Thanksgiving Surprise

Sam kept busy serving meals at the shelter on Thanksgiving morning. As he slapped stuffing on trays from behind the counter, his mind drifted over to Taylor and Chris living at a Hampton Inn like they won a lottery. He knew with her drug dealing boyfriend back in town, it would put Taylor and her pregnancy at risk.

He ignored the voice in his head from Dr. Reed's advice, "Don't get too involved with Taylor and her baby. Your wife just had a miscarriage. It will cloud your judgement."

The shelter was the ministry that gave him purpose, a place where he got people off the street. He made a difference in the city of Syracuse. And besides, why would God lead her to the shelter, if him helping her wasn't meant to be?

As Sam filled plates and smiled at the toothless grins and bloodshot eyes on the food line, he knew something had to be done.

After serving from the food line, Sam grabbed his coat off a hook in the office and prepared his own plates of food from the kitchen for his trip to the hotel. The outside air was cold and crisp. It hovered around freezing, creating a vapor mist from the remaining snow.

Plopping into his car, Sam put his phone on a speaker and called the number from days ago. He breathed easier hearing Taylor's voice. "Hello."

Taylor, it's me, Sam. I want to bring you Thanksgiving dinner. What's your room number?"

"Um," He heard her speak across the room. "Ok if that guy from the shelter brings over some food?"

In the distance, Sam heard his response. "Yeah, sure, whatever. Isn't he the guy that wants your baby?"

"You mean our baby. And no, my baby is not for sale."

Sam chimed in. "Taylor, no! I've never said that. I want you and the baby to be healthy."

"Room number is 401. And bring some pie. Pumpkin. I'm craving pumpkin."

Sam took a deep breath, fired up his Subaru, and on the way to the motel, he prayed for Taylor, but mostly tried to convince God, he was doing the right thing.

Sam shifted through the automatic doors and smiled at the girl at the front desk. She looked at his bag of covered food. "Are you here to deliver? We have a policy that we call up to the room for them to come down."

Sam limped over to the girl with shoulder length brown hair and bright blue eyes. "Oh no I'm not Door Dash or anything. I have someone who asked me to bring them Thanksgiving dinner and visit for a while. Room 401."

"Ok," she said. "That's 4th floor, end of the hall, and turn right from the elevator."

"Ok, will do."

A stabbing pain radiated from his leg to his hip as he limped to the elevator. He did his best to smile through the pain. He'd forgotten his pills. After having stood in a serving line at the shelter, it was taking a toll.

Sam rode the elevator to the 4th floor, turned and headed for room 401. He knocked on the door. The television could be heard beyond his ears.

As the door flew open, the sound was deafening. Chris stared at him with big brown eyes and a goatee. He smiled until Sam could see silver fillings. "So here you are! The man who wants to give us Thanksgiving dinner. Aren't you a nice guy."

Chris snatched the bag from him and pulled out the covered plates of food. He set it on a cherry wood table with a lamp. But Sam's eyes caught what he knew wasn't spilt sugar on the dresser where the Television was. Taylor Sat on the edge of the bed scrolling on Chris's phone.

Chris reached across the bed and snatched the phone. "I told you I'm doing business on that phone." Then he dove into a plate of food from the desk. He took the other plate and tossed on the bed toward Taylor.

Taylor looked at Sam. "Where's my pie?"

"I'm sorry, we were all out."

Taylor watched Sam, as he looked at her on the edge of the bed with a stretch shirt over her stomach looking like a giant melon on her bone thin appearance. She had racoon eyes. Her once blonde hair revealed dark roots. He knew she was using again.

"Taylor, are you okay?" He shouted over the television blaring.

"I'm fine. Thanks for the meal."

Chris stood up, wiped stuffing from his mouth with a sleeve. "I'm expecting company soon. They may not like you being here."

"Please come back to the hospital."

Taylor flipped through the channels with a lost look.
Chris walked over with his key card and used it to snort the last of his Crack from the dresser.

"I'm praying for you, Taylor."

Chris shook his head from the sweet sting to his brain. "I don't think she's a nun material. Thanks for the grub."

The tension in the air needed a steak knife to cut it.

Sam left like a scalded dog.

In the hallway, Sam got a call from his wife, Sarah. "Sam, where are you? Thanksgiving dinner is ready. Biscuits are in the oven. Are you on the way?"