LUCY

 

“Hey! Stop right there, kid!”

I vaulted across the counter, dark braid swishing against my back as I pumped my legs to catch up to the little would-be thief.

Bursting out the door, the bell jangled almost as violently as I yanked the boy by the back of his shirt. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Nothing! Get off me!”

“Nothing, huh? Then what’s this?” I fished the sandwich out of his jacket and carefully slipped it into my apron’s front pocket.

“I don’t know how that got there!” He squirmed hard, but I held on. Something I’d developed with lots of practice.

“Yeah, yeah. Look—you know stealing is wrong.”

“I didn’t steal shit!”

I popped him on the back. Not too hard but enough to show I meant business. “Watch your mouth! When you talk to me you keep it clean.”

“Let me go then you won’t have to hear me say shit.”

He got another pop. “Dirty mouth! How old are you? Nine? Ten?”

“Thirteen!”

“Dude, I’ve got socks older than you.”

“Ugh! And you proud of that?”

“Yeah. You know why? I didn’t steal them.”

“Bully for you. You deserve a fuc—”

I held up my hand in warning. He settled down, sullen but quiet.

Sneaking a look around us, I was grateful to see the sidewalk was mostly empty. I didn’t want to deal with him and hecklers. Because if that happened? Nothing I said would sink in.

“You know stealing is wrong, but you do it anyways because you think it doesn’t matter. Nobody helps anybody so why not go for yours? Am I close?”

The kid scowled but stayed quiet. Good. Maybe I’d be able to get through to him. Even if just a little bit.

“But you didn’t steal from thin air. You stole from a sixty-eight-year-old man who’s supporting his wife, who’s in an expensive nursing home by the way, and their three grandkids. You know why he’s supporting them? Because their father ran out on them and their mom, his daughter, died. He works seven days a week just to make ends meet. You steal from him, you steal from his wife and those kids.”

Guilt stamped his face before defiance chased it.

“So? Nobody takes care of me. I gotta do for myself.”

“I respect that.” This took him by surprise. Good. He’d had too much hardness in the world. He deserved some softness too. “But there’s a way to be proud of doing for yourself and then there’s this.”

I had him. I felt it like a sixth sense.

“All this talking is worse than lockup. Just call the cops already. Damn!”

“Boy…” I gave him a hard shake. He didn’t mean that. I knew he didn’t. “Let me tell you something you might not have heard yet. You are worth more than this. You came into this world knowing that. You just forgot because of the people around you forgot too, but that’s okay. You know why?”

I still had his attention. Just a little bit more…

“Why?”

“Because we were meant to meet right here, right now, so you could hear this. We make choices. Sometimes good, sometimes bad. The point is we always have a chance to make it right. Now here’s yours. That sandwich you took cost $2.99. Minimum wage is $10.50. Which means you can work to pay this off in about 17 minutes.”

“Work? What you do mean work?”

Suspicion mixed with hope. Good.

“You heard me. Work. I’m unloading the truck and today you get to help me. But only if you make that choice. I won’t force you into it.”

“Sure. I don’t do it and then you call the cops.”

I released his collar. “Nope. You make a choice to turn this down? Then you go on your way.”

His face was too young to have this much suspicion, but I understood. I once looked like him ten years ago. Angry at the world for hurting me and wishing I could be better but not knowing how. Feeling damned.

“Unloading the truck. What do I gotta do?”

He crossed his arms and so did I. “You carry boxes and put them in the back. That’s it. Better than that though is you get to earn your food honest and be proud of yourself.”

“Yeah?” He kicked at the ground. We both knew his answer but he needed to feel like it was his choice. I respected that too.

He blew out a breath and squinted up at me. “I help you and you give me the sandwich, right?”

“You help me by doing your work and you’ll earn the sandwich. Deal?” I held out my hand. “Now if you shake you’re giving me your word. Your words are you. It’s worth more than money. More than gold. When you give someone your word you do everything in your power to keep it.”

His wary gaze flicked up and away. “And what happens when people break their word to you even if you keep yours?”

This poor guy. I know how you feel. I do.

“You forgive them and hope they keep trying to be better. But that doesn’t mean your word didn’t matter. It did.”

The kid raised his head and whistled, “Girl, I feel like you just took me to church.” He shook my hand hard. “All right. Where do I go?”

Happiness jumped up and down in my heart. I reached him. It didn’t always work out that way but today it did.

“Head straight to the back of the store. Tell Mr. Victor that Lucy sent you.”

Uncertainty made his face look about six years old. “Are you coming?”

“In just a minute. I’ll be right behind you…”

“Mario.”

I held out my hand again. “It’s good to work with you, Mario. My name is Lucy.”

“I figured that.” This time his shake was more confident. Mario walked into the store, head held high, and yelled out, “Mr. Victor! Lucy told me to come back there so don’t get mad!”

My boss came out seconds later. “Oye, Lucy! Another one? At this rate, you’ll be working to pay off the food for every kid in a two-block radius!”

“That’s okay, Mr. Luis. They need it more than me.”

“What got taken this time?”

“A sandwich.”

I handed it to Mr. Luis, watching as his heavily-veined hands trembled. Worry, always there, reared up. My boss worked too much for a young man, much less one with his health conditions.

“I’ll put this in the cooler.” He then shook his head and shuffled back in the store muttering, “One day these kids are going to be the death of me.”

Maybe I was a lunatic because I kept trying, but that was me. Lucy Martin. Always wanting to save a sinner.

Besides, I learned from the best because Mr. Luis was just as soft as me. I owed him everything. Without his compassion, his faith…I didn’t want to think where I’d be now.

“Miss Lucy?”

I turned around, shoulders tense and halfway expecting it to be a cop.

Instead, it was a well-dressed old man standing in front of a Bentley. What was he doing here in this neighborhood with that car? The wealthy didn’t make it a point to come to this side of town unless they got lost or were making a big tax write-off and wanted something showy to prove it.

“I saw what you did there with that young boy. Good work. Some of the finest I’d seen in years. I’d like to talk to you about a job.”