Page 5 of Home Ice

Despite his assurances, when I pull up to what is supposed to be the address, the doubts rush back. The building in front of me is a dark brown craftsman-style house that looks like it's had a second story just dropped onto it at some point. There's no sign. Just a rainbow flag hanging from the porch. I sit in my car for a few minutes, watching. I don't know what I'm looking for. Do I think some unhoused teenager will come out and greet me and assure me I'm in the right place? Maybe. But when no one comes, I get out, open Sebastian's back end, and load my arms with more food than I could ever use in a year.

"At least it won't be the first time I'll be a fool today," I mutter as I pin the casseroles between my hip and the house to free a hand to ring the doorbell. The sound it makes is like a chime with a respiratory virus. I take a couple of steps back and wait, but it's not long before a man answers the door. His head is shaved smooth, and he's wearing a light orange button-up shirt over grey slacks. "This is going to sound stupid, but I'm looking for Bridges? And you probably have no idea what I'm even talking about, so I should just go back to the car and not embarrass myself anymore because you're obviously busy and this is clearly not?—"

"You found it. This is Bridges. I'm Michael. Based on the stack of disposable aluminum pans that's almost taller than you, you must be Lily?"

I smile and shrug. "That's me. I just didn't expect?—"

"A gay black man to be the director of a homeless shelter in Salt Lake?"

My face burns so hot I might be melting the Jello on top of the stack. "Oh my god, no! Please don't think that! I would never!"

Michael laughs and motions me through the door he's holding open for me. "I shouldn't joke," he says. "There really are people out there who might think that, but I have a pretty good feeling you're not one of them. I'm sorry if I was too much. I can be sometimes."

I blow out a sigh. "No, you're fine. It's just been... a morning."

"Oh trust me, I get it. I've spent my morning staring at a budget that's stretched tight enough to bounce a dime. If we could afford the dime. And when that got to be too fun, I had to herd thirteen teenagers who thought they shouldn't have to be out of bed until two. Sometimes I really question my life choices," he sighs dramatically, but the way he smiles lets me know he wouldn't want to be anywhere else. "Now, let me stop being rude and take some of those from you. I'll show you to the kitchen."

He takes all but one of the pans and turns through the inner door of the office. The next room is apparently a bedroom. There are two sets of bunk beds pushed against the walls. On the bottom bunk to the left, there's a pink plush lion that's missing an arm and some of its fur. Seeing it adds another crack to my heart. As much as I whined as a teenager—and as an adult—I never had it this bad. Dad always made sure of that.

"Chloe," Michael calls out in front of me as we enter the next room, "just the person I wanted to see."

"It's done, Mr. Michael," a voice answers. "I swear. That dark stuff is just stains. I tried to get it off. Really."

When I walk through the door, I see a small kitchen with brown appliances. The enamel finish is chipping, and I can hear the refrigerator humming from the other side of the room. Its handle is wrapped in duct tape at the bottom. "I wasn't talking about that. I know those are stains," Michael says. "Open the freezer for me please, and then take the last container from the nice lady here."

"Oh, right!" The teen girl hops up, apparently excited to do something other than cleaning.

"Chloe, this is Lily," Michael introduces us. "Lily, this is Chloe."

I smile at her as she takes the pan from me. "So glad to meet you."

"What is this?" She peeks up at me through the strands of long blonde hair that have fallen into her face and then lifts a corner of the foil covering the dish.

"Young lady, you will wait, and you will tell Lily how appreciative you are."

She gives him a side eye that almost makes me laugh, but then she smiles. "Thank you. For real. But is it something good?"

"Chloe..." Michael sounds like this isn't the first time she's pushed his buttons. I can't help my laugh now.

"Funeral potatoes. So, it's good if you like those, I guess?"

"Yum, I do. Who died?"

Michael folds his arms across his chest and glares at her. "Chloe Alaina!"

"My dad."

Chloe's eyes widen just a little, and she looks at me like she expects more. "Was he good?"

My throat tightens, and I have to take a breath before I'm able to answer. "The best." I try not to let the emotions come up, but my words are still wobbly despite my efforts.

The teen's face drops. "I'm sorry."

"Me too."

"You should meet Silver." she says as she sets the pan in the chest freezer. "You can't be sad around Silver. It's just not possible."

Michael steps between Chloe and the back door of the house, but she goes around him anyway. "I doubt if Miss Lily wants to see Silver." But if Chloe registers his words, she does a convincing job of acting like she doesn't. She pulls open the door and calls out. Almost as soon as she does, a black and tan dog the size of a motorcycle rushes into the kitchen. It lifts its nose for a quick sniff and then charges right at me. My heart thumps, and I feel my eyes go wide as I wait to be attacked. But it just rubs itself against me—its short hair tickling my legs—before disappearing into the bedroom.

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