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She blinks. “Do you mean, Ms. Switzer?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll call her office to see.” She picks up the phone on the desk. “Can I tell her who’s asking for her?”
“Corey.”
“Corey…?”
“Just Corey.” The teenager might not recognize my face, but with the way the local news has been talking about my trade to the Lonestars, I don’t want to risk her recognizing my name.
Her forehead furrows, but she nods. “Okay.” She dials a number.
I step away to give her space, moving to the left wall that features group photos from different events over the years. I search for the years I came here, and I see a picture from the spring of my senior year when I volunteered to help with the egg hunt for kids from the local homeless shelter.
I’m standing in the background of the volunteer group photo, looking like a typical broody teenager while everyone else is smiling, even though I distinctly remember feeling happy that day.
I volunteered at several Soup Soul events throughout the years. I hated accepting help, but volunteering helped me not feel like a charity case. But I never told anyone about Soup Soul. Not even Carter.
Which means it’s the perfect place to be today. I can occupy myself by giving my time to citizens in Dallas who, like me as a child, need a little help now and then. And I can do it without anyone knowing I’m here.
A group of young boys enters the lobby, coming from the adjacent basketball court. I tuck my chin to my chest. It’s hard to look inconspicuous at my size, but I do my best.
The boys continue out the door without looking my way.
I release the breath I’d been holding when I hear, “Oh my stars. Corey Johnson, as I live and breathe.”
I stiffen on instinct but immediately relax when I take in the woman with kind eyes and shoulder-length gray hair walking towards me. Besides the desk attendant, it’s just us in the lobby.
I smile. “Hello, Erika.”
The fifty-something-year-old woman crosses the Soup Soul emblem painted on the concrete floor and grabs my hands between hers. She knows about my aversion to hugs. “Darling boy. I can’t believe you’re here. How are you?”
“I’m good.” I force a tight smile.
She sees through it, but she doesn’t pry. She never does. It’s one of the reasons I grew to trust her when I was a teenager who struggled to trust anyone. “It’s so good to see you, Corey.”
“You too. How are you? How’s Soup Soul doing?”
“I’ve been well, and Soup Soul is thriving. We’re growing like crazy. I’ve had to hire a third assistant director to help me manage everything.” Erika moved up to director of the entire organization a few years ago.
“And we have you to thank for our expansion,” she continues. “Your donations are so generous, and they open up so many opportunities for our community.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
Erika squeezes my hands before releasing them. “So, what brings you in today?” Her penchant for cutting straight to the point is another reason I like her so much.
“I want you to put me to work.” I roll out my shoulders, already feeling the pleasant tightness that follows a session in the weight room. “Something mindless would be preferred.”
“Need a distraction?”
“A big one.”
She nods with knowing then checks her watch. “We’re about to serve our Saturday lunch. Is working in the food line too public? I could ask the cooks if there’s something you can do in the kitchen?”
I haven’t seen Erika in years, let alone volunteered here, but she’s intuitive enough to know I might want to maintain anonymity while I’m here.
“The line should be fine.” Working at Soup Soul was one of the few times I enjoyed making small talk with people as a kid. I suspect it’ll be the same now.
