He thanked Barnes and crossed two streets so quickly that he almost forgot to lock the car.
The New Hope Baptist Church occupied a modest brick building with a small side entrance and a hand-painted garden in raised planters at the front.
Through the basement windows I could see movement, folding tables, stacked bread boxes, volunteers with hairnets.
He went down the steps with his pulse pounding in his throat.
Inside, the room smelled of cut fruit, coffee, and industrial cleaner.
The children huddled near a wall with paper bags and winter coats.
The volunteers worked on an assembly line under fluorescent lights.
And there, at the central table, was a woman wearing a denim shirt with sleeves rolled up to her elbows, skillfully and expertly cutting sandwiches into triangles.
He recognized her before he saw her face completely.
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