“Miss Becca!” Devon called, and he saw her face light up, and he ran to her, hugged her around the waist. “You came!”
Miss Becca smiled, then nodded at the older woman. “I’d love to volunteer if you need the help.”
“Boy, do we ever!” Mrs. Martha’s eyes crinkled. “Devon, can she help you get those clothes laid out? Mike, we got a new one!”
“Thank the good Lord,” Mike said, waving hello.
“Probably just tonight.” Miss Becca pushed up her sleeves as she filled out her nametag and got all checked in with Mrs. Martha, then followed Devon to the clothing table. “But I’m a hard worker.”
“Ha, that’s what I said. ‘Just tonight.’ But here I am, three years later, haven’t missed a Friday.” Mike elbowed him. “Right, Devon?”
“Right, Mr. Mike.”
Miss Becca giggled, and that made him happy. He wanted her to like the giveaway, wanted her to keep coming back.
“So what can I do to help?” she asked.
“You take that end,” Devon pointed toward the clothes. “Start by sorting them into men’s on one side, women’s on the other.”
Ten minutes later, they had the clothing organized into a loose pile of men’s and women’s and were folding them as neat as possible. Jeans went with jeans, shirts with shirts, and the socks were in the center so they wouldn’t roll off.
“Hey, you got a knack for it.” Mike surveyed her work with a nod.
“Thanks.” She smiled, motioned toward the bottles he’d organized. “Why all the mini bottles? Wouldn’t it be more economical to give out big ones?”
Mike shook his head. “Nah, they like the little ones best. They fit better in their backpacks, and they need to carry light. One change of clothes, a few bottles to clean up, that sort of thing.” He shrugged. “That, and the hotels give us this stuff for free.”
“They do?”
“Most big hotels do, if you ask,” Devon said. “They’re supposed to throw out the used ones, you know—when people use a drop and leave it in the shower? Mr. Mike and some of his neighbors, they collect the leftovers.”
Mike nodded. “Once a week or so, we go around to the hotels in Aberville, pick up our bags.”
“We also ask people in town to donate any mini bottles they gather when on vacation,” Martha called over from her table.
“Genius,” Miss Becca said. “This place is like a machine! You do this every Friday, week after week? I’m thoroughly impressed.”
Mrs. Martha clapped her hands. “It’s time for our guests!”
“It’s time!” Devon turned to Miss Becca, grinning. “Mrs. Martha, can I ring the bell?”
“By all means,” she said, and handed him the chunky gold handbell. It made a big boiiiing sound, and the men and women began to stream in, talking and joking as they approached the registration table.
“Now what?” Miss Becca asked.
“Follow my lead,” Mike told her, stepping toward the rear of the bottles table and motioning her to do the same on her side. “When the guests come up, smile and help with whatever they want. They can fill one of these plastic bags with whatever they want. One bag per guest.”
“Guest. I like that.”
“Well, it’s a lot more respectful than, say, ‘homeless client’ or ‘needy.’ I mean, people are people.” Mike tapped his head.
“Good point.”
They all took their places, and Devon slipped into the kitchen to run food. Later he’d join Marla to help with dishes. That was his favorite part. The smell of the dish soap reminded him of the one Mama used to use, reminded him of back when she was alive and they’d do after-dinner dishes together, side by side at the sink. Plus it was fun, and Marla always let him blow bubbles at the end.
At one point he came out to refill the bread basket and saw two of the guests chatting with Miss Becca, who was laughing so hard she was red in the face. She caught Devon’s eye and waved, and he waved back. He liked that she was having a good time, liked that she looked happy.
Mr. Sammy came up then and gave Miss Becca a big handshake, the kind that shook her whole arm, said she was “mighty welcome.” Then he sat down at the piano and began to play a jazzed-up version of “Amazing Grace.”
