“You stood up for yourself and I’m proud of you for that. I know I haven’t said that in a while, but I am. Really.”
Illias looked away, sniffling as tears threatened to roll down his cheeks. “Fuck, shut up,” he grumbled. “Don’t go getting all soft on me. You asshole,” he said, faking a small laugh to hide the crack in his voice.
“That’s what happens when you get old,” Henry said, his own voice a little watery. “You get soft and sentimental.”
Illias wiped at his eyes, side eyeing Henry with a mild glare. “Don’t expect us to start hugging just because you’re senile now.”
Henry let out a gruff laugh. “I said sentimental, not senile.”
Illias waved his hand with a false scoff. They stood there for a moment in silence, stuck between crying or laughing. Illias took a shaky breath. “I’ve got to get going before it gets too late. I’ll see you around.”
“See you around,” Henry agreed.
Illias left the porch, feeling like he could breathe a little easier for the first time in almost a decade. He stopped half way to his car and looked over his shoulder only to see Henry looking at him. With a light, cautious smile, Illias waved back.Maybe there is a way to fix this.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Cantrell
“For I desired mercy, and not sacrifice; and the knowledge of God more than burnt offerings.”
- Hosea 6:6 KJV
Finished with his evening responsibilities, Cantrell left to tend to Saint Anthony’s. He wanted to check on the garden project Illias mentioned a while back to see how the progression was going. Vaguely, Cantrell remembered Charity proposing the idea. She asked to use a small section of the backyard to grow fresh fruit and vegetables for the shelter, and it would double as an activity the residents could partake in. When Charity brought it to Cantrell, he thought it was a wonderful idea and entrusted her with getting the job done. He should have figured she would enlist Illias’ help since he’d done a good deal of work around the shelter since he started volunteering.
Parking near the entry, he braced himself to be pulled in every which direction. People of all ages greeted him as he walked through. He did his best to tend to everyone as needed and provide comfort where he could, all while he searched for Charity. Across the room, he spotted her sitting with an elementary-aged child with papers and notebooks spread out in front of them. She glanced up. Cantrell gave her a nod of acknowledgement before he was pulled away by yet another person. After two hours of being pulled every which way, he was able to meet with Charity in the small hallway that led towards the supply closet.
“I was told the other day you started the garden project. How is it going?”
“Illias!” Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, he’s probably so mad at me, I haven’t checked on him since I got here. I’ve been so busy I haven’t even stepped outside.”
“I’ll go see how he is, I’m sure he understands the work you do is very important.”
Cantrell grabbed a water bottle from the kitchen then made his way outside. He stopped in his tracks as the door swung shut behind him. Illias, shirtless, stood with his back towards the shelter. Sweat glistened against his warm brown skin in the low beams of sun. Muscles flexed with each back-and-forth motion of the handsaw. An indecent thought of seeing Illias tied in a way that put his toned body on display crossed Cantrell’s mind.I should see if he has any rope.Setting that line of thought to the side, Cantrell admired the garden beds Illias had completed. They weren’t very large but they would hold enough to create a decent crop, and they stood on four, thick legs that put the bed itself at about waist level. Probably to avoid the youngest among the shelter children from getting into the beds unsupervised.
Cantrell watched Illias set the handsaw down then said, “Your craftsmanship is remarkable.”
“Jesus!” Illias whipped around. “You have got to stop doing that.”
Cantrell let himself indulge in the sight of Illias shirtless, sweaty, and a slight shade darker. Wildly inappropriate thoughts swirled through Cantrell’s mind. “Perhaps you shouldn’t be so easy to sneak up on.”
Illias rolled his eyes as he tugged off the thick work gloves he was wearing. “Whatever.” He gestured towards the water bottle in Cantrell’s hand with one of the gloves. “Please tell me that’s for me.”
Cantrell tilted the bottom of the bottle towards Illias. Illias walked over and, as he grabbed it, Cantrell caught Illias’ wrist. “Watch your attitude.”
“Make me,” he smarted, snatching his hand back.
Illias uncapped the bottle and downed half of it. He sighed deeply and poured some on the top of his head. He shook his head like a dog, sprinkling water across Cantrell as well. When Illias apologized with a cheeky grin, Cantrell could only roll his eyes and smile at the childish antics.
“Sit with me for a minute?” Illias asked, catching Cantrell off guard.
“Is everything okay?” Cantrell moved to sit at the small picnic table with Illias.
“Yeah, I talked to Charity today about where Saint Anthony’s funding comes from.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I…I find it hard to believe the church funds this place.”
Cantrell nodded solemnly, resting his forearms on the table. “We receive enough to get by. What we’re unable to get from the funding, we get through generous donations of items or food, and I use what little income I have to supplement the rest.”
Illias’ eyebrows drew together. “You use your own income?”
