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“I promise to remind you as much as possible.”
“Until we’re old and gray?” I whispered.
He leaned his forehead against mine. “Until we’re old and gray.”
EPILOGUE
TWO YEARS LATER
Foster
“Look at that line! It’s around the corner,” Lachlan remarked as I parked the mobile van along the curb. Not only did Lachlan still offer haircuts under the bridge, but I’d converted part of this monstrous van into a reading library where houseless people checked out books and were offered exchanges upon their return.
The idea came to us one night over dinner with Marcie, and when Lachlan mentioned it to Carlos at work the next day, he’d jumped on the notion, offering to foot the bill for the van if we took care of the amenities inside.
So now we offered services every Sunday morning, and it was unbelievably rewarding—almost like a spiritual experience. Urban Cuts was advertised on the side of the van, which helped boost business, so it was a win-win.
“Looks like we’ve got quite a morning ahead of us,” I replied with a wink.
There was a gleam in Lachlan’s eyes as he opened the van door and stepped out. He was energized by this kind of work, and he was damned good at it. Not only by being his charming and personable self, but also by working through the fatigue until he got through everyone who wanted his undivided attention. He’d had his fingers reset the summer before, so they no longer gave him problems except for what he called a phantom ache, like a whisper memory of what he’d been through.
Lachlan believed it was meant to happen, all of it, so that he could do something more rewarding with his life, and I tended to agree with him. Meeting him changed my life for the better too.
Some weekends Carlos joined us, others Marcie, because they liked to give back as much as we did. But today it was just the two of us and Oscar, who loved all the attention he got from those waiting in line.
“Hey, man, how are you holding up?” Lachlan patted the shoulder of a guy named Eddie, who was only nineteen. He had schizophrenia and ended up on the streets after being released from a state hospital. Lachlan was afraid he had a hard, long road ahead of him, and that had been the catalyst for finally relinquishing his tent and rolling cart to keep this guy safe. “You here for a cut?”
“Nah, I wanted another book.”
I smiled and motioned him inside the van so he could browse the stacks of reading material. I’d expanded my collection to include all sorts of fiction and nonfiction books, and sometimes newspapers and magazines. Eddie especially enjoyed the self-help and mental-health offerings—the idea of stocking up on those occurring to me after reading a powerful book recommended by my therapist. Mental health might’ve fallen on a higher rung of Maslow’s hierarchy of basic needs, but for those experiencing homelessness, I thought perhaps they went hand in hand. The more I listened to people’s stories, the more evident it became that one fed into the other, and it was a hell of a hard cycle to break out of.
Eddie traded in the book he’d checked out last week for another, and then was on his way. He was suspicious of crowds, was always looking over his shoulder, and mostly kept to himself, so him showing up at all was a feat. But he obviously got something out of it. I included a granola bar with each book lent, and I could see him munching on it as he rolled away from the curb.
I looked down at the book he’d returned—The Power of Letting Go—and thought about my own struggles with mental health. I was managing my depressive episodes better, and I was getting stronger about finding that reason inside me to get up and feel hopeful about the day. The reason to keep living. That hadn’t always been the case in the past, something I’d never admitted to myself before.
Lachlan had also gotten some help. Last fall was a particularly rough period of time. Jeremy had finally left Clint and filed assault charges against him. Lachlan testified at the trial, which meant he had to face Clint again, but he was a trooper, and the therapy sessions helped, along with extra cuddles from me and Oscar.
Clint walked away with a first-degree misdemeanor charge for an attempt to physically harm. Not a felony or jail time, but probation and community service. It was more than most domestic-violence victims got unfortunately.
That chapter of his life behind him, it made Lachlan more determined than ever to advocate for a battered-men’s shelter in the city. He began taking social-work courses at CSU with that goal in mind. He, Marcie, and Jeremy became thick as thieves through the whole experience and hung out whenever they could. Jeremy had also moved away from Akron, settling in a near west-side suburb.
