Chapter 2

Recovery

Reese walked across the lane to raid his trailer for lunch makings. He kept it simple: drinks, sandwiches, and canned soup.

Nita sat beside Granny’s bed with plates of sandwiches and mugs of hot chicken soup. Gran drank greedily from a large glass of Gatorade, surprised to find that she could hold it down. That and sips of hot soup pushed back the gnawing hunger she’d suffered over the last several days. Nita munched sandwiches and slurped soup like she hadn’t eaten for a week, which was closer to the truth than Reese liked to think.

He stood facing three smaller kids who’d been coaxed from their shy retreat by the smell of hot soup and Nita’s urging. They’d nervously agreed to come out of their room to sit at the dinette table.

She told them about Reese:

“He’s the man from that big shiny trailer across the road, and he’s here to help us. We’ve got soup and sandwiches on the table. Get out here and eat!”

The mention of food sent the girls scurrying; little “Bug” scampered into the dinette corner and stared, wide-eyed, at the tall stranger standing by the stove filling their soup mugs. The twins, Shy and Shay, edged cautiously around him, staying as far from reach as possible. They sat huddled in the opposite dinette corner, on the back side of the table, eyeing Reese.

Damn, these girls are not just shy ... they’re actually frightened, Reese realized.

“My name is Reese,” he said, softly, setting a plate full of sandwich halves on the table. “The ones on this side are turkey slices with mayonnaise on whole wheat bread. These here,” he pointed, “are good ol’ PB&J, peanut butter and strawberry jam. I’ve loved them ever since I was a kid your size, so dig in. You’ve got chicken noodle soup in your mugs, too.”

That did the trick. The girls grabbed sandwiches and wolfed them down like starving puppies. Bug got jam smeared around her mouth. Some dripped onto her dirty t-shirt. Her toy, a stuffed ‘Tigger’ tiger with a long tail, lay beside her. She’d carried it out with her, clutching its tail and dragging it beside her leg. She grinned up at Reese and grabbed another PB&J sandwich.

Nobody said anything except to mumble for someone to please scoot the sandwich plate closer.

Reese watched, amazed at the diversity of the kids. Nita was Latina, the oldest at thirteen, and their self-appointed caretaker. Large for her age, she wore her hair long and braided down her back.

Shyla and Shayla were identical twins, fair-skinned with thick and wavy auburn hair in double braids. Their faces and heavily freckled arms resembled farm girls he’d gone to school with and teased back in his elementary school days. They were eight years old, Gran had said.

Lucella Louise, “Bug”, was the baby of the bunch. Her African-American parentage showed in her kinky black hair, full lips, dusky skin, and curious eyes that followed his every move while she slurped her soup. “Bug” was a good nickname for her; she was too cute for words. One glance and he’d found his heart melting. This tiny girl was a precious four-year-old.

Disgust burned in his gut. The suffering and deprivation of this family was inexcusable. He knew little of Ms. Hapworth’s background or how she’d come to fall into such poverty, but this ... this dumping of four children into her care was beyond irresponsible. That, and the threat of cartel thugs chasing the kids’ parents.

The girls slowed their eating. They saw that there was plenty on the table and Reese assured them of more to come when that ran out. They leaned back. Bug pulled up her shirt and patted her bare, bulging stomach. Her eyes sparkled with happiness. The twins glanced up and mumbled “thanks” through mouths full of turkey sandwich. He grinned back, smiling, pleased.

Okay. That’s a first feeding for everybody. Now to deal with getting some hot water to wash dirty bodies and eliminate bad smells, he decided.

The immediate urgency was gone. Gran and the girls were fed and resting.

“Nita,” he called to the back bedroom, “I’m going over to my trailer for my toolkit. I’ll be outside working on the water heater. Okay?”

He opened the outside electrical breaker panel and found the water heater circuit breaker. He switched it off. He opened the outside door of the water heater compartment. He knew the chances were better than even that one or both of the heater elements had burned out.

The moment he unscrewed and removed the heater’s electrical connections cover he sucked in his breath and knew that this trailer was no longer safe for occupancy. “Damn! Aluminum wiring! No copper-clad connection adapters! This trailer is a fire disaster waiting to happen.”

He loosened the heater’s wiring terminals. The aluminum wire ends were oxidized and heat blackened. He unbolted and pulled the upper heating element: burned out. He removed the lower element: also burned out.