Safe Harbour

“Here come our Top Gun guys, or at least that's what I call them.” And then she turned to them with a broad grin. It was obvious that she liked them. And Ophélie was struck by the fact that the young woman was unusually pretty, she looked like a model. But when she turned her head, Ophélie could see that she had a nasty scar that ran the length of her face. “What are you guys doing here so early?”

“We came to check out one of the vans, we had trouble with it last night. And we need to load some stuff for tonight.” Miriam introduced her to them then as a new volunteer checking them out. “Give her to us,” the Asian man said with a grin. “We're a man short since Aggie left.” Aggie didn't sound like a man to her, but all three of them were open and friendly to Ophélie. The Asian man's name was Bob, the African American was Jefferson, and the Hispanic girl's name was Milagra, but the two men called her Millie. They left after a few minutes, and went behind the building to the garage where the vans were kept.

“What do they do?” Ophélie asked with interest as she went back to work at the file cabinets behind Miriam's desk.

“That's our outreach team. They're heroes around here. They're all a little crazy, and a lot wild. They're out there every night, five nights a week. We have a weekend crew that takes over when they're not here. But these guys are incredible. All of them. I went out with them once, it damn near broke my heart…and scared me to death.” Her eyes were filled with affection and respect.

“Isn't it dangerous for a woman to go with them?” Ophélie looked impressed. They seemed like heroes to her too.

“Millie knows her stuff. She's an ex-cop. She's on permanent disability, she got shot in the chest and lost a lung, but she's as tough as the guys. She's a martial arts expert. Millie can take care of herself, and the guys.”

“Is that how she got the scar, doing police work?” Ophélie asked with growing respect for all of them. They were the bravest people she'd ever met, and the most caring. And the Hispanic woman was remarkably beautiful, in spite of the scar. But Ophélie was curious about her now.

“No, she got that as a kid. Child abuse. Her father. He cut her when she defended herself when he tried to rape her. I think she was eleven.” A lot of them had stories like that, but it shocked Ophélie to realize that Milagra had been the same age as Pip when it happened. “Maybe that's why she went into the department.”

It was an amazing day for Ophélie. And throughout the day, homeless people of varying sizes, ages, and genders came in to take showers, have a meal, sleep, or just get off the streets and shuffle around the lobby for a while. Some of them looked remarkably coherent and responsible, and even clean, and others looked confused and had glazed eyes. A few were obviously inebriated, and one or two looked like they were on drugs. The Wexler Center was extremely generous in their criteria for admission. No one could use alcohol or drugs on the premises, but if they were in less-than-ideal condition when they got there, they were still allowed to stay.

Ophélie's head was reeling by the time she left and promised to be back the next day. She could hardly wait to come back, and she told Pip all about it on their way back to the house after school. Pip was understandably impressed, not only by what she heard of the Center, but by the fact that her mother had gone there and wanted to volunteer.

She told Matt all about it when he called that afternoon. Ophélie was upstairs having a shower, she felt filthy after working at the Center all day, and she was starving when she came downstairs with her hair in a towel. She hadn't even stopped for lunch. Pip was still talking to Matt on the phone.

“Matt says hi,” Pip said, and then went on speaking to him as Ophélie made herself a sandwich. In the past few weeks, her appetite had improved.

“Say hi to him too,” Ophélie said, taking a bite of her sandwich.

“He thinks you're very cool for what you're doing,” Pip transmitted, and then told him all about the sculpture project she was doing in art. And she had volunteered to help with the layouts of the yearbook too. She loved talking to him, although it wasn't as good as sitting with him on the beach. But more than anything, she didn't want to lose touch, and neither did he. And then finally, she handed her mother the phone.

“It sounds like you're up to some interesting doings,” he said admiringly. “What's it like?” Matt asked her.

“Scary, exciting, wonderful, smelly, touching, sad. I love it. The people who work there are terrific, and the ones who come to the shelter for help are really nice.”

“You're an amazing woman. I'm impressed.” And he meant it. She had impressed him from the first.

“Don't be. All I did was file papers, and look lost. I have no idea what I'm doing, or if they'll want me by the end of the week.” She had promised them three days, and had two left. But so far, she loved it.