Page 40 of Rival Season
CHAPTER 14
HAZEL
Walkingfrom the coffee shop where I spent the morning writing, I round the corner and Safe Harbor, where I do my field placement for my PhD program, comes into view. I’m ready for my afternoon shift with a bag of my latest thrift haul in hand—and thoughts of Penn’s chest on my mind. I’ve been distracted all day thinking about sleeping next to him, and waking up this morning pressed against his muscled pecs. The fact that he has perkier boobs than me would be depressing if his pec muscles weren’t so…erogenous. I’m no better than a teenage boy obsessed with boobs, but I couldn’t stop staring at his chest and abs and ink. I’m wanton.
You’d think I’d be used to the perfect form of athletes being with Chadwick over the last year, but his muscles pale in comparison to Penn’s. And there’s something so…manly about Penn. Like this intangible quality he has that just makes you feel automatically safe and protected in his presence. Comparing Chadwick to Penn is like comparing a chickadee to an eagle.
Chadwick was in the shower this morning when I got home, so I didn’t get to see his reaction to me wearing Penn’s sweats. By the time he was out of the shower, I was already changed and about to head to a local coffee shop to write before my afternoonshift—because I wasn’t about to spend the morning at home with my ex. Chadwick gave me the new key before I left, but other than that he was sort of mopey and quiet. He probably wanted me to ask him what was wrong, but I didn’t. I couldn’t care less.
When I reach the steps of Safe Harbor, my supervisor, Bertie, holds the door open and smiles at me, the movement causing her black skin to wrinkle and scrunch around her eyes. Her salt and pepper hair is pulled back today, and she’s wearing her name tag.
“Hazel, good morning!”
I stride through the door then give her a one-armed hug. “Hey, Bertie! How are things today?”
She allows the glass door to fall shut behind us and follows me further inside the industrial building. “Good, just getting things organized for the Valentine’s Day boxes.”
“I can help with that today. I brought some more shoes, too.” I hold up the reusable bag full of children’s shoes. Every time I thrift, I buy any shoes I find that are in great condition.
Bertie claps her hands together. “Wonderful! You know we always need shoes.”
We walk past the front lobby and down the long hallway toward the back room that’s lined with shelves for all our donations. It’s organized by quadrants—groceries, furniture, clothing, and toys. There’s a large open area at the center with a sprawling wooden table. Today the table is covered with red tissue paper and flattened boxes ready to be filled with Valentine’s items for foster families.
The building is quiet in the afternoon, as most volunteers don’t come in until the evening, but Bertie has soft jazz playing through the speaker system. She settles her readers on her nose and follows me to the kids’ shoe shelf to help me organize them on the shelf by size.
I dust my hands off once we’re done. “You need help with those Valentine’s boxes?”
“You know I do.” She chuckles as we cross the room to the sturdy wooden table. Bertie grabs a thick stack of papers and holds it in the air. “We have one-hundred and twenty boxes to pack this year.”
“That’s amazing! Twice as many as last year.” I grab a flattened box and start to assemble it.
“Yes, the bigger building is such a blessing,” she says, resting the stack of papers back on the table. Bertie started Safe Harbor out of her garage and just moved into this building last year, which has given the organization much-needed space to grow its operations, including delivering holiday-themed boxes to more local families in need. “Each family is listed on a separate piece of paper in the pile, so just grab one and start packing away!”
I smile and take the paper off the top of the stack. This foster family has three siblings, ages six, nine, and twelve. This is the kind of work that I love, serving these kids, feeling like I’m helping and making a difference. This is what motivates me to finish my dissertation and complete my doctorate. This is what I work hard for, these kids.
I take the box with me to find the items I need and fill it full of something for every child before coming back to the table. Bertie does the same, but uses a roller cart since her backisn’t as strong as it used to be. Her words, not mine.
Once we’re both back at the table assembling our boxes, Bertie’s phone rings. It’s on full volume and makes me jump. She squints at the screen for three full seconds before finally answering it and immediately putting the caller on speaker phone.
“Hello, Michael,” she says.
“Bertie, I have some bad news,” Michael croaks through the line. Michael is probably seventy and coordinates all of our volunteers who help pack our holiday boxes.
Bertie’s expression falls. “What is it?”
Michael sighs. “You know that tech company who volunteered their marketing team to pack tomorrow?”
“Yes…”
“Well, they just canceled. Something about a data leak that created a PR emergency. Made no sense to me, but the long and the short of it was, they can’t come.”
“None of them?”
“Afraid not, Bertie.”
“We’ll find replacement packers; everything will be okay,” Bertie says, trying to be positive…but I can see the worry etched on her face.
Michael and Bertie say their goodbyes, and when the call ends Bertie groans. “Looks like I’m in need of last-minute volunteers.”
