Jack plopped the water bottle down next to me. "Drink!"
Taking a breath, I looked up from the slowly shrinking pile of unpeeled potatoes.
"I'm good."
"No, Jas, you're not. It's well over a hundred here. If you pass out, you're no good to anyone. Actually, take the water out to the alley."
"I'm—"
"I have no idea what you do in the real world, but here, I'm the boss. Take five or go home."
"I can't go out there. It tears me up to see them waiting, all lined up. Especially the kids. I'll drink water."
Disappointed, he shook his head. "Go upstairs to the office. I'll get someone on the potatoes."
I kissed his cheek before heading upstairs. Opening the window, I took a deep breath of the crisp air before sitting in the old chair with the cracked leather. I could still see them, but the distance helped. The homeless and the destitute queued up. It was our biggest day of the year.
Politicians looking for photo ops would come later, slouching out of the shadows, teeth gleaming with the sparkle of promises that were a mile wide but an inch thick. They would shake hands like psychic vampires, stealing from those that needed the most while offering nothing but empty words in return. Modern-day Rumpelstiltskins, they spun PR gold from the hay of the forgotten.
They were worse than useless. When Dad went missing we tried everyone. He'd donated to their campaigns, worked phone lines, and knocked on doors to stump for everyone in his party. How did they repay him? Indifference. Not one of them lifted a finger to help.
Eight years ago I'd heard the shouting as I walked in the door. When Dad turned to look at me, I knew something was wrong. He seemed broken. He pulled me into a hug, shaking.
"You're my daughter and I'm your father. Always. Always, Jasmine."
