at it, self-conscious. “If we can save one kid…”
Ian smiled, understanding all that she couldn’t or wouldn’t say. “Contagious, isn’t it?”
Her unspoken desire to make amends for Maddy’s death resonated within him. Didn’t he want the same thing?
To lighten the mood he said, “You have to buy the pizza.”
Her shoulders relaxed. She patted her jeans pocket. “I got paid today.”
“That makes exactly one of us.” With a laugh, he motioned to the passenger’s seat, suddenly looking forward to the long hours ahead. “Get in. Time to rock and roll.”
Chapter Eight
A s the weeks flew by and the holiday season approached, Ian grew comfortable with his Saturday-night running mate. The rest of the week she might be off harassing other ministries, but on their weekly jaunts she said little about her series. He wasn’t naive enough to think she wasn’t watching him like a hawk, but she was now more subtle.
Sometimes, like the afternoon they’d gone shoe shopping and he’d bought her a pair of sparkly heels for an upcoming office party, he even forgot her original reason for hanging around Isaiah House.
He knew she was still hurting over her sister’s death. She was also suffering from some deep spiritual wound. Though she listened to him share Christ on the streets and stood quietly respectful when he prayed, she wasn’t ready to discuss her own faith, or lack thereof.
Funny how that bothered him.
He glanced her way, throat tight with wanting to help her heal and not knowing how to go about it.
She was a tough cookie, he’d give her that. But underneath the strong exterior was a caring woman. He’d seen proof of that a dozen times over.
One dismal night beneath an overpass often used as shelter or for drug deals they’d found a dead body.
Gretchen reported an exclusive on that one. Though sadly, a dead homeless man didn’t garner much more than a mention on the late, late news. No name, no humanity, just a dead body found under the freeway along with the instrument of his demise, a dirty syringe. And that was the way she’d reported the death, a stark, painful reality of life to jar the comfortable into action.
Tonight, they’d already unloaded a dozen sandwiches, dropped a homeless woman and her child at an appropriate shelter and counseled two teenagers with nothing but time and trouble on their hands. Armed with Ian’s network of social and medical services, they could meet a lot of needs. At least enough that he could sleep without the nightmare.
“Are we cruising the bars later?” Gretchen’s modulated voice was thoughtful as Ian parked the van along a dark side street.
“Maybe.” When the streets were quiet, they often dropped in on the rowdier, seedier bars and late-night hangouts. He never knew where he might find a troubled kid or for that matter, someone looking for a listening ear or a prayer. At first, he’d been reluctant to take Gretchen inside, but true to form, she went anyway.
They walked quickly, both constantly alert to theirsurroundings. Although the Café Du Monde was a popular tourist spot, the surrounding area was just as popular with the city’s underworld. Runaways congregated among the panhandlers and homeless. Prostitutes and predators lurked here, as well.
“Hey. Hey.” A female voice called. Ian turned around. “You really a preacher?”
A provocatively dressed woman sauntered toward them, a beer in one hand.
“Yes, ma’am. What do you need?”
She shifted her beer to the opposite hand and reached out for his. Her damp skin was hard and cool.
“I want you to do something. Something kinda weird.”
Hair rose on the back of his neck. Great. He was about to be solicited, probably along with Gretchen who moved in close to his side. In an odd way her reaction made him happy. Gretchen trusted him to protect her. He trusted God for the same thing.
Gently holding the street-hardened hand, he purposely made eye contact with the obvious
Ian smiled, understanding all that she couldn’t or wouldn’t say. “Contagious, isn’t it?”
Her unspoken desire to make amends for Maddy’s death resonated within him. Didn’t he want the same thing?
To lighten the mood he said, “You have to buy the pizza.”
Her shoulders relaxed. She patted her jeans pocket. “I got paid today.”
“That makes exactly one of us.” With a laugh, he motioned to the passenger’s seat, suddenly looking forward to the long hours ahead. “Get in. Time to rock and roll.”
Chapter Eight
A s the weeks flew by and the holiday season approached, Ian grew comfortable with his Saturday-night running mate. The rest of the week she might be off harassing other ministries, but on their weekly jaunts she said little about her series. He wasn’t naive enough to think she wasn’t watching him like a hawk, but she was now more subtle.
Sometimes, like the afternoon they’d gone shoe shopping and he’d bought her a pair of sparkly heels for an upcoming office party, he even forgot her original reason for hanging around Isaiah House.
He knew she was still hurting over her sister’s death. She was also suffering from some deep spiritual wound. Though she listened to him share Christ on the streets and stood quietly respectful when he prayed, she wasn’t ready to discuss her own faith, or lack thereof.
Funny how that bothered him.
He glanced her way, throat tight with wanting to help her heal and not knowing how to go about it.
She was a tough cookie, he’d give her that. But underneath the strong exterior was a caring woman. He’d seen proof of that a dozen times over.
One dismal night beneath an overpass often used as shelter or for drug deals they’d found a dead body.
Gretchen reported an exclusive on that one. Though sadly, a dead homeless man didn’t garner much more than a mention on the late, late news. No name, no humanity, just a dead body found under the freeway along with the instrument of his demise, a dirty syringe. And that was the way she’d reported the death, a stark, painful reality of life to jar the comfortable into action.
Tonight, they’d already unloaded a dozen sandwiches, dropped a homeless woman and her child at an appropriate shelter and counseled two teenagers with nothing but time and trouble on their hands. Armed with Ian’s network of social and medical services, they could meet a lot of needs. At least enough that he could sleep without the nightmare.
“Are we cruising the bars later?” Gretchen’s modulated voice was thoughtful as Ian parked the van along a dark side street.
“Maybe.” When the streets were quiet, they often dropped in on the rowdier, seedier bars and late-night hangouts. He never knew where he might find a troubled kid or for that matter, someone looking for a listening ear or a prayer. At first, he’d been reluctant to take Gretchen inside, but true to form, she went anyway.
They walked quickly, both constantly alert to theirsurroundings. Although the Café Du Monde was a popular tourist spot, the surrounding area was just as popular with the city’s underworld. Runaways congregated among the panhandlers and homeless. Prostitutes and predators lurked here, as well.
“Hey. Hey.” A female voice called. Ian turned around. “You really a preacher?”
A provocatively dressed woman sauntered toward them, a beer in one hand.
“Yes, ma’am. What do you need?”
She shifted her beer to the opposite hand and reached out for his. Her damp skin was hard and cool.
“I want you to do something. Something kinda weird.”
Hair rose on the back of his neck. Great. He was about to be solicited, probably along with Gretchen who moved in close to his side. In an odd way her reaction made him happy. Gretchen trusted him to protect her. He trusted God for the same thing.
Gently holding the street-hardened hand, he purposely made eye contact with the obvious
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