Page 135 of Never Quiet

Epilogue

Disguised four days later, Amanda and her team loaded the SUVs with care packages, boxes, and other supplies they’d need. She wanted to get one day in before she headed to the think tank. She wasn’t sure how long she’d be there.

Everyone was dressed casually, as instructed.

They drove in a caravan to an area where many homeless people tended to gather in the dilapidated areas of Boulder. The stylist who’d volunteered his time opened his van and hooked up a generator. He announced he was giving free haircuts to anyone who wanted or needed one.

Her guys set up several military field showers on the back of a truck that provided warm water. A box truck backed in and a ramp lowered. Inside were rows of sturdy clothing, shoes, and accessories in all sizes.

Two bins held feminine hygiene kits and condoms.

A manager from a local clinic offered a needle exchange.

As people warily approached, their spirits and often their bodies broken, Amanda talked to them. “No one will hurt you here. We want to help. There are no conditions. Take what you need and tell us if there’s anything we’re missing.”

After an hour, there were men, women, and children cautiously using the facilities. She spoke to each one personally, tried to determine what they were nervous to ask for, and arranged for several to enter shelters who wished to go.

“Let’s get you supplied here and then we’ll take you to the shelter that’s waiting for you.”

One elderly man didn’t move from his place on the ground, leaning against a concrete pillar that supported the bridge above.

Crouching a few feet away, she asked, “Would you like some food?” She could tell he read her lips. Eyes wide, she signed, “Are you deaf?” He nodded. “There’s food, supplies, a haircut. Please.” She held out her hand and he placed his in it. His hands were dry and cracked. Helping him to his feet, he was an inch or two shorter.

He signed, “I’ll take the kindness, miss. You should know I’ll still drink again. I’m sorry.”

Amanda responded in sign, “If that’s what you need, I won’t judge you. Let’s get you cleaned up, give you supplies, feed you, and you let me know what else might help.”

“You’ll help me...even if you know I’ll still drink?”

Her hand on his shoulder, she nodded. Then she guided him to the stylist and waited with him in line to get his hair and beard trimmed. When he was done, she helped him pick underthings, clothes, and shoes that he could put on after his shower. He hesitated.

“I’ll watch your things. No one will take them,” she assured him.

Several minutes later, he emerged from the shower truck looking like a completely different person and she smiled.

Signing, she explained, “We have gear bags that will be easier for you than all these separate bags. Lighter and weatherproof, too. Let’s transfer your stuff over.”

She used a long folding table set up beside the SUV to help him empty the various bags he’d been using to carry around his life and put them in the military grade pack that contained hygiene supplies, emergency food packs, change for vending and laundry machines, and more tightly rolled clothing.

There was a thermal blanket, thick socks, and long underwear for when the weather turned bitter cold. She showed him the reusable bottle that could be filled at water fountains in the parks.

When the bag was loaded, she opened a covered box in one of the SUVs. Removing two narrow plastic bottles of whiskey, she slipped them into the outer pockets of the bag and covered them. From her jeans, she removed a hundred dollars in ones, fives, and tens in a plastic baggie.

Holding it out to him, she smiled. “Please use this for food and let your body heal a bit. You have the alcohol but try to ration it.”

He took the money with a shaking hand and put it in the inside pocket of his new coat. He signed, “Why are you doing this?”

Lowering to the bumper of the SUV, she signed, “The man I-I love spent time on the streets. If he were out here now, I’d want someone to see him as a human being, to help him, to keep him safe. He could have died so many times. It’s dangerous and one person at a time, I want to help.”

“Y-your man...” He looked away a moment and back to her. “He’s an addict?”

“Heroin. He still fights it every day. I won’t judge you.”

“Even with your disguise, I know who you are. I saw a clip of you using sign language in that speech. They played it at the bus station.” He smiled. “A wig and baggy clothes can’t hide beauty like yours.”

“Our secret.” She held out her hand. “I’m Amanda.”

Clearing his throat, he said, “Kjell.”

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