Sunday morning was bright but chilly, although it warmed up in the afternoon. Mike finished his three miles of hiking around the outlets, then they loaded their donations into his car.
“Where is this food pantry?” Sunny asked as they drove off. “Is it downtown?”
Mike shook his head. “Real estate there is too expensive. They’re in a store on Stone Road—what used to be a store. Place went bust, and the landlord can’t get a new tenant, so he’s letting the Elmet Ladies use it.”
Sunny nodded. Even in a long-settled development like the New Stores, there was always one hard-luck shop. Sunny had seen three tenants, for example, in the space next door to the MAX office. As a landlord, though, it was probably against Ollie Barnstable’s principles to let the place out for free.
As they neared their destination, Sunny recognized the place. It was a stand-alone store with a good-sized parking lot. First it had been a showroom for high-end car stereos and alarms, and then a guy had tried to operate a computer repair shop. Its last incarnation had been as a ninety-nine-cent store, and even that had failed.
“They couldn’t get people out here even to buy cheap crap,” Mike said, nodding at the number 99 that still showed in the plastic sign over the door. “They left it up because it’s the 99 Elmet Ladies.”
A hand-painted poster saying FOOD PANTRY had been taped to the inside of the window.
Sunny got out their box of food. Mike held the door for her as she entered the store. It was a very bare-bones arrangement. A makeshift counter stretched across the interior space, cutting off the back corner of the former store. It had obviously been knocked together out of plywood, although an attempt had been made to create a homier atmosphere by stapling gingham-style plastic tablecloths over the bare wood. Behind the counter, industrial-style metal bookcases stood at right angles against the walls. Helena Martinson and several other women stood stocking or rearranging the contents. While the shelves weren’t quite bare, they weren’t overflowing either.
Mrs. Martinson spotted them and went to the counter. “Oh, thank you, Mike! And Sunny,” she added.
“Not many customers,” Sunny said, glancing around. Except for herself, Mike, and the Elmet Ladies, the store was empty.
“Officially, we’re closed on Sundays,” Mrs. Martinson explained, “except for real emergencies—and to restock.” She began unloading the carton they’d brought, arranging the contents into different piles.
“Ah,” she said in satisfaction when she came across the hams. “We try to come up with three meals a day for each customer, but it’s hard to offer anything balanced when we’re depending on donations. Zack Judson tries to help, giving us some of his overstock, and we’re trying to shame the big supermarkets into helping, too.”
She noticed the hand-lettered label on the side of the box. “If you’ve got any books you’d like to get rid of, Sunny, we’ll be holding a sale next month.” Her cheeks got a little pink with embarrassment, but she continued her pitch. “We’ve got to raise funds any way we can.”
“I’ll see what I can do about that,” Sunny promised, remembering the hectic job of getting her stuff out of her old apartment. “Thinning the herd might be a good idea. It will give us a bit more space in the garage, although Shadow will miss the piles of boxes. He likes to play at mountain climbing.”
“Toby likes to climb, too.” Helena bobbed her head a little, grimacing. “At least he tries. Most of the time he tumbles and takes something down with him.”
“Youthful energy,” Sunny said hopefully. “Sooner or later, he’ll settle down.”
“It’s a lot more responsibility than I realized, taking on a pet.” Mrs. Martinson finished her sorting and called over a couple of the other ladies. “Maybe I should have listened to Carolyn Dowdey—”
“Carolyn Dowdey!” One of the other women made the name sound like a bad word. “When we set up the 99 Elmet Ladies and made plans, she was right in the middle of everything, voicing her opinions on how to do everything. But when it comes to volunteering to help out—I haven’t seen her in almost a year.”
“Her cat was very sick, and Carolyn had to spend a lot of time taking care of her,” Mrs. Martinson offered weakly.
“Towards the end, she had to give the poor animal some sort of shots,” Helena Martinson went on.
The other volunteer loaded up her arms with one of Helena’s piles. “You see it in here,” she said, “like this one family. They were doing fine until the husband lost his job at the shipyard. The wife sold Avon or something, but even with that and unemployment, they had a hard time feeding themselves and a kid, much less a pet. And when their dog got sick, what could they do? A vet’s bill comes to about a month’s rent.”
Sunny nodded, but she was still chewing over Helena Martinson’s last comment.
