“Not really,” she said.
“What about the older kids?”
“Well, you get some, who really want to help because they’re grateful to be here, and then others think the world owes them a favor—so to be asked to do anything is too much for them.”
He winced at that. “I guess it’s the age, isn’t it?”
She laughed. “It absolutely is”—she gave Simon a big grin—“and I don’t blame them one bit.”
“No, but this isn’t where you expected to be right now, correct?”
“No, not at all.”
“Hopefully it will ease up soon.”
As he turned and walked away, she called out, “Thank you again.”
He nodded and kept on going. If it wasn’t for the fact that some of those kids looked like they would take the money and run, he would have left it in the mailbox. But he’d also learned that it was that extra step of stopping by and visiting for a few minutes that added humanity to the money and put that much more of a smile on Sybil’s face. These impromptu visits also gave Simon a chance to take a closer look at what was going on in there. With that behind him, he headed to a couple more spots that needed help.
One was a small community church, surviving on donations, which were pretty darn thin. As he dropped the money into the donation box, the priest lifted a hand in thanks. They didn’t talk today since the priest was surrounded by various others now, but Simon and the priest had met many a time before. Simon turned and kept on walking.
At the food center, he found Johan in the back, muttering over bills. Simon dropped a big thick roll on the stack. “Maybe that’ll help.”
When Simon walked away, Johan called out, “God bless you.”
Simon laughed. “He already has.” As he headed out, he smiled because he meant it.
He was alive, and, after a really shitty start to his life, he was doing just fine. And, even though the last few months had given him some awakenings that he’d hoped to never have—and nightmares he’d never thought could be so bad—he was finally starting to recover from both. He headed toward one of his rehabilitation building projects, calling out to his project manager, who stood there, muttering over a clipboard. “A good day or a bad day?”
The project manager looked at him and glared. “Are there any good days?”
But it was hard to keep Simon’s good humor down. “Today is definitely a good day.”
Johnny shook his head. “I don’t know what the hell you’re sipping from that cup, but I sure as hell wish you’d give me some.”
“Got it. I should have remembered to bring you a coffee. Next time.”
“Don’t bother,” he said. “With my luck, on the day you bring coffee, it would be the one day I’m not here.”
At that, the two men smiled at each other.
“Sorry.” Johnny chuckled. “It’s been a shit day.”
“Ah,” Simon said.
“It’s the usual problems, nothing major, nothing new, just a continuation of all of the above.”
“Which, in itself, gets to be very worrying.”
“It does, but it is what it is.” He looked at Simon. “How come you’re in such a good mood?”
“I’m not exactly sure, but you know what? It—well, it is what it is, and, if you don’t need me here, I’ll go home early.”
“What’s the matter? Gotta hot date?”
“I’d like to think so, but she caught a new case, so that’s out.”
“You’re dating a cop?” Johnny looked at him in surprise. “Really?”