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"You sure?"
"Of course. Ill just borrow one of your sweaters. Now, lets go. "
SEVEN
ANGIE FOLLOWED THE COAST ROAD TO THE EDGE OF town. On her left, the Pacific Ocean seemed to be gearing up for an autumn storm. White surf battered the cement-colored sand, sent trees sprawling onto land. The sky was an ominous gunmetal gray, and wind whistled through the branches along the shore and clattered against her windshield. The rain was so heavy she had her wipers set on high, and still they couldnt keep up.
At Azalea Lane, she turned left and found herself on a small, narrow street that once had been paved. Now the potholes seemed to come more often than the asphalt. Her car wobbled down the uneven road like a drunkard.
Help-Your-Neighbor House was at the very end of this dilapidated street, in a pale blue Victorian house that stood in sharp contrast to the faded mobile homes that made up the rest of the neighborhood. While most of the other fences had Beware of Dog signs out front, here it simply said Welcome.
She pulled into the gravel parking lot, surprised to find a crowd of cars and trucks already there. It was not yet ten oclock on a Sunday morning, yet the place was busy.
She parked next to a battered red pickup with blue doors and a gun rack in the window. Collecting her donation--canned goods, some toiletries, and several turkey gift certificates from the local grocery store--she followed the gravel path up to the brightly painted front door. A ceramic gnome grinned up at her from the corner of the porch.
Smiling, she opened the door and stepped into pandemonium.
The entire downstairs of the house was full of people talking and moving around. Several children were clustered together by the window, playing with Legos. Women with tired faces and ragged smiles sat along the wall, filling out forms on clipboards. In the far corner, a pair of men were unloading canned goods from boxes on the floor.
"May I help you?"
It took Angie a moment to realize that she was being addressed. When it sunk in, she smiled at the woman whod spoken. "Im sorry. Its so busy in here. "
"A circus. Itll be like this through the holidays. We hope, anyway. " She frowned at Angie, tapping a pen against her chin. "You look familiar. "
"Hometown girls usually do. " She stepped around the toys on the floor and took a seat opposite the womans desk. "Im Angie Malone. Used to be DeSaria. "
The woman thumped her hand on the desk, rattling the fishbowl. "Of course. I graduated with Mira. Dana Herter. " She offered her hand.
Angie shook it.
"What can we do for you?"
"Im home for a while . . . "
Danas ruddy face creased into Shar-pei-like folds. "We heard about your divorce. "
Angie struggled to keep smiling. "Of course you did. "
"Small town. "
"Very. Anyway, Im working at the restaurant for a while and I thought . . . " She shrugged. "As long as Im here, maybe it would be good to do some volunteer work. "
Dana nodded. "I started here when Doug left me. Doug Rhymer? Remember him? JV wrestling captain? Hes living with Kelly Santos now. Bitch. " She smiled, but it was shaky and didnt light her eyes. "This place has helped me. "
Angie sat back in the chair, feeling strangely boneless. Im one of that group, she thought. The unmarrieds. People would assume things about her because shed failed at marriage. How had she not realized this? "What can I do to help?"
"Lots of things. Here. " Dana reached into the drawer of her desk and pulled out a two-color brochure. "This outlines our services. Read it and see what appeals to you. "
Angie took the brochure and flipped it open. She had just started to read when Dana said, "Could you go give your donations to Ted--over there? Hell be leaving in a few minutes. "
"Oh. Sure. " Angie carried her box of donations over to the two men, who took them with a smile and went back to work. She headed back to the lobby and sat down on one of the molded plastic seats in the makeshift waiting area.
She flipped through the brochure, reading about the services offered. Family counseling. A parent and child center. A domestic violence treatment program. A food bank. There was a list of fund-raising events--golf tourname
nts, silent auctions, bicycle races, dance marathons. Every day the generous citizens of our community stop by with donations of food, money, clothing, or time. In this way we help ourselves and one another.
Angie felt a shiver of something move through her just then. When she realized that it was hope, she looked up, smiling, wishing there was someone she could tell.
