Page 62 of The Guy in the Alley

I remembered that part too, from Nana’s stories. People would flock outside the bar in the middle of the night, and nothing went to waste.

I cleared my throat and debated whether to say anything about Ben. I couldn’t talk to Ma about this, ’cause she’d jump to conclusions that weren’t there. She wanted me to settle down and shit.

A few months ago, I would’ve laughed it off, but now…

Whatever. All I knew was, I couldn’t get Ben out of my head.

Friends.

“That man you saw briefly yesterday,” I started by saying. “My friend who helped out at the soup kitchen?”

Dad nodded. “Mom mentioned him. She thinks yous’re dating.”

I snorted under my breath. “We’re fuckin’ not. He’s a friend. I’ve tried to help him, I guess. He’s, uh… He’s been homeless on and off for a few years. Shitty luck, if you ask me. He has a special needs kid, and I guess all the money’s gone to his care.”

I was missing most of that story, I was sure. But he’d made some comments yesterday about finally being able to afford more therapy sessions for Alvin.

“That’s rough,” Dad said. “He stayin’ with you, then?”

“For now…?” I asked rather than stated. Because ultimately, I had no idea what Ben’s plans were.

I’d told him bluntly that he could stay for as long as he needed, and I’d used his language too. I’d told him I wouldn’t mind help around the bar, whether it was the soup kitchen or handyman work. It was the best way to get him to agree, if he could contribute.

“Either way, I wanna do more for people like him,” I admitted. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m continuing with the soup kitchen. I just feel like we can make more of a difference for people who just need a minor nudge back into society.”

Dad shifted where he stood and faced me more. “You got any ideas? Because…a minor nudge in theory is still a mountaintop in reality.”

I knew that.

“Take day care, for example,” I said. “We see a lot of single parents lining up for the soup kitchen every week, and I don’t know how many times I’ve heard mothers say they can’t afford day care, which means they don’t have the time to look for work, because they gotta be with their kids.”

Dad furrowed his brow. “You’re not turnin’ the bar into a day care center, Trace.”

“What the fuck?” I laughed. “Of course not. And before you go there, I know the Clover comes first. You don’t gotta remind me.”

“Good. So what’re you thinking?”

“I don’t know.” It almost came out as a groan, because I was getting frustrated. I hadn’t thought this through yet. Something so simple as laundry had been on my mind too. Being poor was expensive. It was difficult to get off the ground when you were paying extra at a laundromat because you didn’t have a washing machine at home, or when you lived in a high-crime area where prices on food and gas were hiked up.

“I don’t know,” I repeated. “I’ve just been narrowing down the obstacles to see if I could come up with something—like, I don’t know, a babysitting initiative. Money’s tight for many of us, but sometimes we can give our time.” I shrugged. “I’m gonna see if I can talk to that Christin chick at Ma’s church. Maybe she can—” I stopped abruptly and glared at him. “Can you fucking stop looking at me like I’m crazy?”

That set him off, and he went from smirking to full-on laughing.

“You’re not crazy! You’re sweet.” He threw an arm around my shoulders. “You’re also ambitious, and I don’t want you to burn out. You do enough already, you hear?”

Goddammit, he wasn’t saying the right things. He was parroting shit I always heard from Adam and Julie.

“You weren’t planning on babysitting the kids yourself, were you?”

I shot him a sideways scowl. “Fuck no. But I could help organize shit. I can talk to people.”

“Good.” He nodded firmly. “Because thanks to you, Chip can spell jagoff.”

“I only teach him the essentials.”

“I might agree, but your sister does not.”

I was right, my sister was wrong, end of story.

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