A Question of Hope.

A Matter of Love.

By Grace Post

It was dark outside as Stevie anxiously strode toward the bus stop at the edge of Garfield Ridge. The familiar light of Archer Coin Laundry lit the sidewalk as she crossed the street to stand beneath the bus shelter. Checking her pocket for her bus card, she slid her arms through her backpack's straps and wrapped them around herself. The fabric of her sweatshirt was worn but soft beneath her fingertips. For some reason, it helped to feel the material tugged tight around her, like she was trying to hold the anxiety in, along with her body heat. They’ve probably noticed I’m gone by now…At least it’s March and not January. She pulled her phone from her back pocket – 7:56 pm – I wish the bus would hurry up and get here.

The noise of the busy Chicago streets surrounded her as she waited. Traffic sped up and down the road, pausing for the occasional red light. In between the cars, she could see ghosts of tail pipe exhaust fill the air. They smiled at her mischievously as they danced in the street. Do you know where I should go? She asked them. They gave no response except bobbing lightly in the air before indifferently swirling on. A few more minutes, and the bus pulled up.

“Where you headed?” the driver asked as she mounted the stairs. He was typical looking for a bus driver – an older man with graying hair.

Stevie hesitated. She’d narrowed it down to two potential locations. High school or pastry shop? She didn’t want to inconvenience her boss, but she knew the likelihood of the school being open was slim. Plus, I’d rather not sleep on a hard floor. Pastry shop it was.

“Narragansett & 56th Street please,” she said.

“Oh?” the driver said, “That’s near the high school, isn’t it? It’s a bit late to be going to school.”

“Practice for the spring musical,” she explained.

The driver eyed her slightly, unsure whether to buy her story. He waved her on without any further prodding, either thinking it none of his business or being too tired to care. She pressed her bus card to the scanner, hoping she had enough left to cover the trip. Much to her relief, the scanner flashed green.

Stevie found an open seat by the window and slid in, hugging her backpack to her chest. She didn’t know why she lied to the driver. Maybe because she wanted to give the impression that everything was alright, to believe for a moment that she was a regular girl with nothing more to worry about than whether or not she could remember her lines and sing on key. If only. She leaned her head against the glass and watched the city life moving outside. Her breath fogged up the window, and little swirls began to unfurl, depicting cute scenes of flowerlike images on the glass. Her heart warmed at the beauty of it.

The driver waited a couple more minutes as another passenger boarded before pulling from the curb and into traffic. The lights of Chicago glowed against the dark sky, a hypnotic kaleidoscope of colors.

I’ll just ask Mrs. Renita if I can stay for the night, she reasoned; one night should be ok.

Stevie had started working at Lawrence and Renita Summer’s pastry shop about a year after moving in with the Millers. The Millers were the most recent in a string of foster families, admittedly one of the best so far, give or take the occasional rough patch. The conflict that did occur was usually between her and her foster mom. Within the first few months of moving in, Mrs. Miller, Melinda, began pressuring Stevie about getting a job. And while the optimistic part of her wanted to believe that Melinda’s intentions were good, the other side of Stevie, the side that had been passed from family-to-family time and time again, couldn’t help but wonder if it was just a ploy to get her out of the house, out of the way. Either way, Summer’s Pastry had been the answer to her wish.

***

Stevie spotted the pastry shop from the bus window on her way to school and spontaneously decided to stop in for some breakfast. A bell on the shop door gave a gentle ring as she entered, and the smell of baking dough filled the room. Customers of all ages sat at neatly placed tables while a woman took orders from behind the counter. She was an older woman, probably in her mid-fifties, and her hair was a fluffy white against her dark brown skin. Refilling the cup of one of her patrons, she turned with a smile and called to Stevie, “What can I get ya hon’?”

It was only a small act of kindness, but it immediately made Stevie feel welcome. Taking a seat at the counter she asked, “Do you have any donuts?”

It wasn’t long before Stevie was stopping in to see Mrs. Renita, and occasionally her husband Lawrence, when he decided to emerge from baking in the kitchen, almost every day. Until one day Mrs. Renita asked if Stevie would be interested in making some extra money.

“Actually,” she shared, “My foster mom has been pushing me to get a job.”

“Well,” Mrs. Renita said, “I could use a hand around here. How’d you like to work for Lawrence and me?”

Stevie gave a grateful, “Yes!”

***

Stevie freed herself from her thoughts as the bus lurched to a stop and glanced at the internal monitor that tracked the bus’s route – Narragansett & 56th Street. Looks like I’ve arrived. Standing from her seat, she exited and headed right, down the sidewalk.

The concrete was hard beneath her feet as she passed by lit storefronts. Swerving to avoid the occasional rowdy group, her hands grew progressively sweatier as the three blocks turned to two, which turned to one. Just a few more minutes and she was standing before the aged exterior of Summer’s Pastry. Leaning against the rough brick, she peered through the film-covered window. It was late, about 8:30 pm judging by the old clock on the wall, and the place was empty. Only 30 minutes to close. She watched as Mrs. Renita, rag in hand, carefully wiped down the counter and moved to the other tables. She was usually quite spirited, but Stevie could tell by her slouched form she’d had a long day.

Should I find somewhere else to stay? She looks tired. I don’t want to be a bother. Just as she considered forgoing her plan, Mrs. Renita looked up from where she was wiping the last table and spotted her standing outside. The change was like a light switch; instantly, her tiredness was gone and her kind smile in its place. She beckoned Stevie inside. Alright, guess I’m going in.

Taking a breath, Stevie pushed the green door open.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in!” Mrs. Renita exclaimed, setting her rag on the counter and wrapping Stevie in a warm hug.

“Hi, Mrs. Renita,” she breathed, her tense shoulders easing slightly.

“Hi, hon! What’re you doing here? You aren’t scheduled today, and if you were, you’d be awfully late!” She motioned Stevie sit as she moved back behind the counter, pulled a cookie from the bake case, and set it before her. “Something to munch on,” she always said.

Stevie instinctively reached forward and began breaking the cookie into smaller pieces, thinking back to the argument that had taken place that afternoon.

“Stevie dear,” Mrs. Renita prodded, noting her change of emotion, “what’s the matter?”

Stevie took a deep breath, “Well, my foster mom and I kind of got into an argument this afternoon, and I was wondering if I could stay here? It would just be for the night.”

Mrs. Renita was silent for a moment and then, with a gentle voice said, “How about this? You tell me what happened, and then I’ll decide. Deal?”

Stevie nodded – I guess that’s fair.

“Well, I got home from school this afternoon…”

***

“Oh, you’re home.” Melinda said just as Stevie came in the front door, a laundry basket next to her on the couch. “How was school?”

Stevie let the screen door swing closed behind her.

“School was good, but I’ve got some homework to do. Is it ok if I do my chores after I’m done?” It had been a long day and all she really wanted was some time to herself. She moved to lean against the arm of the couch, waiting for her foster mom’s response. Her brunette hair was pulled into a messy bun at the back of her head, her outfit simple ripped jeans and an old t-shirt. She quickly finished folding a bathroom towel and turned toward her.

“Actually, Stevie,” she said, her tone kind but firm, “I wanted to ask you about something.”

“What is it?” Stevie asked.

“Peter noticed that some cash was missing from his wallet this morning and I was wondering if you happened to know anything about it?”

The question took Stevie by surprise. Though she’d grown closer to the Millers over the last year and a half, moments like these reminded her of just how new their relationship still was. She honestly liked the Millers and felt a sense of belonging when she was around them, but as Melinda waited for her response, she couldn’t stop the painful thought from popping into her mind – Did you really think she trusted you? Suddenly angry and hurt, Stevie walls went up, defensive, as she said, “I didn’t steal it, if that’s what you mean.”

“Hold on,” Melinda clarified, “I’m not accusing you. It’s just that it was a large amount and money doesn’t just walk away.”

It was too late. Stevie’s mind had already jumped to the worst-case scenario – that Melinda had already decided she was to blame. Of course, she thinks you took it. She retorted, “What about William? Have you asked him?”

Mrs. Miller’s eyes were wide. Clearly, she hadn’t planned for the conversation to go this way. Standing, she moved toward Stevie.

“Yes, Peter and I have asked him, and he said he hasn’t seen it. So now I’m asking you. If you say you didn’t take it, I’ll believe you. But if you did, you need to give it back.”

“Well, I don’t have it!” Stevie shielded, a headache already forming as she resisted the urge to cry. She fled to her bedroom, angry and disappointed.

***

“I stayed in my room, until I finally got so restless, I had to leave.”

“I see.” said Mrs. Renita, once Stevie had finished her story, “And I suppose you haven’t talked with her since then?”

“Not exactly…” Stevie said.

Mrs. Renita nodded and glanced at the old clock – 9:01pm.

“Well, while I think it would be best for you to resolve things sooner rather than later, considering the time…it’s probably something that should wait until tomorrow.”

Stevie gave a small breath of relief. She was glad to have time to think through everything before patching things up with Melinda.

Mrs. Renita finished locking up and led Stevie to her and Mr. Summer’s upstairs apartment. It was a small, but cozy space with a joint living room and kitchen, and a pretty picture window that overlooked the street. Mentioning something about pajamas, Stevie told her she’d packed some in her bag before leaving that afternoon. Mrs. Renita nodded and got her set up in the guest room. It held a twin bed pushed up against the back wall with a nightstand beside it. A set of dressers with a mirror on top was set against the adjoining wall.

“The bathroom is right across the hall if you need something.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Renita,” Stevie said, setting her backpack on the bed, “I’m sorry to barge in on you and Mr. Lawrence like this.

“Oh, hon’ it’s no problem. I understand.” She said. “We all have bad days, especially when we’re teenagers. I can’t say that I agree with you running away as the solution to your problems – it doesn’t do anyone any good – but sometimes we just need time to think things through. The trick is knowing when it’s time to stop thinking and start doing.”

Stevie gave a small smile and said a final “Goodnight”.

She pulled her pajamas from her backpack and changed, glad to be out of her restricting jeans. Just as she was about to replace the clothes and go to bed, she spotted the wrinkled envelope at the bottom of her bag. She grabbed it before shoving the jeans in and setting the bag on the floor. She sat, pulled out, and unfolded the piece of paper.

Dear Stevie,

I know it’s been a while since we last saw each other and I’m sorry for that. I hope that you’re happy and the Millers are treating you good. How is school? I can’t believe you’re really a senior! I’m doing good myself - cleaned myself up and finally managed to get a job! It doesn’t pay a lot, but I figure if I work and save up for a while, I might be able to come and see you. You’d like that wouldn’t you? Maybe we could take a trip, just the two of us! We could go somewhere we’ve never been before. There are a few things I’d need to pay off first, but then we could go.

I miss you. I’m sorry that I haven’t been able to be there for you like I should’ve, but I don't doubt you’ve become someone just as smart, talented, and beautiful as I always knew you would be!

Love, Mom

Stevie’s eyes welled with tears as she read the letter again. A part of her wanted to believe all of the things her mom said. That she had finally gotten the help she needed and had quit drinking. That she was finally ready to be the mom Stevie had always wanted. Hope. That was why she’d taken the money in the first place.

Feeling broken and filled with shame, she shoved the envelope to the bottom of her bag and snuggled under the covers. I just wish this day would be over. Her eyes were growing heavy as she spotted a sign on the wall by the door, “And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.” 1 Corinthians 13:13.

As she read those words, one last tear rolled down her face and she couldn’t help but wonder what kind of love could be so big.

***

Stevie awoke the next morning to the sound of her alarm – 7 am. Reaching over to the nightstand, she grabbed her phone and pressed “stop” to end the incessant ringing. After reaching the bus stop yesterday, she had switched it off and was surprised, looking at it now, to see she had 8 missed calls. Five from Mrs. Miller, two from Mr. Miller, and, to her surprise, one from William. I probably should’ve told them where I was, just so they wouldn’t worry. She reluctantly rolled out of bed, knowing she would have to get up and face the music eventually. She had just finished getting dressed when Mrs. Renita knocked on the door.

“Mornin’ hon,” she said kindly. Her serving apron was already tied around her waist in preparation for the morning rush, “I just wanted to let you know that, once you’re around, there’s someone downstairs who you should probably talk to.”

“Ok,” Stevie said, her hands fisting nervously.

Giving her a quick side hug, Mrs. Renita closed the door.

Stevie remade the bed, packed her things, and tried to push down the dread in her stomach. Boy I hate this, she thought to herself as she left the room and headed down to the pastry shop. What am I going to say?

The familiar smell of coffee and fresh baking dough eased her nerves as she descended the stairs. A quick glance around and she found Melinda sitting at one of the unoccupied tables. Mrs. Renita gave her a knowing smile from her place behind the register and Mr. Lawrence cast a wink of encouragement before returning to his kitchen domain. Here we go…This really isn’t a morning activity.

Melinda spotted Stevie at the same time and immediately popped up from where she was sitting. She came toward her, to Stevie’s surprise, with arms open. She’s not mad? Her insides were a mixture of relief and uncertainty as she allowed herself to be enveloped in her foster mom’s arms.

“We were so worried!” Melinda said, pulling away so she could look into Stevie’s face. She wasn’t prepared for the concern that showed there. You won’t feel so worried once you know the truth. “I’m sorry if it seemed like I was blaming you or accusing you of something you didn’t do. You shouldn’t have run away, but I’m glad you’re alright.”

Standing there, Stevie was overwhelmed by the circumstances of it all. She felt the weight of an absent mother who wrote her letters, plans which may never come true. And struggled to understand the love of a foster mom who couldn’t possibly truly know her. As she thought back to her actions the day before, she couldn’t hold it in.

“I’m sorry,” she choked out, hot tears falling from her cheeks.

She pulled her backpack from her shoulder and unzipped the front pocket. From it, she removed the wad of bills she had taken from Mr. Miller’s wallet. She held it dejectedly between Melinda and her, her head hung low. She vaguely remembered a poem they had read in school just that week:

“Hope” is the thing with feathers -

That perches in the soul -

And sings the tune without the words -

And never stops - at all –

Now holding the folded stack of bills in her hand, hope seemed a wounded bird that would never sing or fly again.

“You were right.” She admitted shamefully, “I did take the money. I was just too afraid to admit it. I’m sorry.”

Melinda was quiet as Stevie waited for her response. Several seconds went by, and Stevie’s curiosity got the better of her. She looked up and met her foster mother’s kind eyes.

“I know,” she said gently.

“What?” Stevie said, unsure if she’d heard correctly.

“I already know you took the money.”

“You do?”

“Yes. William told us when we asked him yesterday. He said you’d received a letter of some kind. Peter and I guessed who it might have been from.”

“I don’t understand. If you knew I took the money, then why did you ask me like you didn’t?” She said, confused.

“I wanted to see if you trusted me enough to tell me on your own." Melinda stated simply.

Stevie was dumbfounded. She knew I took it and waited for me to tell her. Melinda laughed at the look on her face and gave her another quick hug, avoiding Stevie’s still outstretched hand.

“Now don’t get confused,” she said, “you’re still in trouble for stealing. You can guarantee you’ll be doing dishes every night after dinner for the rest of the month, but we’re not mad at you.”

“That sounds fair,” Stevie agreed, placing the money into her foster mom’s hand. “I’m sorry I lied.”

Melinda gave Stevie a sad smile, “I know you haven’t been with us as long as some of your other foster families, but you’ve been with us long enough for us to know that you wouldn’t steal unless you had a good reason. You have a good heart, Stevie. Even after all you’ve been through, you care about people, and it shows. Peter, William, and I are just trying to do the same for you.”

Stevie’s heart was full as Melinda hugged her one last time, and they each took seats at the bar.

“Two donuts please!” Melinda said cheerfully, as Stevie peered through the bake case at a chocolate one that looked particularly delicious. She was suddenly starving.

“Can do!” Mrs. Renita responded, setting two pretty, China plates with donuts on the counter in front of them.

“That’s pretty,” Melinda commented, noticing Mrs. Renita’s simple charm bracelet which read 1 Corinthians 13:13. “What verse is that?”

Mrs. Renita smiled.

“And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.”