Nothing was as permanent in Nick Cameron’s life as the alleged temporary. A seasonal layoff had stretched into unemployment and haunted him into financial ruin. Nick sat in a booth across the table from his wife Sarah, their son next to him, and their youngest daughter beside her. He stared at the flat burgers in their wrappers.
“This feast represents the last of it.” Nick slid one to each in his family.
Sarah’s hazel eyes narrowed. “You’re serious?” She leaned over the table and whispered, “I thought you said we had more money.”
He fought to hold back the flood of tears. Battled against his failure. Nick clenched a hand in his lap. “This is it.”
“What are we supposed to do?” Sarah slumped into her booth. “We have, what, a quarter of a tank left?”
Nick peered out the restaurant window at their hatchback. A 2014 Subaru. Hubcaps had been stolen two weeks ago. Covered in dust and dead bugs. Everything they owned was packed into black garbage bags and stuffed into the trunk. “Maybe that. Should get us another eighty miles or so.”
“There’s no way we can make it to my folks’ place now.” Sarah propped her head on her hands atop the table. “It’s time to find work. Check into a shelter and get some help.”
“You think I haven’t been trying?” Nick sipped his cup of ice water. “Nobody wants to interview some transient with no address.” Admitting defeat, helplessness—it wasn’t in the Cameron DNA.
Their eight-year-old, Kacie, piped up from her mother’s side. “What’s wrong, daddy?” Her brown eyes studied him with curiosity.
“Nothing, sweet pea. Go on and eat.”
“What it means,” her slightly older brother said, “is that we’re now broke—and homeless.”
Sarah scowled at him. “Tim, shush it.”
Their son muttered under his breath, “Well, it’s true,” and gnawed on his cheeseburger.
Aromas of fresh onions and ketchup made Nick’s stomach grumble. “Guess I could ask for work at the local churches. Maybe the cemeteries.”
“Gross.” Tim dunked a fry into his glob of ketchup.
Sarah helped Kacie with her wrapper. An older couple ambled past them to the next table, sniffed the air and wrinkled their noses, then moved on to the far end of the diner. Sarah stared into Nick’s eyes. Her face, framed by greasy strands of brown hair, melted into a mask of sorrow. Tears welled. She blotted back her embarrassment on a grimy shirt sleeve. “It’s time. It’s only a few miles away.”
Nick’s mood soured.
“Just for a little while,” she said. “Until we get back on our feet at least.”
“I’m not letting my family live in one of those places mixed in with who knows what kind of people.”
Sarah rested a hand on his forearm. “I’d hate to break it to you, hon. We are that kind of people.”
Nick lowered his head. “There could be thieves in there. Addicts.” He blocked his mouth with his hand and mouthed, “Child molesters.”
Sarah picked up her burger and wagged it. “What choice do we have? Begging?”
Nick groaned. “We’re—”
“Better than that?” Sarah pinched a morsel off her sandwich and ate.
He unwrapped his burger and tore it down the middle. Nick set half on its wrapper and slid it to the center of the table. “It wasn’t my fault.” The warm sting at the corner of his eyes returned. “Twelve years and they up and fold.” He let a tear run.
“I know it wasn’t. You couldn’t have predicted your job or your mom.” Sarah forced her bite down and sniffed.
“Still can’t believe she’s gone.” Nick took a breath and collected himself.
“The shelter has help. Food. Clothes. Social workers.” She laughed. “Showers. God, what I wouldn’t give for one.”
He rubbed the nape of his neck. “Does sound good.”
“They could help us find work,” she continued. “Maybe even loan us some money for gas.” Sarah reached around her soda and squeezed his hands. “Please. For me? For us?”
Nick finished his dinner and downed the last of his water. “I’m sorry it’s come to this.” He spun the cup slowly on the table. “What kind of guy can’t provide for his family? Drives them to the homeless shelter?”
Sarah brought his hands to her lips and pecked them. “The kind who came into some bad luck. Who has the courage to swallow their pride and continue to provide for his family the best way possible.”
Nick stared at his world on four wheels, then at his wife’s tender gaze. “Fine. Once we’re finished here, we’ll go check in.”
Joshua Dyer writes short stories and novels in various genres. Several of his works have earned national and international recognition in competitions and appeared in numerous publications. He is a full member of SFWA and RWA.
**Featured image credit: Makeen M.Alaa—Unsplash, cropped