The sense of hope was back again. Unwilling to trust it, I shoved it out of my mind. When I’d first arrived at Hope Center, I hadn’t known what to think, especially after meeting Lilly. Now, with everything within me I wanted this chance. I was smart enough to recognize I couldn’t do this on my own. I needed help.
I followed Drew back to where he’d parked the car. Like a gentleman, he opened the passenger door for me. It wasn’t until he was in the driver’s seat that he spoke. “So, do you think Hope Center is going to work for you?”
The center had been adequately named, although I wasn’t about to tell him that. I shrugged. “I’m willing to give it a shot.”
“Good.” He leaned slightly forward, inserted the key, and started the car’s engine.
We rode in silence on the way to the shelter. “Will you be the one to tell me if I’m accepted into the program?” I asked.
“No, you’ll either hear from Kevin or from Lilly.”
“Okay.” So this was it. I probably would never see him again, which was fine.
We rode in silence for a few minutes more. Stopping at a red light, Drew kept his focus straight ahead. “It looks like I’ll be at the center once a week for the foreseeable future.”
“Oh.” I wasn’t sure what that meant. Perhaps this was his way of telling me he’d be around and he’d have a chance to keep tabs on me. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.
“You going to check on me?” I asked, somewhat defiantly, like that was the last thing I wanted or needed from him.
“No. I probably won’t see you again.”
“Sure. No reason you should.”
He glanced my way again. “I will if you like.” The offer seemed genuine.
I shrugged as if it wasn’t a big deal. The thing was, I sort of would like it if he did. Knowing he would be around and keeping up on my progress was incentive to do well.
“The church comes in to serve dinner here once a month,” he mentioned at the next red light.
“You do that?”
“Not me personally. A group of women from the church see to it. Introduce yourself.”
“Oh.” As if any of those church ladies would want to meet me.
“Linda Kincaid is the one who manages the program. You won’t have any trouble identifying her. She’s nearly six feet tall and has a thick head of salt-and-pepper hair.”
“Sure thing.” I did my best to hide my sarcasm. No way was I seeking out this other woman.
“You need anything, you let her know and she’ll tell me.”
Not happening.
Drew pulled up in front of the shelter. “Once inside the shelter, give the director your name. There’s a bed for you there for the next couple nights.”
I looked over and nodded a couple times. “Thank you,” I whispered, somehow getting out the words.
“I’m glad I could help,” he said.
And then to my complete surprise, Drew turned his head away from me as if he didn’t want me to read his expression. “You might think I was the one who helped you, but Shay, you’ll be surprised to know you were the answer to my prayer.”
Me? An answer to a prayer? Too stunned to react, I climbed out of the car wondering what he could possibly mean. I wasn’t given the chance to ask as he drove away, leaving me standing with my small suitcase on the side of the street.
Four months later
Kevin insisted I join the basketball team. As much as I wanted to make excuses to avoid it, my friend was bound and determined that I be there. So every Wednesday afternoon, rain or shine, I raced around the court with a bunch of other men, all serving in ministry in one capacity or another. To my surprise, I actually came to enjoy the workout. I found the physical exertion helped sweat away the worst of my frustration and depression.
As difficult as it was to admit, that’s what I’d been suffering from—a deep, dark depression. At the time I hadn’t realized it, which is probably fairly common. While in seminary, I’d sat through plenty of psychology classes. One would think I’d be able to recognize the symptoms. Unfortunately, I’d been walking around in a thick fog of loss and grief and hadn’t been able to recognize what was happening to me.
Once I faced a few home truths about myself, I made an appointment with a physician as well as started weekly counseling for me and my kids. We’d been through hell, and it was time we stopped pretending all was fine when it wasn’t. The antidepressants and counseling had done wonders for my mental health. Time with friends and physical exercise had been added bonuses.
As the weeks progressed, Kevin and I started taking time to cool off together after basketball with a cold soda. In retrospect, I was convinced he planned these sessions. We talked about Katie’s sickness and ultimate death and about the effect her passing had on the children. Kevin had been the one to recommend the counselor, who happened to be a friend of his.
As a result, both Mark and Sarah seemed to be adjusting and accepting life without their mother a little better. Sarah had been only five when Katie was first diagnosed with stage-four ovarian cancer. The doctors gave her just a few months. She lasted six. In some ways I wish she’d died sooner. That sounds callous, and I suffered a tremendous amount of guilt for thinking that, but those last weeks when she’d lingered were the hardest of my life. It became intolerable to watch her suffer. It killed me in ways I was only now beginning to recognize.
After about a month of the soda breaks, a couple of the other guys joined in. I looked forward to that time as much as I did to playing basketball. As an added advantage, I was in the best shape I’d been in since college.
About a week or so before Easter, when I was arriving at the center for my weekly basketball game, I caught sight of a woman who looked vaguely familiar as I went to collect Sarah from the child-care center. My daughter had accompanied me, since it was spring break. It didn’t take me long to recognize the woman helping in the center as the one I’d found in church all those months ago. She was walking with another Hope Center resident. The two of them were laughing. I smiled and decided to ask Kevin about her.
After the game, as we gathered in the staff kitchen with our drinks, I looked to Kevin. “You remember that woman I brought by a few months back?”
“Shay,” he supplied.
“Yeah, Shay. How’s she doing?”
“There are confidentiality matters, but seeing that you’re the one who brought her here, I can let you know that Shay is toeing the line. Still got attitude, but that’s par for the course.”
I grinned, remembering how her eyes had flashed with defiance when I first met her. Finding her in the church that day wasn’t coincidence, I knew that now. If not for stumbling upon Shay, I don’t know what would have happened with me personally. Contacting Kevin had been a turning point in my recovery from the loss of my wife.
Kevin studied me. “How about we talk to Lilly? She’s Shay’s counselor.”
“Sure.” I was eager to hear about Shay’s progress, and Kevin seemed to sense that.
Kevin disappeared for a few minutes and returned with the woman I’d met the afternoon I’d brought Shay to the center for an evaluation.
“You remember Pastor Douglas, don’t you?” Kevin asked.
Lilly raised her chin in greeting. “I do.”
“He was asking about Shay. Can you give us an update?”
“Sure.” Lilly crossed her arms. “She came with a chip on her shoulder, which is fairly common. I had to call her on the carpet a couple times, but she does what’s required of her. The attitude is more out of fear, I think.”
“Fear?” I asked.
“Yeah, Shay’s afraid of what will happen to her if she fails. It could mean life on the street, so she’s doing what’s necessary to stay in the program.”
In other words, and I was reading between the lines, Shay was doing just enough to remain in the program. All I could do was hope that the life lessons taught at the center would take hold.
“Is she attending church with the other women?” I asked. I knew church attendance was completely voluntary. It said a lot if she had made that step of faith.