first, I think it’s directed at me, but it’s not. The redheaded man looks up and I follow his gaze to—Casey. I step back quickly as Casey marches toward him, furious. Even when I was pushing my luck with The Unity Project, trying to make my way to Bea, I’d never seen her this mad. Her face is blotchy red, her hair flying wildly around her head as her black trench flares behind her. She asks it again:
“What do you think you’re doing?”
As soon as she’s close enough, he says her name and grabs at her arm. She jerks away and their voices blur together, indistinguishable. She gets as close to him as she can seem to stand it, and he, for his part, seems to be doing his best to remain calm. The whole moment crescendos; Casey pushes him hard in the chest and then, to my astonishment, turns on her heel and climbs into the sedan.
He stands there for a long moment, his jaw set, and then gets into the driver’s side. I watch her as he starts the car. Her face is completely contorted with rage. She snaps something at him and turns her face to the window and her rage gives way to surprise as her eyes meet mine. Shit.
The sedan pulls away from the curb.
When I look to Arthur’s house, he’s watching from his window and I duck out of view before he sees me too. I make my way back to my apartment, thoughts whirling.
* * *
She calls me hours later, long after I’ve googled who the man might be and discovered who he is: her brother, Daniel. I stare at her name as it lights up my phone and when I answer, she doesn’t wait for my greeting. She tells me we need to talk. Off the record. In person. She’s still in town, she says. When I ask her to name the place, she picks The Unity Center.
The Unity Center is near the heart of Morel, just slightly tucked away from the sinus rhythm of the town, offering a level of privacy for those who might want to seek assistance away from prying eyes. It’s a large building, three stories tall, designed to do several things at once. The first story is where the action is: at the front of the building, past intake, is the dining room, which is adjacent to the kitchen. It serves breakfast and dinner and light snacks and drinks throughout the day. A recreation room neighbors the dining area where people can relax, breathe, socialize; anything that’s not disruptive or destructive. At the very, very back are showers and bunks, room to sleep fifty. Per its website, once you’ve made use of all of those services—or regardless of whether or not you do—you can avail yourself of The Unity Connection, which runs on the second floor. The third, presumably, is for staff facilities.
I’ve never been inside The Unity Center before.
I’ve never actually seen the work.
It’s clean, well-lit. Tonight the place seems busy; I’d estimate about a hundred people in the dining area, enjoying dinner. The din is friendly-sounding, loud. Calligraphic script is painted across the wall at the far side of the room.
GIVE AND IT WILL BE GIVEN TO YOU.
—LUKE 6:38
My eyes travel over the faces here. As with the sermon, all walks of life seem represented in Project space. A girl who looks around my age with a small plate of food. She eats like a bird as her gaze flits nervously around the room. A raucous group of boys in their twenties take up a table. A pair of old women sit side by side, their free hands clasped tightly together. A man in a wheelchair. A woman holding her baby to her breast. What appears to be a family huddles together, talking happily.
“Hi,” a soft voice says beside me. “Is this your first time here?”
A young Asian woman gives me a kind smile. She’s wearing a bright pink shirt with The Unity Project’s logo subtly displayed over its pocket. Her hair is cut into a sleek bob, perfectly complemented by the delicate, kitten flick eyeliner at the corner of her eyes.
“Yeah, but I’m not—” I’m not quite sure how to finish the sentence. I clear my throat. “I’m here to meet Casey.”
“You’re Lo?” she asks. I nod and her smile widens. “Wow. Lo Denham.”
“That’s me.”
“I’m Mei. It’s so great to finally meet you,” she says, extending her hand. Finally? My surprise delays me enough