Save the Date

by Jenny B. Jones

  “You are still invited to the gala Friday night.” Miss Pierson’s eyes flitted over the walls of Lucy’s office. Decorated with black-and-white photos of past and present girls of Saving Grace, it wasn’t exactly art. But to Lucy, the pictures were more precious than any Van Gogh.

  Tomorrow was the annual event when she would normally receive her donation check, happily assured that Saving Grace would carry on another year. Girls getting their educations. Gaining employment skills. Having a roof over their heads. Now she didn’t know how they would continue through the winter.

  Miss Pierson stood, her body gracefully rising from the scarred wooden chair. “On behalf of Sinclair Hotels, we appreciate you letting us participate in serving our community.” Offering her hand in a limp handshake, Miss Pierson gathered her purse and exited the small office.

  Lucy’s head dropped to her desk. “Why me?” There had to be something she could do. She couldn’t just sit there and let Saving Grace die simply because of one donation, substantial though it was. Lord, what am I going to do? I need some colossal help here.

  She returned to pounding her head and muttering.

  “Is this a private mental breakdown or can anyone join?”

  Lucy’s blonde curls flounced as she sat at attention. “Hey.” The sight of her best friend Morgan should’ve been a welcome comfort. But spotting a young woman standing behind Morgan, Lucy knew there would be no time for her to pour out her heart.

  “I was just telling Marinell here what a calm, sane person you are.” Morgan sat in the chair Miss Pierson had just vacated and motioned for the girl to take the other vacant seat. “But that’s after you've had your coffee.”

  Lucy barely withheld a glare from her smiling friend. “I’m giving crazy a try today. And so far . . . I’m rather good at it.” Lucy turned her attention to the girl who looked like a young Salma Hayek. “Hello, Marinell. I’m so glad you’ve decided to meet with me.”

  As the foster-care caseworker, Morgan had shared with Lucy the contents of Marinell’s file. Age eighteen. Spent the last year and a half in four different foster homes, the last one being so difficult she had dissolved ties with the system and moved out on her own. Getting ready to repeat her senior year, Marinell was homeless and living who knew where on the streets.

  “I told Ms. Morgan I would hear you out, but I don’t plan on moving in,” Marinell said. “I’m fine right where I’m at.”

  “And where is that again?” Lucy asked.

  “With a relative.”

  Most of the girls they saw were so beaten down by their circumstances, they were almost afraid to hope there was something better. Lucy knew Marinell had no family in Charleston but her mom, whose parental rights had been dissolved. Her younger brother had yet to be placed and stayed in a boys’ home. “A relative, huh?”

  She shrugged. “A friend.”

  “Then I guess it’s my job to convince you to stay.” Which would be fine except for the small detail of Saving Grace closing down if Lucy didn’t find some financial support. “Morgan went over the expectations, right?” Marinell just stared in response. “We’re a faith-based operation here. You simply have to go to school, work hard, and follow our rules.” There were curfews, Bible studies, life-skill classes, and responsibilities in the house that the girls had to adhere to. Between Lucy and the two resident assistants, a supervising adult was always at Saving Grace, making sure the rules were followed.

  She and Morgan worked closely together. As a caseworker for the county, Morgan had contact with girls who had aged out of the fostercare system. Once they were eighteen and out of school, the state considered them adults. Saving Grace provided transitional housing for those with nowhere to go. While the state provided some assistance until they turned twenty-one, few young adults took advantage of it and simply struck out on their own. And with foster kids far outnumbering willing homes, the chances for a kid to be out on the streets was shockingly high. It was a national epidemic that the average citizen knew nothing about, and the injustice never failed to light the fuse of Lucy’s temper.

  Morgan would expect Lucy to give the girl the selling points. “Why don’t we take a tour?”

  “I guess.”

  Leaving Morgan behind in the office, Lucy and Marinell started down the hall. Lucy brought her to the spacious living room first. “We had a large church group help out with the décor. This is where all the girls hang out and watch movies or do homework. We have a Bible study here every Wednesday night.” From the hardwood floor to the teal lamps, the room was like something out of a Pottery Barn catalog. Lucy forced away the thoughts of losing it all. Too much work had gone into making this space a home.

  “It’s nice.”

  Lucy saw her eyeing the flat-screen TV over the fireplace. “The girls just got a Wii donated, so we’ve been having some serious bowling competitions this week.” Pleased she got at least a faint smile out of Marinell, Lucy moved on. “We have two halls of bedrooms. Each one has been adopted by a community member and professionally decorated. No two rooms are the same.”

  Lucy flipped the light of one bedroom and walked inside.

  Marinell couldn’t hide the surprise on her face. “I never seen anything like it.”

  “It’s cool, huh? This is our last room left.”

  Marinell ran her hand over the cream-colored duvet, then the printed green pillows.

  “So tell me about your family.” Every girl that came through Lucy's doors had a story.

  Marinell studied an M. C. Escher print on the wall. “My mom moved here a few years ago. My brother got sick and she lost her job. When one of my teachers found out we didn’t have a place to live, the state took us.”

  “And where’s your father?”

  “Gone.” Marinell shrugged as if it were no big deal. “Do you feed us here?”

  “Yes. And you get to learn how to cook.” Thanks to a handful of community volunteers, the girls got trained in various life skills, like preparing a healthy dinner and balancing a checkbook.

  Walking back down the hall, Lucy could hardly make the necessary small talk for her racing mind. She needed time. There were people to call, companies to contact. She had to find new donors. And quickly.

  Lucy guided her back into the office, but Marinell stopped just inside. “What’s that?” Marinell pointed to a series of worn indentions in the sun-bleached wooden floor.

  “Saving Grace was a convent until about five years ago.” The thought always made her heart warm. “This is where the nuns prayed. Those dents there? That’s from many hours on their knees.”

  “You serious?”

  Lucy nodded. “I’d like to think the sisters would be proud of what we do here. Those marks in the floor remind me that I can’t solve anything without putting my own time in on my knees.”

  “My mom and dad are Catholic. Um, I mean my mom is.”

  “But you’re not?” Lucy asked.

  Marinell looked away from the floor. “I’m not anything.”

  Lucy exchanged a look with Morgan before handing Marinell her card. “This is how you can reach me. If you need anything, give me a call—night or day.” Pressing it in Marinell’s hand, Lucy felt the warmth of the girl’s skin, the life that pulsed beneath it. God, help me save this one. “We’d like Saving Grace to be your home, Marinell.” She smiled into the girl’s weary eyes. “And we’d like to be your family.”

  “Do you know how many people have said that to me?” Marinell’s chin lifted in challenge. “I need someone who’s gonna come through for once. I don’t want this to be just another place that lets me down.”

  Morgan smiled. “Then I’ve brought you to the right place.” Lucy listened to her best friend’s words and willed herself not to burst into tears. “I promise, Lucy won’t let you down.”

  Chapter Two

  You really shouldn’t go to this gala, Lucy.” Morgan stuck her head into the bathroom for the fifth time. Lucy’s apartment was slowly filling up with f
riends who were there for a Dr. Who marathon. Though Morgan was hosting, the Hobbits always met at their home base—Lucy’s apartment. Officially the Hobbits gathered twice a month to discuss the latest books, movies, and anything else remotely resembling fantasy or science fiction. Unofficially, they hung out all the time.

  “She’s right.” Chuck, Morgan’s fiancé, ambled in from the crowded living room and leaned into the bathroom. “There’s a fine line between nagging and stalking.”

  Lucy closed her compact with a snap and regarded them both. “I’m not going to hide in anyone’s backseat. I just want to have a calm discussion with a few of the Sinclair board members.”

  They were an odd bunch—Morgan, Chuck, and the group eating pizza rolls in the living room. It was Morgan who had been her first friend after Lucy had returned to South Carolina three years ago. And when Morgan had introduced Lucy to the Hobbits, Lucy had felt like she belonged for the first time in her life.

  After graduating from college in Florida, Lucy had remained in the state working for the Department of Human Services. Three years on the job, and a routine visit had taken her to a home like Saving Grace. She had walked inside a caseworker, but walked out a woman with a purpose and an unmistakable call on her life. And even though she hadn’t planned to return to Charleston, God had lined everything up and all but shoved her on the plane.

  Glancing at her phone, Lucy checked the time. “I need to get going.” She edged past her friends and into her small living room.

  “Lucy, you’re looking ravishing tonight.” Sanjay, a fellow Hobbit, stood a little too close to her and visibly sniffed near her perfumed neck. By day, Sanjay worked in IT. But at least twice a month he put in overtime as Lucy’s own harmless stalker.

  “I can’t stay.” She smiled at the small assembly of friends around her. “I have . . . a thing.”

  “I make a great date for”—Sanjay slowly lifted one dark brow—“things.”

  “Please reconsider, Lucy. Or at least let us go with you,” Morgan said, elbowing Chuck.

  “Uh, yeah.” He sounded about as interested as Lucy would be in sports. “We’d love to go to your swanky party.”

  “No offense, guys, but you’ll just get in my way.” She tugged at the waist of her dress. It seemed to have shrunk since she last tried it on. “I have a strategy for tonight. I owe it to the girls to give this one last try, and for that I need to stay focused.”

  Sanjay was not the most energetic of suitors. “And my nearby hotness would be a distraction.”

  She stifled an eye roll and sidestepped him toward the door.

  Morgan followed Lucy to the door. “Have you at least rehearsed what you’re going to say?”

  “Something along the lines of ‘twelve young women will be homeless because of your decisions.’” Lucy tapped her phone. “I also thought I’d show them some pictures. Let them see the girls they’re kicking to the streets.”

  Chuck nodded solemnly. “This moment totally calls for light sabers.”

  “You should’ve updated me on the donation situation before I all but told Marinell you had a bedroom waiting for her,” Morgan said.

  She couldn’t think about that now. Tonight was about a solution.

  It was times like these Lucy wished she could pick up the phone and call her mother. Lucy had been eighteen when she’d died, leaving a gaping hole in her heart. Sometimes she even let herself wonder what her life would be like if her father was still alive. Lucy had never even met him. She only had two photos of him, but she imagined he would’ve loved her. Provided them with a happy home. If he were alive right now, he’d probably invite her over for grilled steaks and give her loving advice over the smoke from his Weber grill.

  “Let me pray for you—in case you don’t make it back alive.” Chuck threw an arm around her as he cleared his throat and found his youth-pastor voice. “Lord, we ask that you protect Lucy as she speaks with the board members. We ask for you to change their minds. And if that’s not possible, we pray that you’d open a door for the home that only you can open. Oh, and that Lucy would stay calm. And not get arrested. Amen.”

  Lucy lifted her head. “I promise if I need any backup, I’ll call.”

  “Go get ’em, girl.” With his Big Mac body, Chuck wrapped all three of them in a group hug. “And may the force be with you.”

  Lucy’s hands shook as she smoothed them over her little black dress, a taffeta number with beaded straps she’d found at a new resale shop near the mall. The classic A-line had a slenderizing effect and didn’t seem to scream, “I’m allergic to working out!”

  Okay, Lucy. Get your game face on. There is work to be done. A girls’ home to save. Board members to harass. Lord, I seriously need some help here.

  As she looked around the ballroom at the crème de la crème of South Carolina, she struggled to draw a deep breath. She was a cubic zirconium in a sea of diamonds.

  Lucy wove through the crush of people, her mind spinning with thoughts of her girls, her money woes, and the latest Star Wars novel that patiently waited for her on her bedside table.

  “Lucy Wiltshire.”

  She turned at the nasally voice.

  Ugh, not now. She didn’t have time for this. “Hey, Bianca.”

  Bianca Drummond sashayed toward Lucy, her designer dress sparkling under the ballroom lights. A staple at all Charleston society events, Bianca could trace her wealthy family back to the Mayflower. And she made sure everyone knew it.

  “How are you?” Her mouth moved into a pout as she flicked her long platinum hair away from her perfectly rounded chest. “I heard through the grapevine that donations are considerably smaller this year. I sure hate that. I know your little nonprof will be just devastated. I wanted to deliver my donation to you personally.”

  “Oh. Well. Thank you. We appreciate the help.”

  “I don’t want to help.” Bianca handed over a folded check. “That’s to cover some packing expenses. Your home is sitting on land that’s prime for a new parking garage. My daddy’s on the city council, of course, and it’s just a matter of time before that building is dozed to the ground.” She pursed her pouty pink lips. “You hadn’t heard?”

  Some sorority girls just never grew up. “I have an extended lease-to-own contract, so I’m pretty sure you misunderstood.”

  Bianca laughed. “What the city wants, the city gets. Especially when a tenant’s future is so unstable. The building’s owners have been very cooperative with the council.” Her head bounced up as she caught a glimpse of someone across the room. “Must go chat with the mayor’s son. Make sure you send me a receipt.” With a look that dismissed Lucy from her black heels to the top of her blonde head, Bianca walked away.

  A wave of panic threatened to knock Lucy off her heels. Like she needed more bad news. So now not only did she have to find a couple hundred thousand, but if snotty Bianca’s information was correct, she’d be finding a new location soon as well.

  How much worse could this possibly get?

  Alex Sinclair glanced at his TAG Heur watch, though it was a wasted effort. This year he couldn’t make an appearance and leave. Because he didn’t just represent Sinclair Hotels. Tonight he was a man asking for the votes of the First Congressional District of South Carolina. The room buzzed like a hive, filled with dignitaries and connections he desperately needed. The election was in less than three months. He felt the pressure of time slipping away from him like a noose around his neck.

  “I saw your ad on TV last night.” Mayor Blackwell rested his hand on Alex’s shoulder. “Great work. But too bad about that article in last week’s Gazette.”

  “My team is working hard to find the leak. I’m not sure how our information is getting out.” The paper had revealed the records of private donations from very powerful people. Influential citizens who had preferred to keep their party affiliations neutral. Citizens who were now very unhappy with Alex’s camp. Another devastating blow to what was turning out to be a lackluster campa
ign.

  When Congressman Patton had died unexpectedly of a heart attack, no one had expected Alex to throw in his hat for the rushed special election. A blown knee had forced Alex to retire from football at thirty-two. And while the campaign was proving harder than any championship game, it was one fight he wouldn’t limp away from.

  His father joined them. “My son’s the best thing on the ticket. With his ideas for health care, reducing state spending, and cutting taxes for middle and lower classes, the good folks of South Carolina would be crazy not to vote for him.”

  Alex gave a reluctant laugh. “I’m thinking of firing my campaign managers and hiring my parents.”

  Though the media was having a field day with his life at the moment, Alex wasn’t about to give up. It was a foreign feeling—this losing. He was a conqueror. Just like on the field, he should be able to size up his opponent, zero in on his weakness, and go for the kill. But it wasn’t working. Each day held another setback. Just last week People magazine had run a scathing exposé on every alleged bitter girlfriend Alex had ever had. Their group photo had taken two whole pages. Only part of it had been true—the rest lies and toxic slams on his character. Yet, to sue a handful of women wouldn’t get him any points with the voters either. Today’s Gazette had a full-page spread on allegations that Alex had bet against his own team in his last Super Bowl. How could he prove to the voters that he wasn’t the same man they thought he was? He had once reveled in his reputation of being the lady’s man, the party-going celebrity athlete. His antics on the field and off had earned him the nickname the Playboy. But things had changed. He had changed. Losing a brother could do that to a guy.

  He felt powerless to stop his descent in the voter approval ratings. He had won the primary, but the general election was a whole other matter. The August eighth election was approaching fast, and his numbers were in the basement. Desperation was not a familiar emotion, and he needed a solution. Quick. He’d even found himself praying again, something he’d returned to the day his brother had disappeared.