volunteers to help the kids out with daily activities, aid with paperwork, serving meals, and to listen to them when they need to vent. Each volunteer brings in different skills.”
“I could also help out with school assignments and job skills. Anything would work, except for cooking, which we’ve already covered.”
Brady nodded, his gaze piercing. Looking away, Ashley focused on the small children in the photos.
“Are those your kids?” she asked.
He glanced over at them. “Yes. Justin is ten, and Trina is seven.”
“They’re cute.”
“Thanks. They can be a handful sometimes. I’m divorced, but my ex and I share custody. It seems to work. What about you? Do you have any children?”
“No.” Rubbing her hands over her skirt, she peered up at the clock above the bookcase.
“Do you have to go?” he asked.
“I do. I have another work-related appointment,” she fibbed, not liking the direction the conversation was going. The last thing she wanted to do was to talk about herself, or her past.
“Do you have time to tour the shelter?”
“Yes, I do.”
He rose to his feet. “Then let’s do it.”
Thirty minutes later, Ashley pulled away from the curb in front of the shelter and merged into traffic. The facility housed twenty-four minors ranging from twelve to seventeen in age. As she expected, the residents eyed her with suspicion as Brady showed her around. They seemed to like and feel comfortable around him. Ashley knew it would take time before they trusted her as well.
Several times during the grand tour of the shelter, Ashley caught Brady looking at her, making her a bit uncomfortable. She almost decided to chuck the whole idea of volunteering at Mount Vista, but then she saw a boy of about twelve sitting by himself in the corner of the family room. She was mesmerized by his pale face, and the dark strands of hair resting on his furrowed forehead. When he glanced up, their gazes locked. She saw fear and loneliness in his eyes, causing her to suck in a breath as images of the past assaulted her. In that moment, she saw the child she had been: lonely, sad, and full of shame. She remembered the pain and resentment that festered into rage whenever one of the neighborhood kids teased her for living in a homeless shelter. She’d spent her school days scared to death her classmates would also find out that she, her mother, and siblings lived in one. Ashley saw herself as she looked at the miserable boy in the corner. She understood him, and her heart broke for him.
The honking of a horn made her jump, chasing away her thoughts. Looking over, a bicyclist was flipping the bird at a car driving through the intersection. Up ahead, she saw the sign for Ruthie’s Diner. Her stomach growled, reminding her she hadn’t eaten since early that morning. Not looking forward to another night of take-out, she turned left at the stop sign and pulled into the diner’s parking lot.
Stepping into the eatery was like walking onto a 1960s movie set. The chrome and steel sparkled, and the multi-colored checkerboard floor gave a punch of color to the diner. Booths lined the perimeter, their black faux leather complementing red cushions on seats that lined a silver-specked Formica counter that stretched across half the restaurant.
“Can I help you?” a young hostess with curly brown hair asked.
“I’d like a booth,” Ashley said scanning the packed space.
“It may be a while,” she said. “Counter space opens quicker.”
The thought of sitting sandwiched in between two strangers who would most likely want to talk didn’t appeal to her, but the smell of fried chicken permeating the air was making her mouth water.
“That’s fine.”
Nodding, the hostess then walked over to a family of four. Ashley skimmed over the chalkboard with the specials hanging on a wall behind the cashier’s counter: fried chicken, smothered meatloaf, and pork ribs.
“Here’s a menu to look at while you’re waiting.” Smiling, Ashley took it and opened it up, but before she could peruse her options, the hostess laughed. “Actually, a spot just opened up. Follow me.”
Closing the menu, she walked behind the woman and down the long aisle where a well-built man in jeans and a leather jacket was headed her way. As he drew closer, she noticed the faint scent of motor oil surrounding him. He stared at her, and then down at her chest as she squeezed past him in the narrow space. Once away from him, anger rippled through her as she looked