CHAPTER 20
Devon
Devon arrived at Friday Night Giveaway just as people were starting to gather outside.
A few perched on the low wall, which was much more comfortable than the actual town benches in front of the church.
The benches had slats that poked into your legs when you sat, but the low wall was smooth, better for sitting.
As he pedaled up, one of the guys, Paulo, caught his eye, gave a little half-wave/nod, and another man, Sammy, held open the door and motioned him in.
“Come, come, Mista Devon, sir.” Sammy’s voice reminded him of music almost, like he came from far, far, away, though Devon knew he’d lived in Dahlia many years.
Mrs. Martha greeted him, checking him off on her clipboard. She came around the registration table to give him a quick hug.
“Well, hello there, Devon! How are you doing tonight?” Her cheek felt smooth and powdery, and her perfume smelled like roses, strong and sweet. He liked it.
“Great, Mrs. Martha. How are you?”
“Can’t complain.” She grinned, called over to the skinny older man at the bottles-and-clothing table. “Mike, look who’s nice and early tonight.”
Mike waved. “Got a few minutes to help me sort?”
Devon pitched in, stacking the shampoo, mini soaps, and shaving creams just so, the way Mr. Mike liked them. Mike barely looked up as they sorted—bottles on the left, mini soaps next, down the line. His gray hair bobbed here and there with the motion.
“Hey there, sugar!” a voice called, and Devon looked up to see Marla waving at him through the opening between the fellowship hall and kitchen. “You stay out there till we get rolling, then I’m gonna need you back here with me doing dishes.”
“You got it!”
He’d finished laying out the napkins and silverware and was getting ready to help Mike sort the clothes when Miss Becca arrived.
She stood in the doorway, looking nervous in her button-down shirt and jeans. She hadn’t spotted him yet.
“This is the ministry night?” She fiddled with her car keys, and Mrs. Martha gave an extra big smile.
“You’ve come to volunteer?”
“Miss Becca!” Devon called, and he saw her face light up, and he ran to her, hugged her around the waist. “You came!”
Miss Becca smiled, then nodded at the older woman. “I’d love to volunteer if you need the help.”
“Boy, do we ever!” Mrs. Martha’s eyes crinkled. “Devon, can she help you get those clothes laid out? Mike, we got a new one!”
“Thank the good Lord,” Mike said, waving hello.
“Probably just tonight.” Miss Becca pushed up her sleeves as she filled out her nametag and got all checked in with Mrs. Martha, then followed Devon to the clothing table. “But I’m a hard worker.”
“Ha, that’s what I said. ‘Just tonight.’ But here I am, three years later, haven’t missed a Friday.” Mike elbowed him. “Right, Devon?”
“Right, Mr. Mike.”
Miss Becca giggled, and that made him happy. He wanted her to like the giveaway, wanted her to keep coming back.
“So what can I do to help?” she asked.
“You take that end,” Devon pointed toward the clothes. “Start by sorting them into men’s on one side, women’s on the other.”
Ten minutes later, they had the clothing organized into a loose pile of men’s and women’s and were folding them as neat as possible. Jeans went with jeans, shirts with shirts, and the socks were in the center so they wouldn’t roll off.
“Hey, you got a knack for it.” Mike surveyed her work with a nod.
“Thanks.” She smiled, motioned toward the bottles he’d organized. “Why all the mini bottles? Wouldn’t it be more economical to give out big ones?”
Mike shook his head. “Nah, they like the little ones best. They fit better in their backpacks, and they need to carry light. One change of clothes, a few bottles to clean up, that sort of thing.” He shrugged. “That, and the hotels give us this stuff for free.”
“They do?”
“Most big hotels do, if you ask,” Devon said. “They’re supposed to throw out the used ones, you know—when people use a drop and leave it in the shower? Mr. Mike and some of his neighbors, they collect the leftovers.”
Mike nodded. “Once a week or so, we go around to the hotels in Aberville, pick up our bags.”
“We also ask people in town to donate any mini bottles they gather when on vacation,” Martha called over from her table.
“Genius,” Miss Becca said. “This place is like a machine! You do this every Friday, week after week? I’m thoroughly impressed.”
Mrs. Martha clapped her hands. “It’s time for our guests!”
“It’s time!” Devon turned to Miss Becca, grinning. “Mrs. Martha, can I ring the bell?”
“By all means,” she said, and handed him the chunky gold handbell. It made a big boiiiing sound, and the men and women began to stream in, talking and joking as they approached the registration table.
“Now what?” Miss Becca asked.
“Follow my lead,” Mike told her, stepping toward the rear of the bottles table and motioning her to do the same on her side. “When the guests come up, smile and help with whatever they want. They can fill one of these plastic bags with whatever they want. One bag per guest.”
“Guest. I like that.”
“Well, it’s a lot more respectful than, say, ‘homeless client’ or ‘needy.’ I mean, people are people.” Mike tapped his head.
“Good point.”
They all took their places, and Devon slipped into the kitchen to run food.
Later he’d join Marla to help with dishes.
That was his favorite part. The smell of the dish soap reminded him of the one Mama used to use, reminded him of back when she was alive and they’d do after-dinner dishes together, side by side at the sink.
Plus it was fun, and Marla always let him blow bubbles at the end.
At one point he came out to refill the bread basket and saw two of the guests chatting with Miss Becca, who was laughing so hard she was red in the face. She caught Devon’s eye and waved, and he waved back. He liked that she was having a good time, liked that she looked happy.
Mr. Sammy came up then and gave Miss Becca a big handshake, the kind that shook her whole arm, said she was “mighty welcome.” Then he sat down at the piano and began to play a jazzed-up version of “Amazing Grace.”
The next time Devon came out of the kitchen, he saw his new fishing friend, JJ, there with his dad.
Mr. Josh had a guitar slung over his shoulder, and he was trying to show Mr. Sammy how to play while JJ and Miss Becca watched.
It was a dancy, silly kind of beat, and Miss Becca was bobbing her knees to it, and she’d pulled her hair back in a ponytail.
His chest felt tight, and he was just starting to feel the slightest bit jealous of JJ, standing there with her, all swaying and smiling, when they both turned, and JJ grinned, and Miss Becca motioned him over, caught him in a hug, and then suddenly everything was all right again, and he wondered why he’d felt that way to begin with.
Mama always said jealousy was a downright rotten way to feel, one of the seven deadly sins for a reason.
“A tranquil heart gives life to the flesh, but envy makes the bones rot,” Mama would say, from Proverbs.
She’d said it the first time after Devon had complained one day about wanting the Lego ninja set he’d seen on television, the big set that came with the gold sensei, especially after one of the kids at school bragged about having it.
JJ came back to the dish room with him and Marla, helped scrub and stack dishes and run plates, and when he’d left—early, he and his dad had to be somewhere at the crack of dawn the next day, he’d told Devon—JJ had hugged him and told him to come fishing sometime soon.
“We won’t be there this Sunday, but next weekend for sure,” JJ’d said, and then he was gone and Devon and Marla were in their dishes groove, singing and dancing and blowing bubbles.
“Well, this is certainly where the party is!” he heard and looked over to see Miss Becca standing there, smiling and watching them fan bubbles around.
“Hey, Miss Becca! You know Miss Marla, from my school?”
“Marla Bryant, and it’s good to see you, Rebecca.” Marla waved. “I’d shake your hand, but I’ll get you all wet.”
“Good to see you!” Miss Becca smiled back. “Actually, I came to pitch in, if you need the help. They sent me to tell you it’s over and time for the volunteers to eat.”
“Throw on an apron and we’ll make quick work of it.” Marla motioned to the hooks on the wall, where some aprons hung.
Devon wrinkled a nose. “It gets pretty messy.”
Soon she was following their lead, rinsing utensils and plates and setting them in the big industrial dishwasher.
“This is pretty expensive equipment for a church in a small town,” she said.
“Oh, we got the dishwasher when the Chinese food place closed a few years ago,” Marla said, searching the cabinets behind them for the detergent.
“Figured we’d need it, and church and community members chipped in quite a lot, really on faith.
That was when this ministry first got going.
You were probably this big then.” She smiled at Devon, held her hand low to the ground.
“Marla’s first lady here, so she knows all this stuff,” Devon said.
“First lady?”
Marla laughed. “He means the preacher’s wife.”
“Ohhhh.” Miss Becca blushed. “Sorry. I don’t know all the lingo.”
Marla waved her hand. “No one does, don’t you worry about that!”
“Do I hear my beautiful bride back here?” came a booming voice, and they all looked up to see Rev round the corner.
“And I hear my handsome husband.”
“Hey, Rev!” Devon turned off the spray. “This is Miss Becca. The one I told you about.”
“Well, hey there, Miss Becca.” Rev smiled at Devon. “Hey, Devon.”
“Nice to meet you, Reverend Bryant.” Miss Becca said.
“Just Reverend is fine, or Rev. That’s what most people call me, anyway.” Rev leaned over, kissed his wife, and loosened his blue-green tie, pushed up his shirtsleeves. “How about we eat, and then can I pitch in, too?”
Marla giggled. “You have the best timing in the world, love.”
“All done!” Devon said, set the last plate inside the washer.