Kevin is an Ohio boy with a four-year old daughter and a dream of starting a restaurant. Holli loved to sing, dreamed of attending Julliard and someday being an opera singer.
A diagnosis of thyroid cancer put an end to Holli's dream. I asked if she was angry, bitter that her dreams were shattered. "I'll always sing," she said, drawing closer to Kevin. "I just won't sing on a stage."
I met Kevin and Holli in Portland as they headed south to Arizona. They weren't necessarily homeless, but they also didn't have roots, a place they could comfortably call home. Upon receiving the diagnosis, they decided to head north to Washington State, to live with her family during treatment. But something veered off course in Washington, and they were reluctant, or too embarrassed, to share the details of the story. But whatever happened, they lost their home in Washington and were back on the bus, heading to Arizona and, hopefully, a home. Their options in Arizona were limited to his drug addict mother, a possible room with one of their few Arizona friends or a homeless shelter.
Despite the uncertainty facing them, Kevin and Holli were surprisingly upbeat-and clearly in love. Once they get some stability under them, they plan to marry. "We know we found each other for a reason," Kevin said. With that, they pulled each other closer, taking refuge under their blanked, impervious to the typical Greyhound chaos surrounding them. I guess, for Kevin and Holli, home really is where the heart is.