Corsica slipped a hand inside her briefcase and pulled out a contract. “Up until this minute it didn’t look like the best deal in the world, but under the circumstances, it might be just right. I found a house—a small three-bedroom in Fortuna. The owner is willing to rent it for a pittance plus taxes if the renter is willing to improve the property by cleaning it up, getting it back on its feet so it can be sold eventually. Maybe the time is right,” she said.
“For?” Mel Sheridan asked.
“For opening a center,” she said. Then she looked pointedly at Dory. “With a full-time director. After all, this is what we’ve been working toward for three years. We can discuss salary and get busy on a grant that will provide health benefits for Dory and the kids.”
Mel grinned. “And Dr. Michaels and I can provide some medical coverage in the interim. We should actually look into whether you can keep your coverage from the grocery store until you can replace it with coverage from the foundation.”
It took Dory a minute to respond. “Are you serious? Do you think I’m qualified?”
“You’re completely qualified,” Corsica said. “You’ll grow with the position, certainly. But you’re the reason we’re all headed in this direction. No matter what happened to your job, you have always been the perfect choice. After all, this whole operation is built primarily on the model of the foundation that helped you. Yes, Dory. You’re the one. The question is, can you afford to take a chance? This is nonprofit work—it’s hard and it’s a gamble.”
She smiled at them. “It’s going to work,” she said. “We’ve always known that because there’s a desperate need, it has to work.”
They talked a little about what they could afford from their treasury for salary and rent and improvements for an old house that needed a lot of work.
Dory found herself laughing. “Why do I feel like a burden has been lifted from my shoulders when, truthfully, it’s hardly enough money to live on? I mean, I don’t want more salary. I want our funds to go where they’re needed most—to the women and children. But I should be crying when instead, I feel like singing!” Then she laughed some more. “I’m insane, that’s what!”
“Or maybe it’s because you no longer have the pressure of working for an ungrateful, selfish boss,” Mel said. “Instead you’ll be working for something you can believe in. Take it from someone who is often paid in produce—it’s a privilege to be able to do work you love, work you believe in.”
“Really, it could be so much worse,” Dory said. “My uncle Joe left me that little house free and clear. I just have to pay the taxes, insurance and utilities. If I didn’t have an old car to keep running, I’d have hardly any expenses besides food, clothing and… Oh! Day care. School will be out soon and I have to do something about summer!”
“Let’s look around for a good community summer program for Sophie and Austin,” Corsica suggested. “It won’t be full-time, but they’re well-behaved kids. Maybe they can help around the office sometimes. And if we have a center, we have a place for our volunteers to meet, a place for women in need to go, a place for our support groups and classes.”
“Oh, and as you know, I’ve been at work on the agenda for our third annual conference,” Dory said. “It’s going to be better than the last two. Those workshops are vital—they changed my world. Actually, I need to meet with the conference committee soon, get a report on their progress, find out who they have in mind for the workshop leaders and instructors. But first I have to find a way to get a young woman to Colorado, back to her mother, where she and her baby can be safe.”
“We have a little money in the emergency fund,” Mel said. “This sounds like an emergency to me. Why don’t I get Simone a ticket on my charge card and the organization can reimburse me later?”
“Do you mind? Because if you can do that, I can call Simone and tell her.” Then she shrugged. “And I’m free to drive her to the airport in Redding—the car is fixed and I…” She laughed. “I don’t have to go to work tomorrow.”
“Dory, my love, I don’t think you’re going to have a real day off for a very long time!” Corsica said with a laugh.
DORY SPENT THE REST of the week at the old small three-bedroom house in Fortuna that was to become her group’s new resource center. Along with some volunteers who were as giddy with excitement as she was, they cleaned, painted, made minor repairs and scrounged around secondhand shops for essential furniture. Mel donated the computer from her Virgin River clinic—it was time for them to upgrade their equipment anyway. The biggest expense they had was finding and buying filing cabinets that actually locked.
They found an old desk for her office, which would occupy one of the bedrooms, a sofa and a couple of chairs for the living room, a big old distressed-oak table for the dining room and a bunch of mismatched chairs to sit around it. The stove still functioned and Mel’s husband found them a used refrigerator that worked. Dory had asked him what it cost and he’d said, “Don’t worry about it—it was practically a donation.” She knew that meant he’d purchased it.
At the end of the school day she would fetch Sophie and Austin and take them back to the house/center, where they would help. At six and eight, they weren’t the most efficient helpers, but they tried, and at least they weren’t in expensive after-school day care.
Having a phone installed was very important to their operation and Corsica managed to get it done quickly, pulling in all her favors. The first call Dory made was to Colorado, where she spoke to Simone at her mother’s house. The young woman was safe for the time being, but of course she had many needs, the most essential of which was some counseling, a support group of some kind—any available help to get her stronger, more sure of herself and independent, so she didn’t run the risk of repeating this disaster with yet another toxic relationship. Dory spent most of their conversation trying to point Simone in the right direction, encouraging her to search out support groups. All she could think was that nonprofit assistance to single mothers was needed everywhere. With the economy in such a mess, social services were tighter than ever and what government agencies considered flab—usually assistance for women and children—was always the first to go.
At the end of the week the crowning glory came when Jack Sheridan and John Middleton presented Dory with a sign that would fit over the porch. “The Single Mother’s Resource Center.”
Dory stood in the street in front of the house—all cleaned up, some of it painted, the ratty grass and flower beds trimmed and weeded—and she cried. “Oh, my God, I can’t believe it. It’s so beautiful!”
“The sign’s not exactly beautiful,” Jack said. “It’s homemade—but the price was right. Free. We didn’t want to spend money on signage when there are women and children who need basic stuff.”
Mel handed her a small box, and she opened it to find business cards bearing her name, the address and phone number for the center, and a small list of available services. They were simply beautiful to Dory. “Where did you get these?”
“I signed up for one of those online Web sites that offer five hundred free business cards. Bet you go through them in no time. And John just about has the center’s Web site ready—take a look at it in the morning and if you have any tweaks, let him know.”
“This is really happening,” Dory said. “After three years of doing the best we could, we actually have a real, live, nonprofit resource center.”
“Dory, we’ve gotten a lot done in three years, and now with more space, more volunteers and more time, we’ll help more people. Thank you for bringing us this vision.”
“Thank the Zoë Institute,” she said. “Without them, I don’t know where I’d be today. I sure wouldn’t be holding business cards with my name and the title Director on them.”
DORY FELT SHE’D HAD one of the most productive weeks of her life, and for some reason she couldn’t explain, she’d had no sense of doom over the loss of her steady job. With overtime she had earned a little more than she was making
as the director of the center, but not enough more to make it worth putting up with Mr. Sills’s constant criticism and haranguing. And Corsica was so right—even though she had hardly begun as the director, she was already so much more fulfilled, so much happier.
Dory had left one of the three bedrooms in that little house empty of furniture. She and the rest of the board of directors had been hauling around donated nonperishable food items and supplies in their cars for women in need, but now she could create a bona fide, well-stocked food closet. The first thing she planned to do next week was visit some of the big-box stores like Costco and ask for donations on a large scale to stock that closet. She’d promise them good press and a mention on the Web site. She would hit all the stores, including Target and Albertsons, and she’d even swallow her pride and check with Mr. Sills’s grocery in Fortuna. She’d be lucky if he didn’t spit in her eye, but this wasn’t about her. She’d ask anyway.
But the next thing on her agenda was to make red beans and rice for Sunday dinner with Clay. She’d been too busy to think about it much and was surprised to realize she wasn’t stressed out about it at all, but rather very excited. She’d been on the run so much all week, she hadn’t even seen him to wave across the yard. With her time divided between work and The Single Mother’s Resource Center, she didn’t hang around the house with time on her hands much.
The kids were so jazzed about having Clay to dinner, they helped her by cleaning their rooms and doing a few chores around the house. And to her surprise, Clay must have been looking forward to it, too. He stopped by her house at around noon on Sunday and said, “You never told me what time.”
“Would five be too early for you? I know you bachelor types start your evenings at ten at night. You probably haven’t eaten earlier than nine in years. But the kids—”
“Five is great. Is there a wine that goes with red beans?”
She just laughed at him. “Clay, do I look like someone who knows anything about wines? I couldn’t tell you. I usually drink milk with the kids. We’re keeping our bones strong.”
“I drink a lot of milk, too, but for the first time you have me to dinner, I’m going to find something special.”
“Knock yourself out,” she said. “Now, get out of here. I’m not ready for company. I’m cleaning and I look a wreck.”
Without smiling, he said, “No, you don’t, Dory. You look as good as ever.”
She just shoved him out the door. “I’ll be cleaned up by five—now, go!”
When he came back, he brought with him a six-pack of imported beer, nice and cold. “There is no special wine for red beans,” he announced. “I checked with a couple of people and both recommended this.”
“I can’t remember when I last had a beer,” she said. “Do we have one now? Or does this go with dinner?”
The kids came screaming out of their bedrooms before he could answer. They practically tackled him, they were so excited. He’d never been inside her house before, had never seen their bedrooms, and they wanted to show him all their stuff. They wanted to play with him as if their mother had invited one of their friends from school for dinner rather than an adult she was looking forward to sharing an evening with, also. But he grinned while one pulled at each hand and said, “It probably goes with the beans, but tell you what—let’s save it for later. After things…you know…quiet down…”
And she thought, Excellent idea.
The food was delayed while the kids dominated Clay’s attention. Then over dinner Austin and Sophie talked about everything going on at school, and their excitement over signing up for T-ball and Little League. They even brought up the resource center and how they’d helped their mom with cleaning, painting and moving furniture. “She’s the boss, you know,” Sophie announced proudly.
“That doesn’t surprise me at all,” he said, just as proudly. Then to Dory he said, “That means I’m going to see you guys around here even less than before. Being the boss carries responsibility. How many jobs is that now?”
Dory was frozen for a second. “Oh, Clay, I haven’t seen you since that day at the grocery store! Oh, my gosh, so much has happened, and you don’t know any of it! First of all, we had some emergency money in our fund. Mel Sheridan is our CFO—she’s in charge of the money. Her husband, Jack, says we couldn’t have found anyone better. He says prying a nickel out of her is harder than getting a— Oh, I’ll save that. But trust me, it’s colorful. Anyway, she got a plane ticket for that woman we rescued, and she and her baby are safe with her mother in Colorado. And Corsica Rios, the social worker who really started the group, found us a house for an office and center, so we’re kind of moved in and have been fixing up. We spent all week hunting for used furniture and donated paint. We cleaned, weeded and did whatever fixing up was needed—the kids helped, didn’t you, guys?”
“We did!” Sophie said.
“I painted a wall,” Austin reported.
“Oh, and I got fired,” Dory said.
“What?” Clay asked.
“Mr. Sills, the manager at the grocery store—he fired me. For leaving my cash drawer unattended to run into the parking lot and get into that situation with Simone and her…her… What do I call him? He isn’t really a boyfriend. Well, the guy they arrested.”
Clay’s eyes grew dark and angry. “He fired you for that?”
“He said there were other things, too. He said that was the last straw. But I don’t agree about the other things….”
“What other things?” Clay ground out the words.
“He said I missed work too much, which I would dispute. We had a little flu last winter, but the kids are healthy and haven’t been sick much. I had to take a couple of days for our single moms’ conference, but I don’t do that regularly. It’s an annual thing, and I tried to explain how important it is, but—”
“He fired you?”
She nodded. “He said I wasn’t reliable, yet I worked all the overtime he’d give me—I always needed the money. I think he’s missing something, to tell you the truth. I was pretty dedicated to that stupid job because I needed it, but I’m not mad, Clay. I think the best thing happened. I took the position at the resource center, and we needed someone full-time to pull all the strings together, to keep better and more consistent records, to manage the volunteer program. It’s a little less money, but it’s not going to kill us to tighten up—we’ll just eat more red beans!” The kids sent up a cheer, making her laugh. “The only thing missing at the moment is a medical benefit program, but the board’s working on that. We needed this change—up till this week, we were all so busy with our full-time jobs, there was no one available to hold the reins of the foundation. But we’re growing. There will be more employees, and every year that we grow, we’ll do more.” She leaned toward him, and with passion and drama she said, “I’ve kept a room empty for a food closet! Do you have any idea how many women we encounter who don’t have diapers or formula for their babies? Or enough food for themselves? I’m going to fill up that room with nonperishable food and supplies, like diapers, soap, shampoo and essentials.”
Clay’s lips were pursed in a thin line and she thought maybe his eyes clouded a bit. “That’s wonderful, Dory,” he said, and his voice was gravelly. “I’m proud of you.”
She was confused by his emotional reaction. “It’s going to be great,” she said.
“Let me help with the dishes,” he offered. “Then it’s about time for that beer.”
She laughed. “Sounds like a plan. Kids? Wanna clear for us?”
IT WAS EIGHT O’CLOCK before all the dishes were done and the kids were finished with their baths and settling for the night. Dory excused herself to make sure everything was under control, then she said to Clay, “I think your first dinner at our house was a success. You have very adequate table manners.”
“Thank you. And you have excellent red beans. Let’s have a beer on the porch while we talk about grown-up things.”
“I’m all for that.” Dor
y took her beer and headed outside. She sat on the porch swing while Clay settled on the porch rail nearby. “This is so nice, so peaceful,” she said. “I have myself running around so much, I never take time to relax like this. Thank you.”
“Dory, you know all about Elizabeth and the boys. I spend a lot of time with them. It happens their dad is pretty good about seeing them, but it doesn’t hurt for them to have more than one male influence.”
“Positive influence,” she said with a smile. “Stan told me he has a sister who’s a single mom, too. In fact, he said something that will always stick with me. He said, ‘Who doesn’t have a sister—or at least know someone—who’s a single mom?’”
“I mention all this as a way of explaining—I asked Sophie where her father is and she drew herself up real tall and said, ‘Our mother says we don’t have to answer that question unless we feel like it.’ And apparently she didn’t feel like it.”
“Oh, good for her,” Dory said. “She’s strong! I wasn’t sure how she’d deal with that and I don’t want the kids at school to tease her or give her a hard time. I didn’t want her to feel she had to explain, either. And I’ve been meaning to talk to you about this—I probably put it off too long, but it was a matter of being sure of our friendship. But it might help explain the way I behaved when you first moved in and started getting in my business.” She laughed a bit uncomfortably. “At least I hope it will explain my reaction to your attempts to be a good, helpful neighbor.”
He leaned toward her. “Tell me,” he urged. “You can trust me.”
She took a deep breath. “Sophie’s father is in prison. We’re divorced. He was a violent man. I got involved with him and eventually married him. I was too young and dumb. Like a typical abuser, he separated me from my family, moved us to Oklahoma, out of my uncle’s reach. He shoved and slapped and talked real mean, but then one night he really lost it and beat me badly enough for a 9-1-1 call. He was scared of what would happen to him, so he took the kids and ran—but he didn’t get far.”