He shrugged. “I thought about that. Why do you think those are there? I really concentrated on the children who didn’t believe or said they were too old to believe … and who had good ideas, of course. Keep going, I have an idea.”
“But how many of these can the company possibly fulfill?”
He gestured that she should keep reading. “Let me worry about that.”
She finished the letter, where the boy’s mother requested cameras on all the buildings, then flipped to the next letter.
Dear Santa,
My daddy says if you could board up and paint the broken windows, our neighborhood would be better, and I could play outside more.
Dear Santa,
We need computers for school, please.
Dear Santa,
Please make those bad men down the street leave so I can play outside.
Dear Santa,
Mamma says we should plant gardens in empty lots, but we don’t have tools and seeds.
She kept flipping and flipping and flipping … She froze on her cousin’s letter.
Dear Santa,
Please clean up the prairie so we can play …
Maura stopped, but then thought better of relaying to Rick that the letter was from her cousin. No reason to divulge that. He’d already chosen the letter without knowing. If her cousin’s letter garnered a scholarship, though, she’d have to mention it.
His fingers stroked his close-shaven beard, just a bit more than a five-o’clock shadow. The length when men’s facial hair was the softest, she remembered vaguely …
His eyes caught hers. “You stopped reading again. We really will be here all day, which is fine. I don’t have any other plans.”
She fanned her eyes with the letter, doing her best to dry the tears that were forming. “This is what I mean about complaining. I complained that I didn’t have enough when I was young, but I did. At least I had a backyard. Many of the local children play in the same place where people shot up the night before. It’s just not right.”
He nodded but didn’t say anything. Instead, he stood, then stuffed the papers she wasn’t holding back into the satchel. “Let’s go make a difference. Do you need something to eat? Breakfast? Coffee?”
“No, thank you. I ate.” Even if she hadn’t, she didn’t want him buying her breakfast or even coffee.
He headed for the front door, and she realized she’d incorrectly had her eyes on the elevator. No wonder she hadn’t seen him. It was Saturday, so finding a parking spot on the street wasn’t difficult.
Half a block away from the building, he unlocked his truck via the fob and then held open the passenger door for her.
Although it was cold, it was sunny, so she took off her overcoat before climbing in.
Rick drove to the other side of town while she busied herself by reading more letters.
Mostly, the children wanted items for their school, library, and their neighborhood. The overall theme was so we can play and so we can learn. Why nearly every penny of taxes wasn’t going to the betterment of society and health of children, she couldn’t understand. She had tried to read the proposed budget for Chicago, but she just didn’t get it. The seven times she had found the word children, the information was vague or stuffed within another project, so she had no idea what monies actually went to children’s projects. The world’s future was in the youth, so it always amazed her how little was actually being done to help with their health, both mentally and physically.
Maura looked up as Rick turned down Race Avenue. Throughout downtown, wreaths and bows embellished the intersections. And yet, only a few blocks away, she hardly recognized that it was the Christmas season.
The southside streets were just as glum as they always were. Worse, the soup kitchen didn’t open for hours, and already the line stretched the entire block.
Rick didn’t say a word, just kept driving to their first marker. He stopped at the end of the street and pointed.
Maura looked up to see a community garden. Yeah, it was mostly battered sticks and leafless vines, but she imagined what the area looked like in the summer. Hope filled her. “Yes! That’s what we need more of.”
Rick nodded and turned left. Adjacent to the garden was a large fenced-in area that held goats. “I’d suggest we get out and pet the goats, but we have a lot of stops. I just wanted you to see this.”
He stopped again on Lowe Avenue. On one side of the road, a park took up several blocks, but on the other side of the street, several of the houses were boarded up. Many of the neighborhoods they drove through had empty lots and demolished buildings worse than her community.
Rick sighed. “I tend to agree with what that one child’s father said about painting. It’s not an all-out fix, of course, but I was reading articles where other major cities boarded up and painted the broken windows and weathered doors of abandoned homes to look like open windows and decorative doors. Just in this area alone, the city has demolished nearly a thousand abandoned buildings, but then … nothing happens with those lots. I’m not sure what the answer is, but I agree with you, Maura; living like this doesn’t inspire much hope in our youth.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying you’re right, but then again, you’re wrong.” He pointed to the empty park. Not a soul was there, even on a sunny Saturday. Sure it was December, but Chicago kids were used to the cold. “Even if we build parks and gardens,” he pointed to the other side of the street, “as long as those empty, run-down houses are there, who’s going to bring their kids to play?”
“Does that mean you think they’ll pull the project?”
He dropped his head and blew out a breath. “No, no one’s pulling the project. I just think it’s going to be harder than I originally expected.”
Maura felt her cheeks get hot, and her eyes stung again. She’d felt so hopeful.
“Hey …” He lifted his hand to her cheek. “Maura, I want to do this. I’m just saying I don’t think I will be able to pull off more than one project in a week, but I know what we can do …”
She blinked, making sure her eyes were dry. Upset was one thing, but she didn’t want him to see her cry. “What can we do?”
“Well, there are a few spots that I think cleaning up and making a park will make a difference. And … I already contacted the owner of one, which just so happens to be the city, and the woman I spoke with was excited about it, so I’ll drive you by the location. But … I had another idea.”
She licked her lips. Rick sounded excited. “What’s your other idea?”
“I’m so glad you asked. We’re going shopping!”
“Shopping?”
“Yes, that’s why I put that letter on top. No one can stop us from making sure every one of these schools and libraries have enough art supplies and books. If children can’t escape outside their homes, at least they can escape into creative arts.” He smiled broadly again. “Which in my mind is sometimes better anyway.”
Chapter 8
After they’d walked the lot Rick had suggested they could easily clean up — because the rest of the neighborhood was already ninety-some percent refurbished, and because the city was excited about the prospect of a park — Maura had to confess that this idea was from her cousin.
“Rick …”
“Yeah?” He turned to her, his face flushed from the cold and his lot pacing. He’d counted off the width and depth based on his stride length.
She stood at the corner, her coat wrapped securely around her as she eyed the trash and weeds, and God-knows-what else beneath them. She didn’t want to tell him, but she had to. It wouldn’t be right otherwise.
He approached her. “Don’t you think it’s a good idea? I know it’s a better neighborhood, but still …” He pointed to the long line of three-story brick homes, most of which had been turned into three apartments in the space that used to be one home. “The children have little for backyards, and I already spoke with the parks and rec department. They�
�re ninety-nine percent sure the city will approve building a park.”
Maura dropped her head, staring at her boots. “My eleven-year-old cousin wrote that letter. Her mother leases an apartment on this block.” Again, it wasn’t really a lie. Okay, it was a lie of omission, but he didn’t need to know she lived there, too.
“So?” He shivered, then motioned her to the car, a hand at the small of her back.
She felt instant warmth from the touch. “I just figured —”
He opened the door, allowed her to get in, then stooped down, hiding from the wind. “You figured your cousin doesn’t deserve what others do?”
“No,” she said, a chuckle slipping out. “I just figured she wouldn’t qualify.”
He shook his head. “You didn’t choose the letter. I did.” He tucked her coat inside, then closed the door.
Next, Maura followed Rick around the wholesale warehouse, where he bought two cartfuls of goods. He darned near bought the store out of every type of arts and crafts supplies.
“Are you sure this is okay?” Maura asked.
Rick smiled. “I was given a huge budget for this. Seems the higher-ups know a good idea when they hear it.”
Maura rolled her eyes, then instantly felt immature. What had possessed her to behave so childishly?
Rick handed the cashier a membership card, but then glanced down at her. “What was the eye-rolling for?” He scanned a credit card and accepted the receipt, never once looking at the price.
Maura waved him off and started to load items into boxes. “Sorry. That was uncalled for.”
Instead of demanding she explain her behavior, he pushed the cart toward the exit, offering the man at the door the receipt. “Merry Christmas!”
“Same to you!” The man looked at the cart and the receipt and stroked a long fluorescent line up the paper. No way could he have counted everything, but he handed the receipt back with a smile. “Looks like you two will be busy.”
“We will!” Rick said. “Thanks!”
Rick is a nice guy, she realized. Not just to her. Everywhere they’d been, from the pizza parlor to the tapas café, and everywhere they’d been today. He smiled and said hello and Merry Christmas.
And she’d rolled her eyes because of one comment. Something that wasn’t even about him.
At his truck, they loaded all the boxes into the rear seat, and then he walked around to her side of the truck again, opening the passenger door.
He closed the door without a word, headed back to his side, turned the key, but then didn’t shift the vehicle into reverse. “Will you please tell me what I said that upset you?”
She blew out a breath. “It wasn’t what you said, and my action was uncalled for. I had no right. It’s just … the higher-ups never knew a good idea before. I submitted my idea two years in a row, along with countless other articles. Even now, they didn’t put my name on the Dear Santa article, so … Why would I think some higher-up that I’ve never laid eyes on knows a good idea? Obviously, you made this happen, Rick. It had nothing to do with my idea. They obviously hired you because they recognized your talent and didn’t want to say no when you brought them your first idea.”
He closed his eyes and rested his head back. “That’s not it at all, Maura. I promise you that. The higher-ups know this is your idea, but they insisted I not step on any toes until my position is announced in January.” He leaned forward and shook his head. “I’m sorry … I tried to put your name —”
She held up a hand. “As I said, I was out of line. I’m just happy that the children will benefit. It doesn’t matter if my name is listed.” She said the words … wanted to believe the words. Yes, she only cared about the children. Her time would come.
Rick shifted the vehicle into gear and headed back toward the office. Neither of them said a word as they drove the nearly vacant streets. This side of Chicago wasn’t busy on a Saturday afternoon.
Once again, he parked out front, then they carried stacks of boxes through the lobby, piling them near the elevator. Inside, she held the elevator while he loaded the boxes inside.
“Do you need my help unloading them?” She had no idea where he was going to store them.
He looked up from the stack he’d just built, blinking, as if her words had confused him. “I was hoping … Do you have somewhere else you need to be?”
She glanced at her watch. Ben had yet to call. She knew it was supposed to be a lunchtime party, but she assumed they’d be done by now. She’d already arranged for Brittany to pick him up if needed. “Not really.”
“Then, I’d love your help.”
She stepped away from the buttons, allowing him to select the correct floor.
She shook her head when she realized he had a next-to-the-top-floor office. Someday …
“I’d planned to buy you lunch for your help. Do you have a preference? Pizza? Burgers?”
She shook her head.
“It’s the least I can do.”
She laughed. “I didn’t mean no food. It’s just … I’m lactose intolerant, and I don’t eat meat. I eat fish and eggs, though.”
“Chinese, then?”
“Perfect. Garlic shrimp in sesame oil, not butter, and vegetable fried rice, please.”
He tapped his phone, swiped a page, typed furiously, and then pocketed his phone before the elevator dinged its arrival. “On its way.”
Maura held the elevator Open button while he unloaded the boxes. When she stepped into the corridor, the view made her heart thrum faster, but she held back a sigh. The elevator opened to a large lobby with windows all around, so that the lobby and every office had a fabulous view of the city and the lake.
Rick unlocked one of the glass office doors and kicked down the doorstop, propping open the door. “Excuse the mess. I haven’t unpacked yet.”
She looked for a nameplate or position on the door. The glass was empty, but he’d obviously landed a great position. He’d said he was in charge of the company image, but she wasn’t sure what that title would be. Public Relations, maybe.
Rick carried all the boxes into the office, then stepped out again. “We can eat in the waiting area.” He walked to one of the leather sofas and plopped down, back to the glass, as if he’d seen the view a thousand times. “So … is there a specific day you’d like to help me box up the packages? While the majority will be going to schools and libraries, I thought we could make special gifts for the children who requested books and art supplies, and maybe even a lot of the others who didn’t.”
Maura nodded and walked to the wall of windows. She stared down at the city she’d grown to love, but couldn’t help but feel sad at all she’d seen today. Literally, in many cases, one street separated the haves from the have-nots.
She’d seen tiny faces peeking through gaps in the window blinds, then wondered if the child lived on a street where young children had been shot by stray bullets.
Through the windows of a skyscraper, most of the structures looked the same. Is that why she wanted a condo on LSD and an office on the fortieth floor, so she wouldn’t have to hear the city’s cries?
“Maura …” He rested his hands on her shoulders, then looked out at the city. “I know it’s sad, and I promise I’ll do my best to make a difference.”
She turned. “Why does it matter to you?”
“I grew up here, too. Before my mother married my stepfather, we lived in some of those not-so-nice neighborhoods.” He touched her cheek. “You made me see what I’d forgotten. It doesn’t matter how well I do. I see the need. And because it matters to you.”
A soft sigh escaped her throat. “You don’t even know me.”
“I know enough. I know you’re compassionate. I know you want to make a difference. It makes me want to be better, too.”
She turned back to the window but wrapped her arms around her midriff. “I do care. Like you, my mother made a better life for herself, but a lot of her friends and relatives didn’t. I just don’t think any neighb
orhood should have a sign that reads, Don’t Shoot, Kids Playing. It makes me sick.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault. Many say that where you live is a choice, and in a way it is, for an adult. A young person can choose to study and go on to college, but until then, they can’t choose not to get shot because some gang member got in a fight outside their apartment building. No one should have to live that way.”
“I know —” Rick automatically stepped back as the elevator dinged its arrival. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll get the food.”
Maura felt stupid. Yeah, her thoughts were important, but it wasn’t Rick’s fault his mother had married well, and he’d come from wealth. At least she assumed he did, based on the way he dressed, his watch, his speech. Then again, maybe he’d fought his way to the top the way she’d been trying to.
She pushed her stereotypes aside and settled herself at a small conference table.
Rick set down the bag and rummaged through the items. “I ordered the same meal you did, so dig in.” He set down two meals, an extra foil plate he opened, which was an entire tray of vegetable fried rice, then opened a box of four spring rolls. “The menu said they’re vegetarian.” He opened another container, which contained crab Rangoons. “Crab counts as fish, right?”
She bit down on her lip to hold back a smile. “Umm … yeah, I should have said I eat seafood, but those have cream cheese.”
He smacked his head. “Oh! Strike two! First pizza, then cream cheese. Of course, you didn’t tell me on our first date.”
Her mind latched onto the word date. She lowered her head to hide her burning cheeks. Why was this man able to make her blush faster than any other man she’d ever met? Just being with him made her insides crave … She wasn’t even sure what it was she craved. Companionship? Sex? Love? All of the above?
He pulled out another container. “Sushi? No milk, right?”
Chicago Hope Page 6
