Edge (Gentry Boys #7) Read Free Page B

respect the privacy and safety of the other Homestead families.  Food distribution is on Wednesday with supplements available upon request.  Donations are regularly received in the form of clothing, school supplies and other necessities so obtaining anything you need won’t be a problem.  Your unit is furnished with one bedroom and a sleeper couch with a fully functional kitchen.  The daycare facility opens at six a.m. and closes at nine p.m. for our working parents.” 
    I paused and smiled at the two little girls who clung to their mother’s side like frightened rabbits.  Their solemn brown eyes stared back at me.  But when I withdrew a large jar of lollipops I kept underneath my desk their faces lit up.  I raised an eyebrow at their mother in question and she gave a smiling nod so I offered the jar to the girls.  They made their choices carefully, as if they weren’t used to such treats, which they likely weren’t. 
    In her interview their mother had confessed that the three of them had been living out of her car for the past three months, ever since her latest bum of a boyfriend had smacked the youngest girl across the face. To the woman’s credit, she had taken her daughters and moved out within the hour even though she had nowhere to go and no money to get there with.
    I tried to imagine it, living on the street with two young children.  I couldn’t. 
    Once I put the jar away I slid a key across the table.  “You’re in unit forty two,” I said cheerfully as I stood. “Let’s walk over there now.” 
    The woman, Krista, held the key in her palm.  She gazed at it in tearful awe for a full minute.  I waited patiently because I understood. 
    Whenever I checked in a new resident the reaction was similar.  These were families after all.  Families who had fallen on hard times and just needed a small boost to get them over their personal hurdles.   Homestead was able to house one hundred and twenty seven separate families.  In order to maintain a safe environment all applicants were screened for criminal backgrounds and drug abuse.  For the most part these were not people who were used to life on the streets.  They’d tumbled into one of those small cracks that sometimes sideline the best of us. 
    My father still didn’t understand why I chose to work for peanuts at a non-profit organization.  Last year when I returned to the Phoenix area he assumed I’d accept a generous position at his commercial real estate office.  The thought had never even crossed my mind. 
    Krista trailed me shyly, hand in hand with her two babies, as we walked over to their unit.  Evening was closing in and other residents were arriving home.  Some of them greeted me by name and a few of the children regarded the little girls with frank curiosity. 
    Unit forty two was a one tiny bedroom with a sleeper sofa, a full bath and a kitchenette.  Once we were inside I looked around approvingly at the neat condition, thanks to the housekeeping staff that had finished a thorough cleaning only an hour ago. 
    The little girls held on to their mother as she wandered around the small apartment.  To a lot of people it wouldn’t look like much but to this little family a safe place to sleep, a door to close, and a private bathroom meant the world. 
    Krista grabbed me in a sudden hug.  “Thank you so much,” she said and I heard the emotion in her voice.  “My girls and I are so grateful.” 
    Her accent was familiar.  After four years of college at UNC Chapel Hill I’d learned to recognize the soft drawl of the Carolinas. 
    “Here’s my card,” I told her.  “Call me if you need anything.  I’ll check in once a week to make sure all is well.” 
    As I shut the door I heard Krista and her daughters break out into happy laughter. I smiled.  
    Phoenix had homeless shelters but there was never enough space and they tended to be harsh places for women with children.  Homestead was not a shelter, not