In N.Va., Let Down By a Rising Economy

"These are truly people who are stretched too far," said Pat Johanson, homeless services coordinator for Prince William County, where 75 percent of the homeless are members of families. "They wind up in cars or on the couch of a relative or friends."

That is where Messick and Willingham wound up. For a month, they slept on couches and floors at friends' apartments. Then they slept in Messick's car, in Wal-Mart and in drugstore parking lots. But as temperatures plummeted early last month, they gave into reality and checked into an emergency overnight shelter.

Now the Fairfax County high school graduates spend their days trying to land jobs, without a home, a phone or other basic resources.

A recent -- and typical -- day: Messick's black Hyundai was nearly out of gas. Neither he nor Willingham had any money, and he wanted to get to a job fair 10 miles away. He needed to get a voucher for free gas from a local nonprofit group. He considered skipping the fair because there was a chance that he could get a day job. But first he had to get that free gas.

"They told us to call back in an hour," Willingham said. "An hour? It'll be too late to get up to the [Fairfax] government building by then," he said, tossing a pen in the air.

He never made it, and he never received the call about the day job.

Messick and Willingham, who share matching midnight-blue lion-head tattoos on their arms, have been together for about 10 months. They lived with each other on and off before Messick's eviction notice came, helping take care of children from other relationships, lending each other money, preparing for their baby. Messick's mother is long dead, and he hardly knew his father. Willingham's mother is also dead, and she is estranged from her family.

Still, life was pretty good then. On a typical day, Messick rose at 6 a.m. and took his son to day care. He arrived at work by 8 a.m., stayed until 5 p.m. and then picked up his son. As he describes it, money was tight, but he had enough to live.

"The only problem I had was whether the guy at the deli was going to get my sandwich right," he said.

Willingham worked as a specialist analyzing government contracts, making about $1,200 a month, while holding down a part-time job for $7.50 an hour. There was child care to pay for and all the other necessities. As her pregnancy advanced, finding a new job became more difficult because her health worsened. She lost the baby in December.

"It's like a sideways spiral," she said. "One day is good. . . . You get a voucher for gas, and you get a job interview. Then something happens. You miss a phone call from an employer, and you lose a job contact. You hear about a job, and it doesn't come through and you've lost a morning trying to find another job."

Unlike in the District, where homelessness has been a problem for decades, it is largely invisible to the daily rhythms of life in the suburbs. As a result, suburban counties have struggled to help those on the margins, many who are unaware of the patchwork of assistance available. The wide suburban distances and lack of transportation options complicate matters.