Page 42 of Bluffed By the Offense

I’m at the first table when a group of teen boys approaches, not coming right up to the table, but congregating a short distance away and eyeing what we’re doing.

“Hey, Miss Cass,” Junior says.

I used to babysit him when I was in high school. He steps away from his friends and says, “We heard Marcus Delaney was coming.”

“I don’t think he is,” I say. “Do you want to sign up?”

“We wanted to get a picture of you two together,” one of the other boys admits.

“Sorry to disappoint,” I say with a smile. “We sure could use help. If you want to see one of the volunteers, they’ll help you select ways to contribute that match your skills and interests.”

The boys confer amongst themselves. I overhear Junior saying, “We’ll probably be more likely to see Marcus Delaney if we sign up.”

I’m tempted to talk to them about the importance of serving for the sake of helping others, but I’m not sure they’d be receptive.

Winona leans close and whispers, “Don’t worry about why they sign up. We’re getting volunteers.”

“True,” I pull Win into a side hug. “Thank you for keeping my perspective in check.”

A woman approaches our table. “I had to find out if the rumors were true.”

“Rumors?” I say.

“You and Marcus Delaney.”

I glance at Winona. She’s smiling and nodding her head at me, eyes wide.

I turn back to the woman. “He’s not here today. Would you like to sign up as a Porch Light volunteer?”

She looks confused for a moment. People really are just coming out in hopes to see Marcus, or even weirder, to see Marcus and me. I glance at Winona. She tips her head toward the woman as if to tell me to keep going.

I’m about to offer the woman some options for volunteer opportunities when something catches my eye from across the grass near the gazebo. His height makes him instantly recognizable, that and that charismatic quality that seems to capture the attention of everyone around him. He’s not walking, he’s striding with his head held high. There’s even athleticism in his walk.

Winona leans in. “I guess we’re about to get a whole lot more volunteers.”

My mind is like a Ping-Pong table. One side is grateful. More volunteers raises awareness and helps the cause. The other side of my brain is frustrated. One of my goals on the mission statement I submitted to the town council was to connect the people in our town who have resources with those who have needs. I want this to be a personal connection as well as a practical one. If everyone’s here for Marcus, he’s a barrier to the relational bridges I want to build.

A man carrying a massive camera runs up alongside Marcus. A woman with a mic steps up next to the cameraman. I can’t tell what they’re saying from here, but I can tell one thing. They are interviewing Marcus Delaney about his presence here—at Porch Light. And from the looks of things, he’s answering as if he’s the one putting this whole event on—as if he’s the one behind this entire charitable effort.

I close my eyes and take a steadying breath.

When I open them, Marcus and his media entourage are approaching my table. He’s smiling broadly right into the camera.

“Yes, Suzette. I agree. The Thunder needs to contribute to the community. That’s why I’m out here at the volunteer recruitment effort today.”

A swarm of people follows Marcus, streaming into the town square from local businesses and cars that pull up and park. Someone must have seen him appear out of nowhere and our gossip grapevine is just that good.

A few people shout his name. My volunteer coordinators freeze to watch the commotion.

Marcus walks up to me and greets me like we’re old friends. “Hey, Cass.”

The camera is aimed right at us, so I can’t do anything but stare at him. I squeak out, “Hi, Marcus,” and then clear my throat.

“Put me to work,” he says. “I’m here to help.” Then he has the nerve to look around at the unruly crowd he’s gathered and say, “Looks like you need my help. This is out of control.”

He’s so smooth you’d never guess he was turning Porch Light into his dog-and-pony show—one where the ponies are drinking red Kool-Aid and the dogs need rabies shots.

I look to Winona with a Help me! expression on my face. She steps up next to me and leans in to softly say, “It’s going to be fine. Just keep thinking of all the volunteers he’s bringing in.”