Best Foot Forward (18 page)

I walked over to the display by the front. Picked up a cherry red sling-back with a three-inch heel. “I think I've got it in her size,” I said, and went to the back, heart racing. I don't know what it was about this moment, but I felt the power of caring for people so strong. I jumped on the sliding ladder, pushed it toward the eight-and-a-halfs. I took the box down; something told me to get two boxes. I carried them out to her. She sat there with the box on her lap and opened it so slowly. She just lit up when she saw those shoes.

She tried them on, stood there smiling and crying.

“They're perfect,” she said. “Have you got another pair . . . for me? I'd like to wear them to the funeral.”

I handed her the second box.

She touched my hand.

I watched Tanner rush back and forth on the sales floor. I knew he had the fire and if he fanned it long enough, it would turn into a torch—the thing that lights the way for every true person of sole.

Nobody sets out to sell shoes, really. People aspire to bigger and greater things. But there's something about feet that certain people were born to understand.

Some people say there should be more to life—more money, more prestige. I don't think much about that. I just try to focus in full on the person's two feet in front of me.

 

“I'm not sure why I came tonight,” said the girl seated across from me at the Al-Anon meeting. “I don't know what to say. I'm just having a hard time. I don't think I can talk to a whole group.”

Ron, the counselor, nodded to me. I'd been taking new people under my wing these days. I was trying to soar a bit more in my free time, too.

People tried to encourage the girl, but she just closed up.

The meeting ended; she sat there. I went over to her.

“Hi, I'm Jenna.”

She looked down. “I'm Chloe.”

“You were brave for coming,” I told her. “It's not easy to do.”

“I didn't say anything.”

“There are lots of meetings where I don't say anything.”

Chloe looked at her hands. “Stuff at home is . . .” Her voice cracked. “
Nobody
understands, Jenna. . . .”

I sat down next to her and smiled. “I do.”

She nodded, trying not to cry.

“Listen,” I said, “all kinds of things can turn around.”

I looked up at the picture of St. Francis surrounded by peaceful forest animals. That picture used to bother me when I first came here; now it seemed like St. Francis was holding a woodland recovery group.

I pointed to the picture. “Those animals were emotional wrecks before they started coming to meetings.”

Chloe laughed through tears.

“It's safe here,” I told her. “I can promise you that.”