with the other volunteers prepared to dish food and offer small talk. Before I get too busy though, I remember my clothes in the washer across the street and I take a couple minutes to rush across and switch them to the dryer.
In less than an hour we have served the line of people and although I have greeted several by name as they are regulars and know me, I haven’t served so much as a pea or a pat of butter to my little sister. When everyone is seated and eating, that’s our cue as volunteers to make ourselves a plate of food and join them. I pile mine up with salad and then ladle clam chowder into a bowl. I grab a roll and carry my tray over to an empty seat by two of my favorite people, Margery and Ed, both volunteers. Margery is the sweetest, nicest person you will ever meet, with a high pitched voice and a tendency to wear a lot of costume jewelry. Her husband, Ed, is bald up top but with a long, gray beard and mustache, several tattoos and he is a good 75 pounds overweight, all of it centered in his belly. She looks like someone who attends PTA meetings for fun; he looks like he is in a biker gang. Together they are sweet as pie and if anyone has seen Rose, it’d be these two: they seem to know everyone. I ask the same question I had asked Jim earlier and wait for their answers as I blow on my chowder.
“Oh yes, I’ve seen her!” Margery chirps, nodding vigorously. “Remember, Ed? She was in here last week, or maybe it was two weeks ago. And I saw her again down by the river when Jim and I took the leftovers to feed the homeless out there. She didn’t want any though, little thing looked at me like I was crazy and like she’d never seen peanut butter and jelly sandwiches before. Strangest thing. I wondered if she was on some pills or something, she looked real confused or lost.”
You don’t know the half of it, I think. Aloud I say, “Do you think she was living out there, by the river?”
“Well, I don’t know, honey, could be. It’s been a lovely summer so the city has had its fair share of homeless, especially down there where the camping’s good. They’re clearing out now though, the nights are getting colder already.” As if her words were a premonition, Margery pulls her cardigan closer around her shoulders. Ed wraps his arm around her and rubs her arm, never pausing in his chicken eating.
“Was she alone? Did it seem like she had friends or anyone with her?” I prod.
“No, no, I don’t think so. There were a lot of people there that day, and here in the soup kitchen that time I saw her here, too. But I got the impression she was alone.”
“Did you see her, Ed?” I turn my attention to him. It seems as though I’ve gotten all the information I can out of Margery and it’s doubtful her husband will be any more helpful, but I have to try.
Ed gnaws on his chicken wing bone before responding. “Nah, darlin’, I remember her real vaguely but I didn’t notice any more than Margery did. You say she’s your sister?”
“Yes, and it’s very important that I find her,” I sigh. “Will you do me a favor? If you ever see again, will you tell her that her sister, Sonnet, and her dad are looking for her? That we’re here and she can find us through Jim?”
“Sure thing, honey,” Margery says, standing and clearing all of our plates. “Come on now, let’s get that dessert served. I am craving some chocolate!”
Rather than make everyone line up again and be served in order, Jim likes the volunteers to serve them their cake and coffee at their tables. It also makes for more chitchat, which is almost as important to some as the food. I can fit 12 small plates of cake on my platter, if I overlap the scalloped edges of the plates a bit, and once it’s balanced on my shoulder, I grab a pot of coffee to bring with me and head over to the table in the back. There’s no one seated there that I know, but I smile and act like I do anyway and serve everyone their cake. The last man that I pour coffee for