The Trust

Chapter 34: Distant Thunder

Despite my success at work and relief with being out from under the tyranny of my dead marriage, I couldn't shake the melancholy I felt from watching everything my family was going through because of the scam. But what happened next broke me completely.

I was still volunteering at the shelter but had to keep it to Sunday afternoons because of my busy work schedule. Julie lost her passion for her business and was in the process of selling it at a loss just to keep herself afloat. She unwisely decided not to accept any alimony from Grant and had barely anything from the divorce to live on except for her own meagre savings. I understood why Grant was mad because of what she'd done, but that didn't give him the right to treat her so unfairly in the divorce. She'd worked two jobs to put him through dental school back in the day and stood by him through thick and thin. She was entitled to at least be able to put a roof over her head and food on her table. He'd left the mother of his children with virtually nothing, and because she signed all the divorce papers without a lawyer, she had no legal recourse. Guilt and love can make women do stupid things.

Her reversal of fortune was staggering. But so many others were touched by the poisonous reach of our scheming uncle as well.

Rumours were still swirling about where he was and what he was doing with everyone's money. Seething expressions and hostile glances from the townspeople had turned into blatant abuse. The good Douglas name was tarnished forever, and all because of this piece of shit who promised the world and damaged so many with his lies.

I couldn't focus on that because I was so worried about my sister. The one who never let anything get her down and was always there for everyone else was suddenly completely destroyed.

Unable to shake her out of her depression, one stormy night, I talked her into going out to volunteer with me at the shelter. It was a terrible, messy evening with sleet changing to rain overnight and even threats of a thundershower; crazy weather for February. She wanted to stay in under the covers and watch a romcom while guzzling a bottle of wine, but I wouldn't hear of it. 

"You've been dealt a terrible hand, it's true." I said. "Come and help some others out; it's the only thing I know how to do when I'm going through something awful," I said. She still refused. "It's what got me through my divorce," I added. She sighed, and got up out of bed. "Okay, but I'm not changing out of my outfit," she said, gesturing down to the hoodie and pyjama pants she'd been wearing for two days now. "Deal," I said. 

So she came with me to cook for the residents on that sleet-soaked February night. It was Valentine's Day — the first one both of us without our husbands. I was overjoyed at the thought of not having to bear one more night of not finding anything to talk about over cheap takeout Chinese food and an even cheaper bottle of wine. She on the other hand was inconsolable. Mom had gotten to her with her talk of "Grant must have someone on the side," and so for the past few days Julie was obsessing about Grant spending Valentine's Day with someone new. Also, she'd mailed Valentine's Day cards to her kids with twenty dollars each in them and texted them, but they hadn't texted a thing back.

As I said. Inconsolable.

Julie's an excellent baker, so I had her make cupcakes for the clients at the shelter. True to her word, she dragged herself out of bed and baked up 20 vanilla and 40 chocolate cupcakes, with a strawberry buttercream frosting and little candy hearts. 

Jake and I made the meal — a simple chilli with garlic rolls — and ladled out the hot bowls to clients who warmed their hands over the steam. The mood in the room was subdued; clients ate slowly with conversation at a minimum. That is, until Julie brought out the boxes of cupcakes. 

One by one, the clients' weary faces lit up like kids at Christmas when they received their treat. The unexpected gift took them out of their quiet contemplation and brought a spark of joy to their eyes. Muted conversations suddenly got more animated, and Julie's laughter joined with theirs as she made her way around the room delivering the goodies.

"I'm coming back next week," she said, flushed with happiness when she took the empty box back to the kitchen. "You're right. I've had my ass on the pity pot for far too long. It's time to get out of my own head. Next week, I'm making homemade bread for everyone and I'll bake some gingerbread cookies. You know how everyone loves my gingerbread."

Pleased to see her so happy for the first time in weeks, I put an arm around her shoulders.
"That's great, sis. Now, you can help us do the dishes." She groans in protest, but puts on an apron anyway and starts filling the sink. "Fine, but you do the pots."

"She never does the pots," I say to Jake. "Not ever, since we were kids."

"Gross," she says. But she dispatches with the glasses and bowls quickly, as they come in. She's a hard worker and I'm glad to see her focused on something else besides what's gone so wrong lately, and the lift in her mood.

I feel like I always do when I complete a volunteer shift — tired and greasy from working in the kitchen, but warm and happy. There's always a great feeling of accomplishment with a successful meal service. I know that whatever hardship people are going through, at least they've had a good meal to fortify them, a night with company, some laughs and good cheer. Within the walls of this grimy church basement, we see people come together on lonely nights, not just for food but for conversation, warmth, a few hands of cards and a bit of kindness. A brief reprieve from the harsh world. 

Since Rob blew into town with his false promises and dreams, attendance at the food bank has doubled. People who used to be faithful donors are now clients themselves. And that breaks my heart.

We're in the process of locking up when Sian the social work intern from the local college comes into the kitchen. "Got any food left for one more? He just came in."

"Sure," I say. Jake had already left, called to the hospital to comfort the family of a dying man.

"Too bad the cupcakes are all gone, but we have some chilli and bread left," Julie says, dishing up a bowl and heating it in the microwave.

"I'll take it to him. You finish up here," she says, taking a tray through the swinging doors as I continue wiping down the counter. "You can go on home Sian," I say to the intern. "Good work tonight. Coming back next week?"

"Wouldn't miss it," she grins. "Good night," she calls, slamming the back door.

I go to say it back to her, but the words fall away from my lips. Julie comes in through the kitchen doors, looking like she's seen a ghost. Following behind her in a tattered, dirty coat, eyes on the ground and reeking of booze is our beloved Uncle Jack.