Page 102 of Redemption
“Well—” he says, rubbing the back of his neck with his palm. “I—uh—started coming here a couple of years ago—right after you moved, actually.”
“For what?” I ask.
He studies the floor, another thing I’ve never seen him do. He always looks directly at a person when he speaks to them. “The shelter called me. They noticed that all of the people who were coming here needed a doctor, both physically and mentally. Since I’m the head of the hospital, they asked me if I knew of any doctors willing to work pro bono. I volunteered.”
“But why?” The words are out of my mouth before I realize how they would sound. I didn’t mean it as an accusation—just that he’s already a busy man—and he’s never made time for stuff like this before.
He opens his mouth to reply, but Campbell’s voice interrupts him, “Are you guys going to stand there all day or help serve?”
Turning my head to where he’s standing, I wince when I see the line forming. I hadn’t realized that the others had already started to collect their gloves and hairnets.
A sad smile slips onto my dad’s lips. “We can talk about this later.”
I nod, expecting him to leave, but he follows me to where the others are waiting. Hayes walks beside us, remaining quiet, but I am dying to ask him what he thinks. Maybe the problem wasn’t just that my parents didn’t know me. Maybe I never knew them, either.
The rubber gloves are in a box as we walk into the kitchen, and I grab a pair, slipping them on my hands. Hayes and my dad follow suit. The hairnets are next, and once I’m fully clad in all my health-safety gear, I turn to Hayes and smile.
“What do you think?” I ask, preening and posing like someone is taking my picture.
I expect Hayes to laugh because I’m sure the hairnet does nothing for me, but his lips tilt up in a soft smile, and he leans in, brushing a kiss against my cheek.
“You’re beautiful, MJ,” he whispers against my skin.
I scoff. “And you’re full of it, Hayes.”
Shaking his head, his whiskers feather across my jaw. “Baby, when you are around, it’s impossible for me to see anything else.”
He drops another kiss on my cheek and walks away like he didn’t just stomp all over that friendship line once again, and I square my shoulders like I didn’t just let him.
Some of the boys are helping the cooks in the back while others walk around the dining area. Since we are the last ones, Tanner, Hayes, my dad, and I are assigned to the serving line, and for the next few hours, we stand shoulder to shoulder, dishing out meals that will stay in the bellies of the people we serve for at least a little while. But the sad fact is, it’s not enough.
Bones show through skin as they reach out their hands, waiting for what we have for them, and each time I fill a plate up, Tanner talks a little more. It’s not to any of us, but that’s okay because he’s talking and smiling to the people he serves—the ones he is giving back to.
“So, Tanner,” my dad says when we finally hit a lull, “what position do you play?”
Over the last hour, my dad has asked him simple questions, learning about the kid beside him. He steered clear of the topic of football—until now.
My shoulders tense, waiting for Tanner’s smile to fade, but he simply shrugs and says, “Quarterback.”
Not a muscle moves on my dad’s face, but the heartbreak is hidden under years of disappointment.
“My son was the quarterback, too.”
Tanner nods. “Yes, sir. I know. I would kill to have his career—to be as good as he was so I can prove people wrong about me.”
My breathing slows, a hollowness creeping into my lungs.
Beside me, Hayes watches the situation out of the corner of his eye, waiting to see if Tanner will go on.
“Have you ever heard of the prodigal son?” My dad asks, focusing on the food trays he’s refilling, but it’s obvious that his mind is on the boy beside him and one from long ago whose similarities are heartbreaking.
“No, sir.”
Walking the tray to the sink behind us, he dips it into the water, raising his voice a little so Tanner can still hear him.
“It’s a parable in the Bible. The son left home because he felt he could make it alone. But when his money ran out, he returned home. At first, he felt like his mistakes were too big to be forgiven, but when his father saw him, he celebrated his return. His father forgave him because he loved him, and to me, the point of that story is that we are loved more than our biggest mistakes. We aren’t defined by one single section of our lives because life is made up of thousands of moments.” He stops, turning and leaning his back against the sink. Crossing his legs at the ankle, he braces his hands on either side of him, andwhen he continues, it’s me that he’s looking at, not Tanner. “The prodigal son—or daughter—was always welcome back home.”
And there it is—the moment that wipes away any progress we’ve made. I knew it was coming, but I’d hoped it wouldn’t.
