Chapter Two
Stacia
“We really appreciate you volunteering tonight, Stacia.”
I smiled up at Ron, the homeless shelter’s director. “It’s my pleasure, honestly. Since I’m working, I’d be stuck in my hotel room watching Christmas movie reruns,” I stated and shrugged. That wasn’t the entire truth. Our company always catered some type of dinner for its flight attendants that were traveling to big cities on holidays for work. Back at the hotel there were a number of other flight attendants that had chosen to stay back and hang out with one another. I chose to volunteer. It was one of my traditions.
“Where do you want me?” I asked Ron as I looked around at the huge dining space that was only full with a handful of volunteers. There was about thirty minutes until they opened the doors for the evening.
“We could use you in the serving line for the first hour, and then helping to collect any discarded plates and cleaning up the closer we get to the end of the night.”
Rubbing my hands together, I nodded. “Sounds good. I’ll grab one of the aprons I saw in the back.”
Ron nodded and then checked his watch. His eyes enlarged for a second. “I have to go. We have some big hot shot who’ll be working with us tonight. Probably for publicity of his company or whatever, but he’s been a real pill.”
I gave him a small smile. “I can relate. Don’t let me stop you. Go ahead, I’ll find my way to the kitchen for that apron.”
“Thanks.”
As I watched Ron scurry off, I didn’t think much of it. I headed toward the swinging double doors into the kitchen. I quickly found one of the festive holiday aprons the homeless shelter offered its volunteers and donned it. Over the next few minutes there was a flurry of action as workers and volunteers aided in setting up the cafeteria-style assembly line that was to cater to thousands of people over the next few hours.
“Oops!” I yelped as I pushed through the kitchen doors with my arms full of styrofoam plates and bowls. “I’m so—” I began apologizing to the person I’d accidentally knocked into, only to pause when I made eye contact with Ian Zerlinger’s dark brown gaze. “Mr. Zerlinger,” I gasped out, shocked.
“Stacia.”
An odd sensation moved down my spine.
“Ian, we need to get pictures of you over by the food and then by the patrons as they’re eating.”
My eyes went to the woman that just approached Ian. It was the same woman who was on the flight earlier. Jamie. I think that was her name.
Ian broke off from staring at me to turn to his right, looking at the woman. He didn’t say anything, just nodded. He did give me one last look before moving past me to enter the kitchen.
I briefly glanced over my shoulder and turned back to see Ron. His eyebrows were raised.
“Ian Zerlinger is your big wig, huh?”
“Yup.” He nodded.
“Good luck.” I gave a humorless chuckle and proceeded to complete the task I’d set out to do. I put out the plates and bowls before moving farther down the assembly line and grabbing one of the large, metal spoons to scoop up the mashed potatoes and gravy that were in front of me.
“Happy Thanksgiving,” I repeated for the umpteenth time to a little brown-eyed girl with the cutest pigtail afro puffs in her hair. “Would you like some mashed potatoes, sweetie?”
Her eyes widened and she smiled. My heart melted a little when I noticed her two front missing teeth.
I placed a spoonful of mashed potatoes onto her plate. “How about some gravy?”
“Ew!” she immediately responded, shaking her head and twisting her face up in disgust.
“Bianca, just say no thank you. I’m sorry about that. She doesn’t like gravy.”
I lifted my gaze from the little girl to the woman behind her and smiled. “I can’t blame her. I’m not a big fan of gravy myself.” I winked at Bianca.
“We’re still practicing minding her manners,” the woman stated, apologetically.
“We’ll give her a break for the holiday. Would you like some mashed potatoes, ma’am?”
The woman’s eyebrows raised, and for a split second I thought I’d done something wrong.
“No one’s called me ma’am in a long time. I mean, not like …” She trailed off, her eyes cast downward. “It’s just been a while since a stranger has regarded me in such a respectful tone.”
Giving her a sympathetic smile, I leaned closer so only she could hear me. “It’s not your fault other people can’t see your worth. You keep your head up.”
She gave me a watery smile and nodded before moving down to the next part of the line. I watched the woman and her daughter. A lump formed in my throat, and instinctively, I removed my gloves and plucked my phone from my back pocket. There was a text message from my mother that read “Missing you” with a picture of the table spread. I swallowed the lump in my throat, missing her as well but refusing to type back a response. Instead, I went back to the line and continued handing out mashed potatoes and gravy.
“These people need to hurry up. Isn’t there a more efficient way to do this?” a deep male voice sounded just behind me. A disgruntled voice that I was all too familiar with, having heard it a lot on the five hour flight earlier today.
I turned my head to look over my shoulder, and out of the corner of my eyes, I saw a sour looking Ian Zerlinger, peering down at the woman named Jamie.
“This is bullshit. I could be doing much more important things with my time than handing out fucking food to these … people.” He spat the last word out as if he could barely manage to call actual human beings people.
“Asshole,” I muttered a little louder than I’d intended.
I only realized I’d spoken too loudly when I heard, “Excuse me?”
My eyes widened and I pivoted to see Ian staring at me angrily.
“N-nothing. Excuse me.” Pasting a fake smile on my face, I scurried off in the direction of the kitchen to pick up more mashed potatoes for the seemingly endless crowd. My chest ached with sadness in seeing how many people needed this type of service on a national holiday. There would be a couple thousand people who’d pass through the doors of the homeless shelter on Thanksgiving, many of them children.
I rolled my eyes and shook my head at remembering the disgust in Ian Zerlinger’s voice. The last thing these people needed on a day like this was his condemnation. I pushed those thoughts loose and proceeded to hand out smiles and mashed potatoes, every so often moving between the kitchen and the counter line to restock the food as needed. I would often catch Ian or his assistant moving around the shelter, in between tables, shaking hands with some of the local politicians and restaurant owners who were catering the night’s dinner. Ian was constantly followed by a cameraman who took every opportunity for a photo op. Why seeing him and his obvious marketing ploy bothered me, I didn’t know. But I wouldn’t let him distract me.
As the night began to wind down, I traded in my serving spoons for a bin to collect the dishes and a dish rag to wipe down the tables as needed. I smiled and began singing along to the Christmas music that played in the background, remembering old times as a young girl. Again, I found myself pulling out my phone to check for any new messages or calls. None came, as was to be expected.
After placing my phone back in the pocket of my jeans, I continued wiping down the tables and waving to people who were on their way out. The shelter was closing for the night after dinner. That made me wonder where the homeless people who lived around the city would stay for the evening. Another pang of sadness in my chest.
“Fucking do-gooders. Did they at least agree to serving Zerlinger craft beer in their restaurants?” Ian snarled, standing only a few feet away from me, in the middle of the nearly empty dining space.
I had almost completely forgotten about him. Almost.
“They haven’t given a yes or no just yet, but I’m sure your presence here tonight will go a long way in their decision.”
“It fucking better. I’ve got a ton of other shit I could be doing other than hanging around serving food to people who can’t be bothered to get off their asses and get a damn job.”
My breath damn near caught in my throat.
“Ian, I’m sure—”
“What type of parent has to bring their kid to a homeless shelter on Thanksgiving for a free meal?”
“Asshole!” I grunted while slamming the bin of dishes on the table I’d just been wiping down. I was seeing red at that point.
“Did you say something?” That snarky question had come from Jamie, who stood next to Ian. I’m sure her incredulous eyes were planted on me, but I was too transfixed on the jackass standing next to her.
“I said you’re an asshole,” I stated firmly, looking Ian Zerlinger directly in his eye. My anger grew even more when that one dark brown eye narrowed on me. “They are people, human beings, like you and me. At least, like me, I’m not even sure you are human. You have no idea what these people are going through. You think any parent wants to bring their child to a homeless shelter on Thanksgiving for a hot meal? You think anyone wants to tell their child they have no idea where they’ll be sleeping that night? But I’m sure those type of thoughts never even crossed your mind. These people are doing the best they can, and you nor I get to judge any of them. Any one of us could be in their situation. You were just lucky enough to be born with the right last name. Too bad actual human decency and a sense of empathy didn’t come with it. Jerk.” I spat that final insult at Ian before snatching the bin of dishes from the table and sauntering off toward the kitchen.
I was sure I’d regret my little outburst in the morning, but at that moment, it felt damn good to have gotten that off my chest. Damn good.
****
“Oh shit! My job,” I grumbled to myself as I was startled awake at three in the morning by my ringing phone. On instinct, I grabbed my phone and instantly the mental fog from sleep cleared my brain when I saw it was my employer calling.
“Shit!” I cursed, remembering every bit of what I’d said to Ian Zerlinger the night before. I was certain that being the douchebag he was, he’d called my employer and insisted I’d be reprimanded or fired. His type wouldn’t care that I actually wasn’t on company time when I’d told him off—just that he’d been put in his place by a peon such as myself.
“Hello,” I answered, fear peppering my voice.
“Stacia Langton, this is Doria from crew scheduling.”
“Yes?”
“I am to make you aware that your schedule has been changed. Instead of the early afternoon flight to Seattle, you will be taking the mid-morning flight to New York City.”
I frowned, confused. My eyes darted around the darkened hotel room as if somehow it could provide answers. “Wait, I’m not fired?”
“Excuse me?”
“Uh, I mean, I’ve been reassigned.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I pushed out a heavy breath but was still confused. “How come I’m getting a call?” Usually when our flight assignments were changed, we were notified via the scheduling system that would message our phones. Rarely had I ever received an actual phone call from a live person notifying me of a flight change.
“Yes, it seems this was a special request so you’re getting a call to ensure you are directly notified of the change.”
“O-okay.” I was still confused but relieved to know that I had a job. I was so relieved, in fact, that I didn’t even take the time to ask who’d made the special request or for what reason. All I was concerned about was getting a few more hours of sleep before I had to get up and report to the airport in the morning for work. I had two more days of working before my next off day. I planned to spend my two days off, decorating my apartment for Christmas. So, naturally, as I drifted off back to sleep, thoughts of hitting up my local thrift store to rummage through their holiday decor ran through my mind.