He’s baiting me, likely hoping I’ll snap at him so it gives him an excuse to unleash his own anger. I’m not angry, though, just sad. Sad it’s come to this for the Jenkinses and that a lot of families struggle with this very thing—unemployment, poverty, even addiction. His belligerence reminds me of how my own dad ended up when our lives fell apart.
This is where the separation comes in. The compartmentalization. I can’t help everyone, as much as I want to. Icouldgive Mr. Jenkins some money to tide him over until his next unemployment or assistance check, but he’d likely spend it on alcohol or cigarettes. I’ve seen it countless times before. It would be like slapping a tiny bandage on a gaping wound.
I muster my courage, straighten my spine, and turn to face him. “Unfortunately, I can’t do that, Mr. Jenkins.Butif you come to the center sometime this week, you can have a hot meal, talk to a job counselor, and fill out paperwork for emergency help with keeping the power on and paying other bills. You can even stock up on necessities before you leave.”
His lip curls as I speak. By the time I finish, his whole face is contorted in disgust. He huffs, shaking his head and making another dismissive gesture. “Some help you are.”
I press my lips together to hold back the words that long to spill out. It's obvious I’d be wasting my breath.
Grumbling to himself, Mr. Jenkins stumbles back into the house and slams the door. I hurry to my car and get out of there as quickly as I can without speeding. At the first quiet side street, I pull over and turn off the car. My hands are shaking and my stomach is rolling. I don’t know what to do. I have no idea where Jordy’s sister lives, and the thought of her going back to her dad’s house makes me sick.
Images of Mr. Jenkins standing in the doorway are replaced with visions of my own dad, intensifying the queasy feeling. Tears drip onto my fingers where they’re knotted in my lap. I hadn’t even felt them start, but when I touch my face, my cheeks are soaked. Not feeling confident enough to drive, I stuff my keys in my pocket, grab my purse, and get out of the car. This is a quiet neighborhood and it’s relatively mild for the beginning of December, so I decide to walk until my head is clear and I’m no longer shaking.
I resist the urge to call the center and tell them I’m sick and need to go home. I contemplate calling one of my friends, knowing any one of them would drop everything and come get me. I don’t want to worry them, though, so I leave my phone in my purse, pull my coat tighter around me, and I walk.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The first person I see when I enter the center a little over an hour later is Spencer. He’s talking to my assistant near the door to my office, and he smiles over her head when he sees me. The sight of him fills me with such a mix of emotions, I nearly break down in sobs.
Somehow managing to keep it together, I suck in a breath and paste on a smile as I approach the pair. I apologize to my assistant for being away so long and ask her to continue holding my calls for a while. When she’s gone, I turn to Spencer. “This is a nice surprise. If you’ve come to call in your invitation for tea and crumpets, I’m afraid Jordy’s not here today.”
“I’m actually here to drop off some paperwork. Fergus was going to bring it, but I offered to come.” He says this almost ruefully, as if he’s confessing something. I tell myself not to read too much into it. “Shame about Jordy not being here. I could really go for a cup of tea.”
I make a strangled noise in the back of my throat. So much for keeping it together.
“What’s wrong?” Spencer’s gaze drops to my mouth, where my bottom lip is quivering as I attempt to hold back tears. “Hollie?”
The gentle concern in his tone pushes me over the edge. I only have a second to be mortified by the distressed sound that passes my lips before Spencer gathers me in his arms and holds me close.
“There, now,” he says in a soft, soothing tone. His hand moves in a wide circle over my back. “Shall we go into your office?”
At my nod, he releases me and I unlock my office door. Inside, I head straight for the kettle at the tiny bar, but Spencer shoos me away, telling me to sit.
“Are you sure? You don’t know where anything is.”
“I’m sure I can figure it out,” he says. “After all, I’m British; if there’s one thing I know, it’s how to make tea.”
He appears satisfied when I let out a choked laugh. He grips my shoulders gently and turns me toward my desk. Tears are still flowing down my face, despite my best efforts to stop them. I suspect Spencer’s offer to make tea is his way of giving me a chance to get myself together. At my desk, I rifle around in a drawer for a packet of tissues. By the time Spencer sets two steaming mugs on my desk, I’ve reined in my emotions, and I have a package of shortbread cookies ready to go with our tea.
“Do you want to talk about what’s got you so upset?” Spencer asks.
An inner debate ensues. How much do I tell Spencer without feeling like I’m betraying Jordy? Sheisa minor, after all, but she’s also my friend, as strange as that may be. That being said, I trust Spencer. He won’t repeat anything I tell him, and I have a feeling he already suspects Jordy relies on the center for more than just a part-time job.
“It’s Jordy,” I say slowly, picking my words with care. “She has a…complicated home life. She’s missed a couple days of school and work, which doesn’t seem like a big deal, but for a kid like her, it’s a cause for concern.”
Spencer nods to show he’s listening, although he doesn’t say anything, as if anticipating more.
“It’s hard, because she’s more than just an employee to me. I walk a fine line between wanting to help her and fix all her problems, and knowing Ican’t. It wouldn’t be right for so many reasons. But I see so much of myself in her, and I can’t just sit back and donothing.”
Spencer freezes with his mug halfway to his mouth. He tilts his head, his eyes holding an unspoken question. When I don’t elaborate immediately, he says, “You don’t have to tell me anything you’re not comfortable sharing.”
The quiet assurance, paired with the openness of his expression, make me want to confide in him. So I do. I start with Louisa’s mother's death, since that was the catalyst for my mom leaving, and soon, details are pouring out of me along with more tears.
“Things fell apart quickly after my mom left. Dad started drinking and it didn’t take long for him to mess up at work and get fired. We were okay for a while, living on his unemployment checks and some savings, but the checks eventually stopped and the savings dwindled. He was too proud to use the food bank, so that was up to me, as was dealing with phone calls from various debt collectors. After a few months, our once beautiful, comfortable home no longer felt safe or homey, and my loving father became a stranger. His moods were unpredictable and the environment felt heavy and toxic.”
Spencer doesn’t say anything, but his eyes, which are full of sympathy, remain steady on mine.
“I couldn’t say or do anything right, and my dad resented how much my friends and their parents helped me, even though he had become incapable of providing for me. It was actually a relief when he was out at the bar or passed out at home. Stella and Wesley’s parents asked me to move in with them for the last year of high school. I expected a fight from my dad, but he told me to get out and never come back. So that’s exactly what I did.”
