Back inside the shelter, Brother McCoy was standing in the same spot Landon had left him.
“Ready for your tour now?” His eyes danced with mischief as if he had been in on the joke with Octavia.
Landon nodded and proceeded to follow him throughout the two-story facility. He guessed the director’s age to be somewhere near fifty years old. His mannerisms reminded him of his eighty-year-old grandfather. Not many men possessed the combination of an air of authority while being seemingly approachable.
He and his grandfather, his father, mother…and so many others had separated on bad terms long before he had made the decision to leave town and start over. It was draining rehashing his past as he contemplated his future. This is just a temporary bridge to cross, he reminded himself.
I died on a cross for you, God whispered.
Why did God have to constantly tap into his thoughts? I know, he silently admitted as he kept in step with Brother McCoy. The facility looked more like a residence than the compound that had been a shelter he had he lodged in overnight. The floors and walls were clean and the place smelled of disinfectant.
Turning down a short hall, Brother McCoy invited him into a small but well-organized office. Once they were seated, the formalities got underway with the customary intake of information, which outlined the do’s and dont’s for residents at the shelter. Despite his estranged relationship with his parents and two sisters, he always gave his mother’s name and number for contact in the event of an emergency, basically his demise.
“Breakfast will be served from seven to eight-thirty. You’re expected to be out searching for work by nine, except on the weekends. That’s your free time. Dinner will be served at six-thirty….residents can stay here for up to ninety days. If you need additional time, you can discuss it with your case worker who will be assigned to you.”
Landon nodded. “Thank you for your generosity. I hope not to be here that long. I’ve got to keep moving—”
“I don’t know where you came from or what circumstances caused the state you’re in,” Brother McCoy seemed to study him, “but you first have to reconcile the past so that God can restore anything you’ve lost. Restoration comes after repentance. Ask God for it.”
Maybe, it was exhaustion or irritation, but Landon had heard enough about God for one day. He became indignant. “What makes you think I haven’t?”
He shrugged. “I say this to all the men who come through those doors. Second, third, and fourth chances aren’t a given. Only when you fix whatever was broken in the past can you move on, or else you might slip back in the same circumstances. Take it personal if it applies.”
“Sorry.” Landon rubbed his head. He had jumped to conclusions. “Long day. My past is the past. Sometimes, instead of patching a favorite shirt, you have to replace it with a new, better one.”
“Ahh.” Brother McCoy grinned and nodded. “A man with wisdom, and if he lacks any, let him ask of God who gives it liberally without making the asker ashamed. That’s James 1:5.”
He was starting to sound like his grandfather. Landon feigned a yawn, hoping Brother McCoy would take the hint. The only thing he wanted was a shower and a bed free of lice and bed bugs. Maybe, they could bump heads in the morning. “I really do appreciate you allowing me to stay here, and I will abide by your rules.”
Closing his file, Brother McCoy stood. “Then we’ll get along fine. Come on, I’m sure you are tired.” Landon grabbed his suitcase and followed him up a narrow passageway. They were almost at the end of the hall when Brother McCoy tapped lightly on the door before inserting a key to open it. “You’re on the second floor and share a room with Grady Bacon.”
With a name like Grady, Landon wasn’t expecting to see a man under sixty, but his roommate appeared to be barely a teenager outfitted in a dingy muscle man T-shirt. He hadn’t made a move to answer the knock. Glancing up from his cell phone, Grady acknowledged him with a nod. Brother McCoy made quick introductions, then left.
Landon rested his suitcase on the twin bed that resembled a cot, but higher, then sat himself.
“So, what you in for?”
“Excuse me?” Landon was not interested in a meet and greet.
“Did you get put out…?” Grady rambled off possible scenarios.
With his elbows on his knees and his shoulders slumped, Landon half-heartedly answered, “All of the above.”
Grady reached over and offered him a fist. Landon obliged to bump it with his. He didn’t want to be in close quarters in a hostile environment. Without asking, Grady told more about himself than Landon cared to know: Twenty-one, just got his GED, three children and recently unemployed. “Mac’s been good to me. He got me on at Wal-Mart. I don’t want to be locked up for two years because I didn’t pay child support. It’s only a misdemeanor.”
“No, a Class C Felony,” Landon corrected.
“Whatever. I’m cool. It’s minimum wage, but I’ve got to start somewhere.” He flexed his muscles.
Somewhere, Landon mused. Where was his somewhere with a BA from Boston University, an MBA from Emerson College and seven years as a PR account executive. Despite his résumé, he was in the same boat as Grady—displaced. Landon shared a little—very little—about himself. The young man seemed to be intrigued by Landon’s short version of his riches-to-rags story. “Well, I’d better head to the showers.”
“All right.” Grady nodded as he reached for a green pocket Bible.
Oh no. As long as you don’t talk about Jesus, we’ll get along, Landon thought as he walked out the room with the goody bag from Brother McCoy with a bar of Zest soap.