“In my office.” She flicked her wrist and pointed across the hall. “I can show you now.”
“Please do. I’ll need to know in case anything transpires.” He walked to her office with his back ramrod straight.
“If it does, remember to keep a cool head.”
He scowled. “I’ve treated shrapnel infested limbs while enemy gunfire whizzed past me. I think I can handle a disgruntled husband.”
“I know, but I also know what makes you tick.”
His fingers curled into tight fists, and he dug them into the chair by her desk. “Nothing makes me madder than a man who disrespects a woman. I couldn’t stop the men who hurt my mom, but I’ll be a dead man before I sit by and let any man lift a finger to hurt a woman.”
She took a deep breath. Hope House was blessed to have Carl on staff, but she worried about him. “One day you’ll have to forgive those men.”
“Never.” He shook his head with passion. “They beat my mom to a bloody mess and left her to die. If my granddad hadn’t walked in when he did, Mom wouldn’t be here today.”
“Nothing can justify what happened to your mom or minimize the horror, but God worked good from it.”
He snorted. “Why couldn’t he have helped Mom get clean before it came to being raped and beaten?”
“I don’t know.” She bit her bottom lip, wishing she had insight into this mystery of God. “All I know is that He can take a terrible situation and bring good from it.”
“Where’s the photo of this guy?” Carl’s abrupt change of subject let her know he wouldn’t tolerate any more talk of his mom today.
“In Luna’s file.” Reaching over the desk, she grabbed the manila folder with Luna’s information, and slipped out the picture. She handed it to Carl.
“He’s scrawny, not what I expected.”
“Don’t be fooled. During intake, I did a quick investigation to verify her story. Turns out, he’s an underground mixed martial arts fighter.” She took back the photo. “Or was until recently when the drugs ran too deep.”
“Nothing will happen on my watch. If you hear he’s out of rehab, let me know.”
“I will.
Carl left the room, and Rachel rubbed her eyes until she came to the bridge of her nose. “What a day.”
She went to storage and rummaged through the donations that came in over the weekend. Typically, she would have taken care of it on Monday, but there hadn’t been time yet this week. However, she remembered seeing a brand new portable crib dropped off. The one she’d dug out last week would remain in the nursery for when Mercy was there, and she’d put together the new one for her to use in the dorm.
Trash bags full of clothes and linens blocked the way. She moved them aside with a promise to herself to come back this afternoon and take care of them. The crib was in a box, still sealed with tape printed with the baby store’s logo on it.
Hoisting it under one arm, she carried it to Luna’s dorm where she’d pull it out and set it up. Nobody was in the room, but she saw two freshly made beds, one with princess sheets. That alone was enough to make her smile.
She hummed a tune she’d heard on the radio that morning while she pulled out the pieces of the porta-crib. The neutral gray and yellow color scheme with elephant print was perfect.
The instructions were missing, but it was a similar model to the one in the nursery. With a little brain power, she had it figured out and ready for use in under ten minutes. Luna hadn’t returned yet, so Rachel slid the crib by the bed Luna had chosen. She stood over their spots and prayed for Luna and her daughters. They had a long road of healing ahead of them.
When she’d mentioned a local church had a van route that stopped by the shelter for whoever wished to attend services, Luna’s eyes had sparked with interest although she hadn’t responded verbally.
Rachel hoped that Luna would take advantage of the offer. As a faith-based shelter, Hope House did provide chaplain services, but she found that the residents who attended church and became involved had higher success rates upon leaving. Fewer returned for assistance and only one had went back to her former life.
Before she could dwell on Celeste, the young mom who had returned to prostitution, Rachel went to her office. An online course on updated HUD policies awaited her. As director of the shelter, her education never ceased. In addition to the constant hands on experience, she made a habit of keeping up with the current government programs and policies that could help her ladies.
It was her responsibility and privilege to provide them with the best resources available.
She logged onto the website but didn’t proceed once she saw the time. In her rush to leave that morning she’d left her lunch on the counter. If she wanted to eat without leaving the shelter, she’d have to make it to the dining hall.
Stretching her arms high, she arched her back and eased her sore muscles. That spontaneous trip to the gym last night wreaked havoc on her body today. She hadn’t decided yet if the pain would push her away or motivate her to go regularly. The proper answer stared her in the face, but her muscles laughed then groaned.
Rays of sunlight tempted her to go outside. She took the long way to the dining hall and stopped in the prayer garden. She had a few minutes to spare before the serving line shut down.
