“And yet Vancouver is so wealthy.” She shook her head.
“Wealthy in many ways, yet profoundly destitute in others. Take it and use it.” With that, he turned to walk away.
“You never seem to want anything in return,” she said.
He looked at her in surprise. “No, of course not. Why would I?”
She laughed. “A lot of people would.”
“I’m not a lot of people.” He turned and walked away from the very private entrance to the women’s shelter. A shelter where women, who had escaped from an abusive situation, were in hiding.
The trouble was, like she had said, donations were hard to come by, and it was run by the charity and the goodwill of others. He did what he could, when he could. Too often he had forgotten to drop by and had felt terrible. But, when he remembered, he would walk down here and give them something. The few thousand he had given her today would go a long way to help, but it certainly wouldn’t solve all the problems. Some things would just never get solved.
As he walked forward, he smiled, sniffing the fresh air. A coffee was what he would like. A nice fresh Americano perhaps. He stopped by a small food cart and waited his turn, then ordered. As he paid, he left them a generous tip and kept on walking. A small park was up ahead, a favorite spot, so he walked over and sat down. He lived in the False Creek area, one of the nicer areas of town, as far as he was concerned. He liked being close to the harbor and to the markets, and the whole atmosphere there made him feel at peace. But it was also close to some of the hardest, poorest, darkest areas of town—talking just about Vancouver proper, at least.
With his pockets still full of cash, he headed to the home of a woman he knew, who kept taking in street kids. She had everything from fifteen-year-olds, trying to get out of the cycle of prostitution they had found themself in, to a couple newborn babies and everything in between. He tried not to ask too many questions, as long as she was helping them and wasn’t doing anything illegal. When he stepped onto her front porch, the door opened, and one of the fifteen-year-olds leaned against the doorjamb.
Her arms were wrapped over her chest, as she eyed him suspiciously. “What do you want?”
“Is Sybil here?” She just shrugged. “In that case, tell her that I’d like to see her,” he said, his tone mild. From the doorway he saw the chaos of all the children’s toys and heard the noises from gaming systems and televisions. When a harried and frustrated Sybil came toward the front door, Simon was almost sorry he had stopped in. She carried a young child in her arms. Stepping outside, she took one look at him, and her face lit up.
He grinned. “Well, it’s nice to be welcomed.”
“Absolutely. It’s just chaos here, as usual.”
“Good chaos or bad?”
“Good. In addition to the regulars, I have two kids going home to their families—runaways. And I’ve been fostering this little guy, after he was picked up not far from here.”
“Lost?”
“More like deserted,” she said quietly.
“As in abandoned? Has the government stepped in yet?”
“Since he’s happy here at the moment, we’re keeping him for now, but, yes, they know he’s here.”
He nodded. “You know I can’t support anything that isn’t legal.”
“I do, and you know the finer points of legality can be somewhat capricious at times.”
He burst out laughing. “Always, and, of course, ultimately it’s all about the children.” With that, he handed her a roll of bills, which she accepted gratefully.
“Thank you. Sometimes it’s tough.”
“I can imagine,” he said. “You’ve got a full house here.”
“It’s quite something.” She nodded. “I can’t handle any more right now.”
“Until somebody calls, and then you find a way.”
“And I hate it,” she murmured, “but I can’t say no.”
“Got it. That’s what life is.”
“I know.… Sometimes it’s rough. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, I wonder how I’ll even get up in the morning. I get so tired.”
“Can anybody help you?”