by Ali Franklin
“Good morning, Veronica. I do have work to do.” Emma tried to sidestep the tiny woman, but Veronica had other plans.
“I’m glad you’re here. I want to talk to you about the dinner-dance.”
Emma took a deep breath. “Everything’s ready to go, Veronica. There’s nothing for you to worry about.”
“That’s why I wanted to talk to you. I’ve changed my mind about the menu.”
Emma froze. “What?”
“The menu, dear. I want a different cut of meat.”
“Cut of meat.”
“I want tenderloin, not sirloin.”
“Not sirloin.” Emma was having a hard time processing Veronica’s demand. Then it hit her. “Wait—not sirloin? But I’ve already ordered it. I’ve even paid for my half already.”
Veronica waved a hand dismissively. “That’s not a problem. You can use that in your restaurant.”
“The meat is coming in fresh, and the restaurant is closed that weekend for the event.”
“Well, you’ll think of something. You’re very clever with your little business.”
Emma opened her mouth to protest, but Veronica turned away and walked to the counter. Emma stood watching her for a moment, then realized her phone was buzzing. She looked down to see a text from her sous chef asking her to pick up two pounds of salted butter while she was out. The butter made her think of the steak, and the steak made her remember Veronica’s haughty instruction.
Emma wasn’t going to get saddled with the cost of the already-ordered sirloin plus the new tenderloin. Besides, the proceeds of the dinner-dance would barely cover the cost of the more expensive meat. Changing the menu would mean the event would raise far less money.
Emma watched as the chairwoman argued with Lonnie over whether or not he’d put skim milk in her drink. The barista ended up dumping the large cup and starting again, showing Veronica each ingredient as he added it. As usual, the woman got her way through sheer force of will.
Emma thought hard. For years, she had gracefully walked the line between being a business owner and someone who didn’t want to work with idiots. So how was she going to convince Veronica to stick to the original menu? She stepped to the counter and turned to the chairwoman.
“Veronica, let’s talk about the steaks. There’s no reason to change the menu now. We’d have to increase the ticket price in order to raise any money, and we’ve already sold most of the available tickets.”
“Oh, that’s not a problem,” said Veronica. “We’ll just put out a press release saying you printed the wrong price on the tickets. We’ll tell them they’ll have to pay an extra ten dollars at the door.”
Emma gaped. “You can’t be serious.”
Veronica batted her eyes in an attempt to look innocent. “No one is going to have a problem with an extra ten dollars. It is a fundraiser, after all.”
“That’s not the point, Veronica. People have already bought tickets, and I’ve already set the menu. Let’s keep things as they are.”
Veronica removed the lid from her coffee and blew across the top. “I’ve made up my mind. We’re having tenderloin.” She resettled the lid and reached for her keys. “I’ll see you Monday night for the committee meeting. You can announce the change then.”
“Veronica, I’m not going to announce the change. Let’s at least talk to the committee about it. They might have an opinion about increasing the price of the tickets after they’ve been sold.”
The chairwoman stopped and turned toward Emma. “If you aren’t professional enough to adjust as the circumstances change, maybe you’re not the businesswoman I thought you were. Maybe you’re not even the acceptable caterer I thought you were.” She turned and left the café.
Emma stood in the middle of the aisle, holding her now-lukewarm cappuccino. She looked down and realized she was squeezing her credit card so tightly that it was digging into her palm. She took a few deep breaths and relaxed her shoulders. Then she followed Veronica out the door.
Lonnie shook his head as he watched her leave. “Poor Emma.”
After completing her normal Saturday morning workout at the pool and rewarding herself with bagels and lox, Ryan attended a noontime Hawks women’s basketball game. She listened as some of her colleagues in the faculty and staff section commented on how far women’s sports had come since “the old days.”
Some of the more seasoned faculty remembered when women’s sports had barely been tolerated by universities, even after the introduction of Title IX. It had taken some colleges years to provide equal opportunities to women when it came to athletics. But while it still seemed that men’s sports garnered more attention than women’s programs at many schools, support for women’s athletics at Haverwood had always been high.
Ryan loved to attend activities in the Hawks’ Nest at Russell Arena, the big coliseum and sports complex. The arena always felt alive with activity, and today was no different. More than half of the seats were filled. She hoped the Turleyville Tigers, were intimidated by the size of the Haverwood crowd.
The game was tight, but the Hawks were victorious. Ryan stood at the entrance to the tunnel and offered high-fives as the players walked off the court. The student athletes were always grateful to see Ryan and the other staff at their games, and several gave her quick hugs as they walked by.
After saying goodbye to her colleagues, Ryan walked back to her car, excited to have the rest of the day to herself. She decided to grab some takeout and head home to double-check her plans for the chili cookoff. There wasn’t much left to do, but she wanted to make sure she’d covered every detail.
She drove to one of her favorite restaurants, the Ginger House. She was looking at the menu when she felt a tap on her shoulder. It was Father Paul Woo.
“Father Paul, how nice to see you.”
The young man smiled. “Hello there, Dean McCabe. I see you like Thai food as well as chili.”
Ryan returned his smile. “I’m pretty sure I like Thai food even more than chili, but I’d appreciate if you kept that to yourself.”
“Your secret is safe with me. I just ordered. Would you like to join me?” He gestured to a table in the corner.
She was looking forward to getting home, but she didn’t want to be rude. She followed him to the table. A server came by and took her order, and soon Ryan and Father Paul were immersed in a discussion about the FLH.
“I hear we’ve almost sold out of pancake breakfast tickets,” said Ryan.
“That’s right. And we’ve got all of our workers lined up and ready to go.” His smile faded and he looked down at the tablecloth.
“Is something wrong?”
He peered at her through his thick round glasses, considering his next words. “I know the tennis tournament is on both Saturday and Sunday. And I know we have the chili cookoff on Sunday afternoon.”
“That’s right.”
“Ryan, do you think we could have pancake breakfasts on both Saturday and Sunday morning?”
“Don’t you have mass on Sundays?”
“We do, but we also have mass on Saturday night and Sunday night. I think it’d be okay if we skipped a Sunday morning so we could perform this service for our community.”
Ryan could tell there was something else behind the man’s request. “We’ve never done it that way, but I don’t know why we couldn’t. It would mean double the work for you and your team.”
The priest exhaled and his shoulders relaxed. “We’re okay with that. We need to raise more money. A lot more money.”
“We’re on target to raise more this year than we did last year.”
“I know, but it’s not enough.”
She watched as Father Paul fiddled with his utensils. He moved his knife an inch to the right, then followed it with the spoon. He picked up the knife. Holding it by the handle, he turned it over and over, staring at the blade.
“Father, the FLH makes a good deal of money for county organizations. We’ll never make enough to meet al
l their needs, but it is a good event.”
Father Paul grasped the knife tightly for a moment. Then he placed it carefully next to the spoon.
“You don’t understand,” he said. “I promised the kids at the orphanage we’d get them their gym this year.”
“The orphanage? They’re on the list of recipients. Are you worried they won’t get enough money for a gym?”
He shook his head. “No, I’m saying…it’s just that it’s is so important to them. We raise money for them every year, but it always goes to something other than the gym.”
He fidgeted with his utensils again.
“A donor came forward about a month ago and offered to pay for the whole thing. I already told the kids about it. They’re so excited.”
“That’s fantastic,” said Ryan. “So what’s the problem?”
“The donor just backed out.” His face was still.
“So you want to use the second day of the pancake breakfast to raise money for the gym?”
He nodded.
“You know the money from the FLH is split evenly among the organizations that are selected for the year,” said Ryan. “We can’t make changes to that plan without the committee’s approval. But I’m willing to support the idea if you ask them. We can do it at the meeting tomorrow night.”
The priest put his elbows on the table and rubbed his face with his hands. “But that’s just it. It has to be a unanimous vote, and she’s on the committee.”
“Who?”
“Veronica Arrington.” He said the name with no emotion.
“You think Veronica won’t agree to let you manage two pancake breakfasts?” asked Ryan.
He ran one hand through his short gray hair. “Veronica is the donor who backed out.”
Ryan’s eyebrows rose. “Did she say why?”
“I’d rather not go into that. But the thing is, I promised the kids. They have their hearts set on it.”
Ryan sighed. “Tell me about the orphanage, Father.”
His face lit up. “I’ve been working with them ever since I came here three years ago, and it’s a terrific place. They get funding from the state and the county, and they’ve also been adopted by the parish as a special project. Our youth group goes out there at least once a month to help fix up the place and play with the kids. And we take up special offerings for them a few times a year.”
Ryan watched as the man’s face became more and more animated. She could tell by the way he talked that the orphanage was a special place.
“Our parishioners aren’t wealthy,” he said. “But they open their hearts and their wallets as much as they can. A decent basketball court with a covering and some bleachers is expensive.” He looked back down at his place setting. “I was just so sure Veronica was going to keep her word.”
“Father Paul, I have an idea.”
The priest looked up to see a huge grin on Ryan’s face. “What is it?”
“We can raise money for the gym outside of the FLH, which means we won’t need Veronica’s approval—or anyone else’s, for that matter.”
“How?”
Ryan leaned back in her chair. “We have men’s and women’s sports teams at Haverwood and thousands of fans. If you want to do a pancake breakfast—or any other event—to raise money, I guarantee you’ll have dozens of volunteers from the college community. They can help spread the word, buy tickets, and they’ll even help build your gym.”
“They’d really do that?”
“I’m absolutely positive,” said Ryan. “You don’t need Veronica or the FLH to get those kids their facility. In fact, I know some students who’d be more than willing to help you put together an event. I’ll talk to them this week and ask them to get in touch with you.”
Ryan smiled across the table at Father Paul. He’d transformed from a man with a huge weight on his shoulders to someone who found hope in another direction.
“Ryan, I don’t know how to thank you. You’ve made my day—my year. Bless you.”
“Thank you, Father.”
The server brought their food and they ate, enjoying each other’s company and talking about Father Paul’s work at the orphanage. When they parted, they agreed not to mention the orphanage or the gym during the committee meeting the following night. It was none of Veronica’s business.
Chapter 4
Danielle Nunez gathered up the bowl of popcorn and a handful of napkins. She called down the hallway of the little apartment.
“Joanna, if we don’t start soon, we won’t have time to finish the show before bedtime.”
“Mo-om,” came the exasperated response from the tardy eleven-year-old. “Don’t start without me. I’ll be there in a second.”
Danielle went into the living room and sat on the loveseat. It was one of the only pieces of furniture in the room. There was also a rickety TV stand and an old armchair with a spring that had popped through the bottom. Four cinder blocks held up a piece of plywood that served as a coffee table. With an old sheet covering it, the table almost looked fashionable. She set down the popcorn and picked up the remote.
Danielle and her daughter celebrated “girls’ night” almost every Saturday. Danielle’s job as a nurse in the obstetrics unit at the hospital meant her schedule wasn’t always predictable. But she and her colleagues had worked out their shifts so that most of the nurses knew where they’d be most nights of the week.
The older nurses in the OB ward had looked out for Danielle ever since Joanna was born. The young girl had quickly become the favorite visitor on the floor, owing to her vivacious personality and willingness to make friends with anyone her mom introduced her to. The team had become even more supportive of Danielle after Joanna’s autism diagnosis at age three and the subsequent disappearance of her father from their lives. It really did take a village to raise a child, and the nurses at Haverwood County General Hospital made sure Danielle and Joanna were part of a very special village.
Joanna was going to graduate from fifth grade this year. She was excited but a little nervous, as going into the sixth grade meant changing schools. Her public elementary school had included a teacher dedicated to supporting the kids with behavioral and learning differences, but there was no such teacher in the public middle school.
Danielle had worked countless extra shifts for years in an attempt to save enough money to send Joanna to a private school with the right kind of resources beginning in sixth grade. She’d saved a lot of money, but tuition was high and Joanna had many more years of school in her future.
The private school Danielle had in mind was called Cedar Hill Academy. It had an outstanding reputation and offered partial and full scholarships to low-income families. Danielle and Joanna had an interview scheduled with the scholarship committee the week after the FLH. They’d had been practicing how they would talk with the committee when the time came. Joanna thought of it as a game, a chance to make a few new friends. Danielle hoped she was right, but she laid awake at night wondering what she would do if they didn’t get at least a partial scholarship.
But she wouldn’t think about that now. It was Saturday night and the young woman in question was down the hall doing something that kept her from her favorite TV program. Danielle started to get suspicious. She tiptoed around the corner and moved toward Joanna’s room. Through the cracked door, Danielle saw Joanna standing in front of the mirror with her mom’s lipstick in hand.
The girl’s lips were liberally coated with the dark color. She turned from side to side, pursing her lips and throwing air kisses at her reflection. Danielle covered her mouth, not wanting Joanna to know she’d been spying. She tiptoed back to the living room and called again.
“Jo-Jo, come on. Last chance, or it’s bedtime.”
She heard a thump, then footsteps bounded down the hallway.
“Geez, mom, can’t a girl get a break around here?” Danielle turned her head away, trying not to laugh at the girl’s use of such a grown-up phrase. Instead of asking where she�
��d learned it, Danielle held out the popcorn toward her daughter.
“Do you want some of this, or do I get to eat it all myself?”
Joanna skipped into the kitchen. “I’m going to get my own bowl so you don’t eat it all.”
“Okay,” said Danielle. “But I’m starting the show.”
A few moments later, they were snuggled on the couch under a blanket, each holding a bowl of popcorn. They were five minutes into the episode when Danielle’s phone rang.
“Oh, brother,” said Joanna as Danielle pushed the button to pause the video. “Is it work?”
Danielle grabbed the phone from the coffee table and looked at the screen. “No, it’s Mrs. Arrington. She’s probably calling about the silent auction. I’ll just tell her I’ve got everything under control, and then we can finish watching.” She stood and moved into the kitchen to answer the call.
Veronica wasted no time on niceties. “Danielle, did you work at the hospital today?”
“Yes, I worked the morning shift.”
“Was there a meeting of the Board of Directors?”
“I have no idea. But I’d be surprised if they met on a Saturday. Aren’t you on the Board?”
“I’m an ad hoc member, but I didn’t hear about a meeting.” Veronica lowered her voice. “I saw Mayor Delgado leaving the hospital today. If there wasn’t a meeting, why was she there?”
“I don’t know why the mayor was there, Veronica. Maybe she had an appointment with her doctor. Or maybe she was visiting a patient.”
“Is she sick?”
“Veronica, even if I knew the answer to that, I couldn’t tell you. We have rules about patient confidentiality.”
“Oh, I know, dear. But I was hoping you’d tell me because of the special… relationship we share.”
Danielle frowned. “Relationship? You mean as committee members for the FLH?”
“No. I mean the relationship we have regarding Cedar Hill Academy.”
It took Danielle a second. Then she spoke carefully. “Do you mean you want me to tell you about Mayor Delgado’s health in exchange for help with the scholarship board?”
