tables, wiped down the tablecloths, and began picking up trash.
“Whoops,” Eric said, glancing at the clock. “I gotta go. Have something at seven, and I’ve got ten minutes to get there.”
Casey saw with surprise that time had, indeed, flown by. “I’ll finish up here.”
“You don’t have to. I usually do it the next day, like you helped with earlier.”
“I don’t mind. Really.” It’s not like she had anywhere to go.
“Oh. Well, all right. Thanks.” He jogged to the kitchen and came back out with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He paused at the front door, his hand on the latch. “Thanks for helping tonight. It was…fun.”
Casey regarded him. “You’re welcome. Thanks for letting me be a part of it.”
“Loretta can open the staff room for you to get your bag when you’re ready.” He looked out the front door, then back again. “If you’re around tomorrow…”
“I’ll try to come back. If I’m still in town.”
“Okay. Good.” He gave her another one of his blinding smiles, although this time Casey could see the events of the past two hours reflected in his eyes. “See you around, then, Casey Smith.”
She nodded. “Mr. Jones.”
And he was gone.
Chapter Four
The door locked behind Casey with a snap, and she stood on the sidewalk, her backpack resting on the ground beside her.
When Casey had finished cleaning the dining room, Loretta (Hallelujah! Praise God!) had insisted on feeding her before letting her leave. Casey didn’t argue. There was just enough leftover soup for the three of them, and even a little fruit. Johnny cheerfully slurped his way through his bowl after bestowing Casey with a set of silverware. She had thanked him solemnly, and he sat next to her so closely she couldn’t move her left arm.
“Birthday cake for the nice lady,” Johnny said when she was done, handing her a corner piece with a wilted icing flower.
“Thank you. Who’s birthday was it? One of the children?”
“Oh, no, baby,” Loretta said. “It was Eric’s, the dear boy.”
“And how old is he?”
Johnny pursed his lips, and Loretta stared at Casey’s cake. “Somewhere in his twenties. Or is he thirty now? He didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, but he’s such a precious child of God we didn’t want to miss it. Thank you Jesus!”
Casey ate her cake, but didn’t ask any more questions.
Now she stood outside after retrieving her bag from the locker room, and for the second time in one day she had a full belly. The air in the darkening evening had chilled, and Casey pulled a jacket from her pack, zipping it up to her chin. She looked back into the building, but the lights were off, and everything was quiet.
Time to find somewhere for the night.
She heaved her bag onto her back and started down the sidewalk. She should’ve asked the others where to stay, and wondered why she didn’t. Forgot. Or didn’t want to sound needy. Whichever it was, she was paying for it now as she cast an eye toward the starless sky. She hoped it wasn’t about to rain again.
A few blocks down the street she found an enclosed—and apparently unused—bus stop, and she stepped in to look at the map on the wall. An X designated where she stood, but no names, other than streets, gave her any information of which colored square might be a hotel. Giving up on that, she perused the information sheets taped to the wall. Advertisements for baby-sitting, with phone number tabs to pull off, an announcement of a church fish fry for the previous Friday, and a schedule of the local high school’s fall sports. There was also a call for garage sale items to benefit the family of a woman named Ellen Schneider, who “left us before her time.”
Casey sucked in her breath as she read the fine print below the announcement. Ellen, a resident of the town, had died suddenly the week before, leaving her two school-age children parentless, with no father in the picture. No details about her death. No explanations. Casey gritted her teeth. Death must’ve been especially bored. A young single mother? Sudden death? Casey’s breath came fast and hard, and she pulled her eyes from the poster, concentrating on her heartbeat. a-One. a-Two. a-Three.
She forced herself to look beyond the garage sale notice, and continued past a homemade sign depicting a lost cat named Snowball, to yet one more faded announcement, this time for play auditions, held almost two weeks earlier. Twelfth Night. A rather strange choice for a dying town. But then, maybe they needed all the humor they
