Miranda now had several bags of things to be donated, and a separate pile to be tossed. She placed four large shopping bags in the back of the car, and headed to the Salvation Army store.
As she drove, she realized that having a tenant didn’t make a difference in her life at all. But then, why should it? Yet she was somewhat disappointed that William was seldom around, and when he was, he was on his computer or jotting down notes. Rather than being on a relaxing vacation, he was intensely busy. Should she try to talk to him? Find out why he kept to himself so much? She could almost hear Ben warning her: Don’t interfere; how William spends his time is his business.
She suddenly remembered a homeless shelter she had come across a few weeks earlier while running last minute errands for Michael. She had gotten turned around and stumbled upon the shelter for teens. She wanted to find a good home for the things she had reluctantly parted with: some board games, a badminton set, a pair of skates that Clara had never really used, a small lamp, and some other odds and ends that she thought young people would enjoy.
Miranda circled several blocks before locating the shelter again. She parked across the street, scrutinizing the building before deciding to go in. It was more run down than she remembered.
She carried in two bags, passing a teenage girl working a pitiful little garden on the side of the building. On the second trip, Miranda saw that the girl was struggling with the hard soil; she dug a hole, put in a bushy plant, and then patted the soil around it. Miranda felt an immediate kinship with the young gardener, and walked over to her.
“Hi there! Starting a garden?”
When the young girl looked up, Miranda winced, noticing the bruised cheek and swollen lip.
The girl bristled at the expression of pity that filled Miranda’s face.
Miranda quickly shifted her attention to the garden. “Oh – you’ve planted shade and sun flowers together.” She pointed to the little bush the girl had just planted. “Bleeding hearts need protection. This would do much better over there, away from the sun.”
The girl rose to her feet and appeared to be deeply offended, but she quickly covered it with a derisive laugh. She looked down at the bags in Miranda’s hands. “Bringing us your rejects? Or did you just come here to give gardening advice?”
Miranda stood speechless. She had wanted to encourage and befriend the young girl. She was about to explain herself, but the girl’s folded arms, raised chin, and narrowed eyes told Miranda to leave it alone. She picked up the bags and went inside.
“Rich bitch,” she heard the young girl mutter.
Miranda whipped around, ready to set her straight – on both points. But the girl had thrown down her gardening tool and was walking away. With a stab of pity, Miranda saw that the tool was an old, bent spoon.
Click Follow to receive emails when this author adds content on Bublish