Are they even skills, at all?
And I was getting older. Twenty-five. I was already pushing it, and soon enough I’d be too old to grace any stage. Dancers had a quick shelf life. Simple and undeniable. How I wish I’d known that before I’d thrown so much time and money into my profession.
“I’ll look around when we get home and see if there are a few more places where I can post my availably. Someone somewhere has to need me.”
“Maybe you could teach yoga or Pilates.” Dad coughed twice. I knew it was likely his chronic bronchitis, not the virus itself. He’d been lucky to stay moderately healthy, and we both received our second dose of the vaccine a few weeks earlier. “Those are kind of similar, aren’t they?”
“They are.” I glanced over at him. “You feel okay? You sound kind of hoarse.”
“Just the usual.” He spread a weather-beaten hand, one calloused from years of working as a carpenter making custom kitchen and bathroom cabinets. “You know how it goes; I’ve been living with this forever.”
Dad was right, he had. In fact, his lungs were the reason he couldn’t work anymore and finally went on full disability a few years before. They didn’t work the way he wanted.
“Here we go.” He pointed at the line. “Our turn.”
I drove the car forward, then pulled my neck gaiter over my mouth and nose. Thanks to my dad’s health status and a few lucky breaks, both of us were now fully vaccinated against the virus. Even so, we were still following most of the CDC’s precautions, and a large sign at the entrance to the church parking lot had served as reminder that masks were required for box pickup. I rolled down the window. “Hi, I’m here to pick up our food box.”
A woman in a yellow windbreaker, black mask, and blue baseball cap leaned toward the car. “Did you reserve your box ahead of time?”
I nodded.
“Name?”
“Collins.”
“Collins.” She scanned the tablet in her hand. “Hmm. Collins, here I have you. Kendra . . . wait . . . Kendra Collins?”
I blanched. “Yes. That’s my name.”
“You don’t recognize me?” She shook her head. “No, of course you don’t.” The woman stepped away from my car and pulled her mask down briefly. “It’s me, Ashley Stevens. You know, we both know Seth Sampson.”
I recoiled.
“From The Frosted Heart,” Ashley added.
I glanced at my dad, heat rising to my cheeks. This would have been a welcomed circumstance if this were a normal thing, like running into someone at the grocery store or at the pharmacy, but this was a food line for people who needed immediate assistance. This is the last place I want to run into anyone I know.
“Oh, yes, Seth,” I managed. “How is he?”
“He’s great. He’s right over there.”
Ashley replaced her mask and pointed into the distance, but I didn’t follow her gesture with my eyes. I didn’t want to run into her, and I didn’t want to run into Seth. A lifetime ago, in the before time, I’d worked for Seth as a cocktail waitress at one of his early bars. Over the years, we’d kept in touch, and sometimes when I was in town for the holidays, he’d hired me as a performer for his theme parties. The last time had been on New Year’s Eve, before the pandemic began.
I do not want to talk to Seth. He can’t see me like this. He can’t . . .
“It’s okay,” I tried. “He’s probably busy, and—”
“You’re right.” She turned to the rows of boxes listed in alphabetical order on the blacktop. “Let me get your box, okay?”
“Great.”
She rushed away, and I cringed. Just a few more moments and this will be over. Thankfully. My extreme embarrassment over the reduced circumstances of myself and my dad would pass and would become more bearable once I wouldn’t run into someone I knew. That was one good thing about the pandemic. It created natural distance between people, and that meant not having to see people on a regular basis, not having to endure them seeing the fallout of what had happened.
Ashley returned with the box, loaded it in my car, and had me sign a form saying I’d received it. Soon enough, I was on my way, empty promises that we would “get together soon” trailing behind me. That was the kind of thing people always said to each other and never truly meant. Thank God.
One more day of survival in the books.
SETH
I had to admit, doing charity work felt good. Community service didn’t just have to be a penalty for traffic violations or petty misdemeanors, a few of which a younger me had committed. I might have shown up to the church with some reluctance, but by mid-morning, I didn’t feel that way. I wanted to be there, I wanted to help. That could have been me waiting in those lines outside.
“Here you go, this stack is done,” I told Kyle. For the last hour or so, I’d slapped stickers on some of the overflow food boxes. While a lot of people had reserved theirs ahead of time, turnout for walk-ups had been larger than expected. I wouldn’t have been surprised if the church ran out of donations before noon. That’s sad. A lot of people are hurting. “You can take these to be filled.”
“Thanks.” Kyle scooped up one group of unfolded cardboard boxes and tucked them underneath one arm, then did the same with a second pile.
“Do you need help?”
“Nah, these aren’t heavy. Just a little awkward.”
“Okay.” I nodded at the other tent, the one next to the car line of people waiting. “I still can’t believe that there are so many people who showed
