Page 18 of Resisting Fate
They fell into an easy rhythm, working another hour on potatoes before switching over to assembling stuffing ingredients in large pans. Ben kept up the conversation, asking about her job and telling her about his and Logan’s company Checkin, a background-check service for employers. How she wished her current employer had used their service before hiring Matt last spring; then Missy would’ve known he was married. For sure she’d suggest they use it going forward. They often had to add a crew of short-term contractors for big jobs.
The dinner hour arrived, and she and Ben worked side by side at the hot-food station, serving up food to the long line of people. They talked little, but she was tuned in to him. He made eye contact with every single person he served, speaking in a warm friendly voice, even to some of the surly old men, and he joked around with the kids. Her heart just about burst. His mom must’ve set a tremendous example for him. Or maybe he inherited her compassionate nature. Either way, she knew how rare that was in people, and it made her admire him even more.
Dinner finished serving at seven, which was also when her shift ended.
“You up for cleanup?” Ben asked, heading back to the kitchen with her. “I’ll wash this time. You dry.”
“Sure,” she said, even though she was tired from being on her feet. If Ben had more to give, then she could too.
She joined him at a sink full of soaking pots and large pans. “Wow, that’s a lot of scrubbing.”
“I’ve got the muscle power.” He grabbed a scrub pad and got to work. “Many hands make light work,” he said with a wink. “My mom used to say that.”
Missy grabbed a dish towel. “You must’ve inherited her heart-of-gold gene, with all your selfless volunteering.”
“Actually, I’m adopted, but thanks.”
She couldn’t breathe for a moment. The similarities in their paths were too glaring to ignore.
“You’re volunteering too,” he said. “Don’t sell yourself short.” He handed her a pot.
She took it and somehow fumbled it, the pot hitting the floor with a clatter. They both went to pick it up at the same time. Down on one knee, mirror images of each other, their gazes locked.
Ben handed the pot to her. “You must be getting tired,” he said gently.
“I was adopted too,” she whispered. “As a baby. It was my adoptive parents who died.”
His eyes widened. “Me too, all of it.” He rubbed his exposed forearm covered in goose bumps.
She bit her lip.
He reached for her elbow and guided her up with him. “What’re the odds?” he asked, shaking his head.
“I know,” she managed, a slight tremor in her voice. It was both freaky and comforting at the same time. He knew what it was like to live with the knowledge your mother gave you up. He knew what it meant to have a good adoptive family and then lose them. Their similar histories seriously made her believe in the mystical, a force greater than herself at play here. He justmightbe the only person on the planet who really got her.
Several minutes passed in silence while they worked, except for the din of other volunteers’ conversations as dishes were scraped and piled into dishwashers or set in sinks to soak.
She studied his profile, his short light brown hair emphasizing his masculine features, sharp cheekbones, straight nose, lightly stubbled jaw. He turned, giving her a warm look that saidfate. She heard it just like he’d said it out loud, and it was really starting to freak her out.
Maybe they weren’t all that similar. Maybe his dad was there for him the whole time and he hadn’t felt alone like she had as a kid.
“Is your dad still around?” she asked.
He handed her a pot. “He split when I was two, so it was just me and Mom for a real long time. But Joe Campbell was an honorary dad. Mom set me up with the Police Athletic League on his baseball team. She knew Joe was a good man with a lot of sons. She wanted me to have that male influence.”
She swallowed hard. They were spookily similar. She kept asking questions, needing to know if they’d actually lived parallel lives. “Then, later, your grandmother took you in?” She figured it must’ve went down that way because he was close with her. Missy had made the mistake of immediately sending a letter to her biological mom, asking her to take her in after her adoptive parents died. She had her mom’s address from the birthday cards she’d sent. Missy never heard back. Her parents hadn’t made a will, so the court appointed her adoptive mom’s sister to take her in, who made it clear she was doing Missy a big favor, all while bitterly lamenting how little money social services provided for her care. The small proceeds from her parents’ estate were squandered by her aunt before Missy ever saw a cent. She pushed that dark memory away, realizing Ben was talking.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I missed that last part. Did you say your grandmother moved into your place, or did you have to move to hers?”
“The first. But my family always felt bigger than that with the Campbells and all the other strays like me that hung around their house. I was one of the younger boys—Ty, Alex, me, and Logan. Parker was our age too, but he came along later.”
“So you were happy?” she asked.
He lifted one corner of his mouth. “I take happiness where I can find it.”
“That’s smart.”
“What about you?”
