“Don’t got no money.” He turned away.
“It’s on the house.” She took a few more steps, bringing herself within arm’s length and holding out the water. “I’m Clover. I used to sleep under this tree—when my mom brought me through town. We didn’t stay long, though. It was a stopover on our way to California.”
He still wouldn’t look at her.
“She liked the beach in the summer, but it always took a few days to find someone willing to drive us across the desert.” She paused, waiting for him to say something. When he didn’t, she sat cross-legged, being sure not to get to close and frighten him.
“This is my tree now,” he grumbled.
Clover nodded. “I can see that. I’m not going to take your tree. Promise.” She crossed her heart. She set the water bottle halfway between the two of them and placed the plastic bag next to it.
“I need my tree.” He swiped the bottle off the ground and twisted off the cap.
Clover’s soul smiled widely. “You planning to stick around?”
He downed half the bottle. “Maybe.”
“Good.” She smiled. “If you want a good meal, I cook for The Pantry, and you’re always welcome. The information is on the card.” She pointed toward the bag.
“I’ll think about it.” He lifted the bottle to his lips and drained it.
Clover glanced away and then back, catching the bottom of a navy tattoo. “Were you in the service?” There were dozens of programs to help vets. If she could just get him to agree, she’d be able to have him in an apartment in no time.
He squished the empty water bottle and put the lid back on. “Eight years.”
She leaned forward and patted his arm. His skin was smooth, making her think he was younger than his emotional burden made him appear. “Thank you for your service to our country.”
A sense of pride filled his eyes, and he nodded solemnly, his eyes holding steady on the deformed water bottle. “Coming home was hard, but they don’t want me anymore. I figured I’d be away from life for a while.”
Clover dropped her gaze to the bags in her lap. “I wonder if that’s what my mom needed too. She had me at fourteen, didn’t have a family that I know of, and life was hard.”
He lifted his gaze, and she met him straight on, noting the bright blue color of his eyes, the keen intelligence there, and the memories that haunted him. “She did good by you.”
“Do you have any kids?” she asked tentatively.
“No—thank the good Lord. I don’t want to mess up anyone else’s life.”
Clover chewed the inside of her cheek. “I had a friend tell me that if I could imagine myself being something, then I had the power to be that thing. If you can imagine yourself being a father, then you can be one—and a good one.”
“That’s something to think about.” He tipped his chin up, staring through the leaves.
Clover patted his hand, gathered up the remaining water and bags, and stood. “I don’t know when I can come by again, but I’ll watch for you at The Pantry.”
He didn’t answer, just kept staring up at the sunlight coming through the leaves. Clover didn’t mind. The lines on his face were peaceful—sometimes that was all she could give, but it was enough for the moment.
Her phone chirped, and she juggled the bags and bottles of water to get it out of her pocket.
How’s your day?asked Dustin.
She managed to type out a quick “good” before dropping what was in her arms. She wanted to sit down with him and tell him all about the man under the tree—how he looked hopeful and was even friendly by the time she left. She could explain how much she wanted him to come to The Pantry so she could talk to him about some of the programs available for vets. At the least, he could have regular meals. At the most, he could have a place to stay and counseling. Then, maybe one day, he could be the dad he wanted to be. She tucked her phone back into her pocket. There was too much to put into a text, and she was here to help people.
She took the walkway around the tree to a picnic table. Two boys sat at the table, rolling a ball back and forth to one another. She walked right up to them and placed the waters on the table. The smell of sweat and improper bathroom hygiene hit her nose like a battering ram.
“You guys thirsty?” She smiled, though her stomach rolled at the stench. Kids were much easier to talk to than adults. They may be shy, but they usually came out of their shell if food was involved. She wished she’d brought a couple cupcakes or Zingers with her, but these two needed the soap and toothpaste more than a sugar high. There was a shelter with showers not far from here.
“Get away!” A woman with long gray hair and wild gray eyes charged at Clover, her arms waving. “Mine. Mine. Mine!” she screamed. Clover recognized the woman’s mental instability and backed away from the children. As she did, she dropped two of the bags and waters on the ground. They watched with dull eyes and little interest, but she had to try.
“They are yours. I was only inviting them to a meal.”
