Safe Harbour Page 0,81

to imagine their ever getting out of their desperate situations, but some did. And whether they did or not, like the others at the Center, she was there to do everything she could to help them. She was so moved by everything she was experiencing that her biggest regret, when she went home at night, was that she couldn't tell Ted about it. She liked to believe that he would have been fascinated by it. Instead, she shared as much as seemed reasonable with Pip, without frightening her unduly. Some of the stories were too depressing, or fairly hairy. A homeless man had died on their doorstep that week, on his way into the Center, of alcoholism, kidney failure, and malnutrition. But she didn't tell Pip about him either.

By Friday afternoon, it was clear to Ophélie that she had made the right decision. And that opinion was strongly reinforced by her advisers, those who directed her, and her co-workers. She was obviously going to be an asset to the Center, and she felt as though, for the first time in a year, she had found some purpose and direction that was fruitful.

She was just about to leave when Jeff Mannix of the outreach team breezed past her, and stopped to grab a cup of coffee.

“How's it going? Busy week?” he asked with a grin.

“Seems like it to me. I don't have anything to compare it to, but if it gets any busier around here, we may have to lock the doors so we don't get trampled.”

“Sounds about right.” He smiled at her, taking a sip of the steaming coffee. He had come by to check their provisions, they were adding some new medical and hygiene supplies to their usual offerings. Most of the time, he didn't come to work till six o'clock, and usually stayed on the streets until three or four in the morning. And it was easy to see that he loved what he was doing.

They both talked for a minute about the man who had died on the doorstep on Wednesday. Ophélie was still shaken by it.

“I hate to say it, but I see that out there so often, it no longer surprises me. I can't tell you how many guys I try to wake up, and when I turn them over… they're gone. Not just men, women too.” But there were far fewer women on the streets. Women were more likely to go to the shelters, although Ophélie had heard horror stories about that too. Two of the female intakes she had done that week had told her that they'd been raped at shelters, which was apparently not unusual. “You think you'll get used to it,” he said somberly, “but you never do.” And then he looked at her appraisingly. He'd been hearing good things about her all week. “So when are you coming out with us? You've worked with everyone else around here. I hear you're a whiz with intakes and provisioning. But you ain't seen nothing yet till you come out with Bob, Millie, and me. Or is that a little too real for you?” It was a challenge to her, and he meant it to be. As much as he respected his co-workers, he and the others on the outreach team felt as though theirs was the most important work the Center did. They were at greater risk, and provided more hands-on care in a night than the Center itself did in a week. And he thought Ophélie should see that too.

“I'm not sure how helpful I'd be,” Ophélie said honestly. “I'm pretty cowardly. I hear you guys are the heroes around here. I'd probably be too scared to get out of the van.”

“Yeah, maybe for about five minutes. After that you forget, and you just do what you have to do. You look pretty ballsy to me.” There was a rumor around that she had money, no one knew it for sure, but her shoes looked expensive, her clothes were too neat and clean and fit too well, and her address was in Pacific Heights. But she seemed to work as hard as anyone else, harder according to Louise. “What are you doing tonight?” he pressed her, and she felt both pushed and intrigued. “You gotta date?” he asked fairly bluntly, but as aggressive as he was, she liked him. He was young and clean and strong, and he cared desperately about what he did. Someone had told her he'd nearly been