The Promise

"A bit better," Sadie commented as I entered the dining hall. She was obviously waiting for me to emerge. "Let me see the hands," she ordered. I held out my hands with a small roll of my eyes. She ignored my eyes and looked closely at both sides of my hands with special attention to the nails.

"Take the chairs off the tables," Sadie ordered. I assumed she had accepted the cleanliness of my hands since she didn't make me rewash them. "Tuck them under, equidistant apart. Don't move the tables, they are exactly where they belong. Meet me in the backroom when you're done." She headed off with a purpose. I looked at the legs of the tables and the north sets of legs were lined up perfectly on a tile line. The northeast leg of each table was on a tile corner. Sadie may be a little OCD. I lowered the chairs and tucked them under and scooted them to make sure they were equally spaced. I walked around when I was done and adjusted a few, so the chairs lined up with the tables in the same rows. I rechecked each table to make sure it hadn't moved. Then I went into the backroom. I had no idea how Sadie got me to be so anal about tables and chairs.

I walked into the backroom, one of the cleanest kitchens I have ever seen. All the stainless steel sparkled and everything seemed to have a place. There were no utensils or pots and pans lying out. Even the tiled floor looked spotless. Sadie was sitting on a stool, working with a set of papers. She looked up as I walked in and pointed to an apron and scarf that had been laid out on the counter. I donned both.

"That's the hand wash station," Sadie said, as she pointed at a small sink along the wall. "Push the lever with your leg and wash your hands. Before you touch any food or anything that will touch food, you wash your hands. Paper towels are in the dispenser next to it." She went back to her papers, making notes on one of them.

I was a little surprised to not see anyone else working. I moved over to the sink and washed my hands. It seemed a little over-the-top since I had just gotten out of the shower. I guess I touched some chairs, but I assumed they were strictly sanitized like the rest of the place. I was drying my hands with the paper towels when Sadie looked up again.

"There are Roma tomatoes in the walk-in," Sadie said and pointed to the large steel door, "they are on the left side, second shelf. Bring out two boxes and set them on the floor by the prep sink." She indicated the large sink with the high curved faucet. She then went back to her papers. I started to walk toward the walk-in and decided my silent obedience was a bit much.

"By the way, good morning, Sadie," I said with a tiny bit of smart-ass. I kept moving toward the walk-in so she couldn't find fault. Sadie surprised me by looking up briefly with a smile.

"Good morning, Frank," Sadie replied and returned to her work. I guess authoritative regimes could be cordial. I found it pleasing to make the great leader smile -- my little bit of rebellion for the morning.

I hauled the two boxes of tomatoes out to the sink. They were a bit heavier than I had thought so it took two trips.

"Open the boxes, then, wash your hands again." Sadie didn't look up from her work this time. I sighed as I opened the boxes and washed my hands again. Sadie rose from her work and washed her hands as well. "We never allow our skin to touch the food," she instructed as she dried her hands, "We always use latex gloves; I'm guessing you will want the large ones." She pulled a pair of small, disposable latex gloves from a rack mounted on the wall next to the sink. I grabbed a pair of large.

"It's taco night and you're prepping the tomatoes." Sadie's motions were practiced as she blindly grabbed a metal colander from the wire shelf above our heads. "Both boxes need to be prepared. Rinse, core, slice then chop. These will be used for taco toppings." She handed me the colander, "Load it up and hold it under the water to rinse them." She walked off to grab some more tools for the job as I began rinsing the first batch of tomatoes.

Sadie returned with a cutting board and a pair of small clawed spoons. She deftly maneuvered, with her feet, a wheeled garbage can over toward the sink. "Touch the garbage can and you need a new set gloves," she warned. She retrieved a wet tomato from the colander and showed me how to take out the small hard core at the top with the clawed spoon. The core went into the can and the tomato onto the cutting board. We started coring the tomatoes together. She wasn't afraid to get her hands dirty.

"I have seen your face before," Sadie said absently as she quickly cored another tomato.

"I don't see how."

"No, I've seen it." I remembered her greeting everyone at the door last night. She was good with names. "'Frank' doesn't jog my memory. Perhaps you have another name." Her smile was slight, but I did see the small curve. I cored another tomato, conscious she was doing two for every one of mine.

"I like the name Frank right now," I said truthfully, while respecting her deduction, "yesterday was the first time I have ever seen you, so I am sure you must be thinking of someone else." I couldn't see how our paths had crossed in the past. My mind was drawing a blank.

"It will come to me," Sadie said, "I never forget a face." I needed to change the subject. Amber didn't know Frank. It was easier to try and forget as Frank.

"I thought there would be other workers."

"Not until one," Sadie replied, "I only need one for prep." I felt like I was in a coring competition. Every time I moved to catch up to her pace, she would accelerate. Finally, I surrendered and slowed to a reasonable pace. "Nice try." Sadie was wearing a smirk as she slowed to a pace just a bit faster than mine. She obviously liked to win.

"So how did you end up here?" I asked Sadie. I was truly interested in how a model of efficiency could find herself running a free soup kitchen.

"Long story. Maybe I will tell you sometime." Sadie paused, then smiled and said, with emphasis, "Frank." 'Touché,' I thought. She was willing to trade stories, but not give hers up for free. I just smiled back. Sadie had a quick mind. Amber would have liked her.

"How do you fund this place?" I changed the subject to something more comfortable.

"Donations. Lots and lots of donations." Sadie lost her smile as she continued to core her way through the pile of tomatoes. The answer seemed to exhaust her.

"501(c)(3)?" It came out of my mouth before I could stop myself. It was habit. Sadie stopped coring and looked up at me.

"Do you understand financial statements?" Sadie had already surmised a lot. I wanted to feign ignorance, but I had asked the question too confidently.

"Yes."

"Will you look at my books?" Sadie's question sounded almost pleading. I sensed her confidence didn't extend into accounting. So much for totally ignoring my old life.

"I can do that." I didn't want to sound too confident about my abilities. Sometimes people hand you a horrible mess and expect you to create facts from thin air.

"Okay, tomorrow, same time. I'll get someone else to prep." Sadie's mood changed. She started coring with enthusiasm. I thought I might have just bitten off more than I could chew.

I learned a lot about mass food preparation. Sadie changed from authoritative to patiently instructive. Maybe her books were more than a mess. I was being buttered up for tomorrow. Strangely, I found the labor fun and relaxing. It was fairly easy, different and repetitive. Nothing you had to think too deeply about. Each task had an endgame, a place where I could identify that it was done and enjoy that sense of completion. I needed the mindless labor, and today I was good at it.

At 1:00 four other homeless workers showed up. Each had worked for Sadie before, and confidently went to work after reading a chart on the wall. Trudy, the large women who was serving chili yesterday, didn't read the chart. Sadie instructed her verbally as a matter of course. I suspected Trudy couldn't read. Sadie just took it in stride and ignored the limitation. In fact, she put Trudy in charge of teaching me how to brown the beef. Trudy smiled and waved me over to the grill.

Trudy redundantly educated me about washing my hands and using latex gloves, which I took in stride. She showed me the controls for the hood and emphasized the exhaust fan had to be on when the grill was on. I had lessons regarding grill controls and clean up. It was fifteen minutes before Trudy thought we were ready to get the meat from the cooler. Her personality was a lot like Sadie's, only leaning more toward the compassionate side.

Trudy's hands moved quickly, chopping beef and searing it on the grill. I watched her hand maneuver the large metal spatula with practiced agility. She handed it off to me and I proved my lack of coordination quite handily. Trudy found it entertaining and amusingly grabbed my hand every once in a while to steer it toward beef that might otherwise burn. My college degree was useless compared to her experience. It was refreshing to be taught something new and to have a teacher so enthralled with the experience.

We transferred the first batch of meat to a large metal pot and sent it off to someone else for sauce and seasoning prep.

"You single?" Trudy asked. There was a twinkle in her eye and I couldn't help blushing. The question came out of nowhere. I mumbled, trying to come up with an answer that wouldn't scar the rapport we had. I could think of nothing that would not come out insulting. I whispered some truth for both our sakes.

"My wife just passed away." It was quiet enough to remain private. Trudy nodded slowly and leaned into me compassionately.

"I'm sorry," Trudy whispered back. I wasn't sure if she was sorry about my wife or the fact she flirted.

"Thanks."

"We have three more pots to fill," Trudy said, returning to the job at hand. I think she saw my need for manual labor. When I returned with more meat, there were two spatulas at the grill. We worked in tandem with the next three batches. She didn't flirt any more, but we bonded over the searing meat. She started humming 'Amazing Grace' as we cooked. I joined in after a few moments. Trudy smiled at me and I realized she was humming for Amber. I was touched that she understood, although she had never met my wife.

I turned to hand off the second pot of cooked meat to the next station. I caught Sadie staring at me. She clumsily went back to her paperwork. I wondered if she had heard my confession. I hoped she hadn't. I only told Trudy to spare her feelings, and mine.

If you do prep, you get to eat first. It was a wonderful rule that my growling stomach appreciated immensely. I had been smelling food all day, and had had nothing but water. I was getting used to eating only once a day, but it's tougher when watching it being prepared. There was no cheating or snacking in Sadie's kitchen. I even had to wait for 'Sugar Magnolia.'

Luckily, Houser was near the front of the line. I waited until he sat down before I started eating. It wasn't so much manners as it was a show of friendship. I liked him liking me without the need for my past. I loved feeding off his lazy enthusiasm for life. It was refreshing. Houser lamented about the desert. He hated jello day and passed on his wiggly lemon chunk to me. I like jello. The mix of coolness and sweetness always seemed to please my tongue. Amber used to make triple-layered jello concoctions for me, mixing flavors that should never go together. She never found a combination I wouldn't eat.

"Good evening, Houser." Sadie had snuck up on us in the middle of our desert discussion. Houser nodded with mouth full of food. She leaned down and whispered in his ear. He nodded again. Sadie placed a plastic wrapped brownie on Houser's tray. Houser smiled, showing all his awful teeth.

"I gots to get you warmer clothes," Houser said, never taking his eyes off the brownie. I snapped my eyes up, looking after Sadie. She was moving off, back to the front of the line. Her flowered skirt, greenish this time, swaying confidently back and forth. The books must be in really bad shape.

Houser showed me the shelter where I could get some warmer clothes. It wasn't exactly stylish, but I was now wearing an old brown jacket that looked like it might have been used by someone in construction, and a pair of military boots. The laces in the boots were brown and looked strange against the black leather. It was better than the old loafers I had been walking around in. I really looked the part now. Everything mismatched, but functional.

The next morning started the same as the first in all but one respect. Sadie was smiling when she opened the door. The books must be an absolute disaster. I took a shower, which I now appreciated greatly, and met Kevin . Kevin was a shy younger man who was to replace me on prep. We shared the dryer. Not unexpectedly, there were two of everything waiting for use. Two towels, two toothbrushes and two shampoos and soaps. Sadie never prepared more than necessary. Exactly what was needed and nothing more, but it was always exactly what was needed.

Sadie took me into a small office connected to the kitchen. It looked as clean and organized as the rest of the building. There were three four-drawer black file cabinets labeled by year, plus a small desk with an old computer and small printer. A stack of folders, each labeled with a month and year, were piled next to the keyboard.

"These are this year's receipts." Sadie pointed to the stack of folders, "I hope you are familiar with the accounting system." She logged into a small business system I was quite familiar with. I nodded my head. So far so good. "Can you make sure it is all correct. Nothing can be wrong." I looked at her worried expression. All of this seemed too neat and orderly to be worrisome. "You just want me to audit the books?" I asked, the surprise evident in my tone.

"Please, it's important." Sadie left before I sat down. She never even doubted I would do it, but I did note she used the word 'please.'

I made myself familiar with Sadie's chart of accounts and printed off a balance sheet as of the first of the year. With that starting point, I began matching receipts to journal entries. Her record keeping was meticulous. I had very little trouble reconstructing what she had done. There were no journal entries without supporting documentation and each receipt corresponded to an entry. I was impressed. It is rare to find such perfect record keeping. I ended with printing a current balance sheet and income statement. Everything was perfect to the penny. It had only taken me four hours to complete.

"What's the verdict?" Sadie asked as I walked into the kitchen with my notes. She seemed apprehensive and I couldn't understand where it was coming from. There was no way she could think her books were bad.

"All good," I responded confidently, "you expensed some things as repairs that I probably would have capitalized, but you did it consistently. There is nothing wrong that I could find. In fact, they are very accurate and well done." Sadie visibly let out the breath she had been holding.

"Do you think you could look at the three previous years?" It began to make sense.

"You're getting audited," I stated. Only the IRS could make someone like Sadie squirm. She waved me back into the office.

"Yes," Sadie answered once we were alone. She pulled an envelope from a drawer and handed me the letter inside. The IRS was auditing her last three tax returns and wanted to examine her supporting documentation. There was a paragraph about providing necessary documentary support to maintain her charitable status. The letter seemed to be worded a bit differently than a standard audit letter. The amount of money involved usually didn't generate IRS flags and certainly didn't warrant an audit this deep.

"This seems a bit heavy-handed," I offered when I handed back the letter.

"Will you look at the last three years?"

"Hell yes," I answered, with some fight in my words. I never did like it when the IRS picked on the innocent. Frankly, Sadie was doing the world a favor. I had only known her for three days and I could tell the city needed her. "It will take a few days and I'll need the tax returns."

"Each year has its own drawer." Sadie hastily pointed toward the file cabinets, "The first folder contains the tax returns." "It will be alright," I said, trying to calm her nervousness. "They can only go after fraud. I've seen nothing coming close to that. If your tax returns reflect your financials, this will be nothing but an annoyance." Sadie looked slightly more relieved and even gave me half a smile.

"Thanks." Sadie left the office for a moment then poked her head back in. "What the hell are you doing here?" I guess my skills didn't make sense with my homelessness.

"Nothing criminal, I assure you," I said in all honesty. Of course, if I was a criminal, I would have said the same thing. Sadie seemed to size me up and accept me at my word. Either that, or I was the only one convenient to trust. I was busy putting this year's files into their proper drawer as she returned to work.

Kevin and I were in the front of the line when 'Sugar Magnolia' came over the speakers. It seems auditors gain the same rights and privileges as prep cooks. It was polish sausage night and Trudy winked at me and gave me a slightly larger portion. I winked back in a friendly way and waited for Houser again.

Houser was happy as ever. It was white cake night which was half way to a brownie for him. I think he measured his happiness in grams of sugar. I, on the other hand, prefer a more mellow desert. I moved my cake to his tray.

"I owe you," Houser said with a mouth full of half-chewed polish sausage. I wished I could live day to day like he could. He seemed to have no concerns beyond the present. I envied the freedom he had built in his own mind. My mind was still lost in the past. My precious Amber was gone and I was forgetting her face. I could imagine her touch and her voice. It was her face that was fading. The rest would follow. My mind was too weak to hold on.

"You owe me nothing but good company," I said. Houser laughed and told me about the boat he saw get caught among the pilings under the bridge earlier. It took the better part of the day and two more boats to get it free. To him, it was quality TV. I laughed when he told me how one guy was trying to rig a pull line while straddling both boats. They invariably pulled apart and sent the guy into the river. To Houser, the incident was as good as white cake. For me, a moment not lost in the past.

"Good evening, Houser." Sadie had snuck up on us again. "Why don't you show Frank how get a warm bed tonight."

"Sadie, a man lives where he wants," Houser stated firmly. It was funny watching him consolidate behind his beliefs. I was strangely flattered. Sadie rolled her eyes, reached into the pocket of her blue flowered skirt and placed a plastic-wrapped brownie on his tray. Houser smiled and I stared dumbfounded at Sadie. "But a man ought to know all the options," Houser retracted quickly.

"Thank you, Houser." Sadie never really looked at me. She just headed back to monitor the line.

"You're the best thing I ever pulled out of the river," Houser said slowly as he unwrapped his precious brownie.

"Did you tell Sadie how you found me?"

"That's for you to say." Houser took a small bite of the brownie, obviously trying to make it last. "Sometimes it's best not to say -- leave it in the past." That I had to agree with.

I slept in a lumpy, but warm, bed that night with many other homeless guests. The shelter had rules, which I followed, and I was up, showered and out by 8:00 as directed. The rules were what kept Houser away. "If I want to sleep the day away, I will." His words, not mine.