Christian later regretted Becca’s career change, frustrated by how much time and energy the work required. “You’re like an addict and this job is your drug,” he often said. She couldn’t deny it. There was a cost when forced to deal with the endless merry-go-round of suffering. Many people in the unit burned out, got divorced, suffered mental breakdowns. Becca understood how challenging it was, but she couldn’t imagine doing anything else. In many ways, this job healed her.

It was almost ten-thirty when Christian and Becca arrived at Downtown Mission, a private Christian homeless shelter. Hundreds of people were queued up, waiting in line as volunteers piled heaping servings of scrambled eggs and bacon onto their plates. Becca led Christian away from the craziness and into the depths of the mission, zigzagging through a maze of hallways toward a back office tucked in the recesses of the building. She knocked on the door and heard a muffled “come in.”

Becca opened the door and found Patrick sitting at his desk. Late fifties, he was never without his LA Kings cap perched on his head, a perpetually frazzled scowl on his face. Upon seeing Becca, the scowl was replaced by a smile. He waved her in. “Hey, Becca, good to see you. Please have a seat. I’m going through these budget reports, so you’re saving me from a nervous breakdown.”

Becca and Christian settled across from him, the two of them practically knocking knees in the cramped space. “Pat, this is my… this is Sergeant Christian Stevens.”

Patrick nodded, the furrow in his brow returning as he studied Becca. “How’s Ash doing? We really miss her around here. She’s such a great kid. Clients loved her. Staff too.”

Becca leaned forward, rubbing her hands against her jeans. “What do you mean you miss her? She’s been volunteering here three times a week.”

An awkward silence lingered. Patrick leaned back and took off his glasses, tiredly wiping his eyes. “I’m afraid that’s not true. A few months ago Ash came to me and said, between school and her photography, she was too busy to continue volunteering with us. We were really sorry to lose her.”

Jesus, Ash, more lies? How was it possible that Becca didn’t know about this? How could she have been so blind to what Ash was doing? Teenagers were adept liars, she knew that, though it wasn’t much comfort right now.

“You could’ve called me… I wish you would have,” Becca said, trying to keep the accusation out of her voice.

“I didn’t think anything about it. Ash’s court-ordered community service ended almost a year ago. She wasn’t obligated to continue volunteering. I’m so sorry, Becca. I really am.”