Safe in Noah's Arms

He tensed. “I never said you were a monster.”

“Oh, please, Noah,” she scoffed. “You think I’m vain and selfish.”

“Yeah. So?”

He expected her to take offense, but she chuffed out a laugh. So, Miss Monica had a certain level of self-awareness of how she was perceived by others. “Honestly, Noah, you’re too blunt. Thanks for the boost to my ego.”

The interior of the truck heated with the goodwill emanating from Monica. She had a sense of humor about herself. Noah would have never guessed. He liked teasing her. “Hey, I believe in being honest.” He softened that with a smile in his voice.

“I like good clothes and nice things, but I’m not selfish.”

“No, I guess not.” Noah smiled at her, momentarily in harmony with a woman who wasn’t as bad as he had assumed.

His perception of Monica shifted.

The next family they visited had had a string of hard-luck events that had left them destitute.

“This damned economy.” Back in the truck after the visit, Noah pounded his fist on the steering wheel. “When will this recession end?”

Monica remained silent, a thoughtful frown furrowing her brow.

They made one more stop, again staying for coffee.

Truck empty and produce gone, they headed home.

Monica stared out the passenger window at the passing scenery.

Noah hoped she’d learned a few good lessons today.

As though she sensed his regard, she met his gaze. “You’re doing this all wrong.”

He choked on his saliva. When he finished coughing, he stared at her. “Wrong? What the hell are you talking about?” Honest to God, he was a peace-loving guy, but she made his blood boil.

Frowning, she admonished, “Watch your language.”

He ignored that, dealing instead with the salient points. “I feed the hungry. I work my fingers to the bone to help the poor. I wear cheap clothes, not designer duds.” His disgusted glance raked her body.

“Keep your eyes on the road,” she said, calm despite his raised voice. “It isn’t safe to look at your passenger while you’re driving.”

“Says Ms. DWAI. Oh, pardon me, Ms. Wet Reckless.”

She pressed her hand against her stomach. “That’s a low blow. I told you I’ve never done it before and I never will again.”

“I don’t care. Why did you say I’m doing this all wrong? What, in your not-so-humble opinion, am I not doing right?”

“First of all, we shouldn’t have had coffee at those houses.”

“Oh, that. Yeah, I’m wired on caffeine, but I don’t want to hurt their feelings by saying no.”

“I don’t mean that.” She flipped hair out of her face with an impatient hand. “Coffee and tea are expensive. If they can’t afford vegetables, they certainly can’t afford to replace whatever meager supplies of coffee they might have. We’re robbing them of a treat for themselves.”

He hadn’t thought of that. She was right. Both were expensive commodities. Suddenly he got a terrible feeling maybe they kept them on hand just for his visits.

“Also...”

“There’s more I’m doing wrong?” He didn’t bother to quell the sarcasm in his voice. He didn’t believe in sarcasm, liked to deal with people honestly, but she’d just blown his decency out of the water. Doing it all wrong, my ass.

“You shouldn’t deliver the groceries to them—”

“Some families are too embarrassed to drive into Denver to the food bank, not to mention using gas.”

“I can imagine. I would be, too. What I meant to say, before you interrupted me so rudely, was that you shouldn’t deliver the groceries when they’re home. Deliver them when they’re sleeping or when they’re at work or church or something.”

She’d snagged his curiosity. “Why?”

“Those visits were brutally difficult. All of that awkward small talk. We’re not meeting them as equals. It’s not a social visit. They were chagrined that we were there delivering charity to them.”

“So?”

“So-o-o...” She exaggerated the word, as though speaking to a child. The woman knew how to get his dander up. “If the visits are hard for us, imagine how hard they are for them. If you’re delivering food once every week or two, then you’re drinking their coffee and embarrassing them on a regular basis.”

Even though it hurt his pride, he admitted she was making sense.

“Plus,” she said with such emphasis he grew wary, “you’re not doing enough.”

“What?” She’d poleaxed him again. Swear words bounced around inside his head like pinballs. “Are you kidding me? How can you say that? I work from dawn ’til midnight every day. I’m doing all I can.”

“I know you work hard.” She patted his arm.

“Don’t condescend to me.” He sounded fierce.

“Sorry. I hate when people do that to me. I won’t do it again.” She removed her hand. “You do great work, Noah, but you could do more.”

“More?” Heat blazing through him like a bonfire, his tone could char toast. Her criticism was so damned unfair. “I work my butt off fourteen hours a day. I do the work that everyone should be doing, but hardly anyone does—caring for my fellow man and the environment. This stuff should be universal. It should come naturally to everyone. But I’m the only one in this community out here doing it day in and day out.” He poked himself in the chest so hard it hurt.

She opened her mouth to speak, but he ran roughshod over her. Not doing enough, my patootie.

“If that sounds arrogant or self-righteous, too bad. I have more passion about these issues in my baby finger than you do in your whole body. I believe in peace and love and communal property and service for the greater good. You believe in clothes, fancy cars, Calvin Klein—”

She gasped. “I never wear Calvin Klein—”

“—and rampant consumerism. You’re the most shallow person I know.”

Only when silence filled the quiet cab did Noah realize he’d been shouting, his last sentence ringing like the bong of a brass bell, its echo still reverberating like a heartbeat.

Oh, geez, that was bad. He shouldn’t have been so harsh. Honesty was a good thing, but not when it devastated another soul...

Tentatively, he glanced at Monica.