Chicago Hope
Carmen DeSousa
Chicago Hope
Copyright© 2020 by Carmen DeSousa
ISBN: 9781945143861
www.CarmenDeSousaBooks.com
www.WrittenMusings.com
Cover Design: www.CoveredByMelinda.com
U.S.A.
This is a fictional work. All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are solely the concepts and products of the author’s imagination or are used to create a fictitious story and should not be construed as real. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form by any means, without the prior permission in writing, except in the case of brief quotations, reviews, and articles.
For any other permission, please visit www.WrittenMusings.com for contact links.
Book Description
Aspiring journalist Maura Hall dreams of changing the world, but she'll settle for Chicago.
Wanting to build a better life and eventually change the world, Maura uprooted herself and her eight-year-old son from the Sandhills of North Carolina and planted roots in Chicago, Illinois. After three years of struggling to publish even one hope-filled article, her dreams begin to crumble and fade, much like her run-down tenement. She works a second job to make ends meet and struggles to balance parenting with work, while her journalistic responsibilities are reduced to correcting typos for her plagiarizing co-workers.
Rick Figueroa seems perfect: he’s handsome, smart, and appreciative of Maura’s vision for their media company. He’s also in a position to share her writing and ideas. Together they launch a Dear Santa project that has the potential to restore hope and Christmas cheer to thousands of children.
But things are not always as they seem… As Maura’s attraction to Rick grows, so do her questions about his identity and his intentions. Soon she is faced with a choice between love, career, and doing the right thing…all before Christmas.
What readers are saying about Carmen’s books
"Great story and even greater message…" — Goodreads (Some Lucky Woman)
"You'll be swept off your feet along with Jaynee as she discovers the man of her dreams. You'll be drawn into the drama. And you'll flip the pages fast as Jordan must desperately figure out the truth in time. I was and did!" — New York Times bestselling author Jaime Rush (She Belongs to Me)
"The characters are interesting, real-life people, and the plot twists and shifts in ways I didn't see coming." — Goodreads (When Noonday Ends)
"This story is completely unique, and is definitely not generic sex and vampires. In fact, I think Creatus will redefine the paranormal genre. Creatus has intrigue, suspense, romance, and tremendous depth." — Goodreads (Creatus)
Listen to the MUSTN’TS, child
Listen to the DON’TS
Listen to the SHOULDN’TS, the IMPOSSIBLES, the WON’TS
Listen to the NEVER HAVES, then listen close to me —
Anything can happen, child.
ANYTHING can be.
— Shel Silverstein
Chapter 1
Maura’s phone buzzed its alarm as it rattled across the wooden barstool she used as a nightstand.
Even at the risk of oversleeping, she never set an audible alarm, lest the rest of the apartment wake up as well. Yeah, it was early, but waking up at four a.m. meant a hot shower, an hour or so of alone time, coffee, and most important … time to research trending news and social topics, so she’d be ready with a five-minute elevator pitch if the need ever arose.
Six years of college hadn’t landed her a position in the big leagues. The only way she’d make it to the top was if she ended up in the right place at the right moment. And when that serendipitous encounter happened — the moment all ambitious professionals dreamed of — she’d be ready with her A-game. The only way to prepare herself was to study — every day. Now was not the time to rest on her hard-earned laurels, which had landed her a job as an editorial assistant, not a journalist or senior editor. Talks of the impending retirement of the boss man she’d never seen meant a new CEO was taking over in the upcoming year. A new CEO meant a new regime, a level playing field. If she wanted her own house, she needed to up her game.
Morning internal pep talk over, she took a moment to study her little boy before rolling out of bed. Well, not so little anymore. He was becoming quite the cover hog. Her eight-year-old was way too old to be sleeping with his mother, but as she reminded herself daily, at least they weren’t living in a shelter — or worse, on the street.
Still, she hated that she couldn’t afford a place of their own, where her son could have his own bedroom, where she’d have privacy … to cry if she needed to. Not that she had time to cry, but all women needed a bawl-your-eyes-out cry every once in a while. No, she couldn’t cry in front of her son. Already, he was too grown-up, more concerned about her welfare than his own half the time.
In sleep, Ben’s relaxed face made him actually look like a child. His tangled curls, round cheeks, and thick fuzzy eyebrows, which were too big for his face, reminded her of the Coppertone baby.
Years ago, seemed like a lifetime ago, when her family had vacationed in Florida, her mother had purchased the brown bottle of sunscreen. When they’d returned home, Maura had doused herself daily with the potent lotion just so she would have a constant reminder of their time spent at the beach. Twenty years later, she still missed those carefree days — her untroubled life — a time when her parents were the responsible ones.
Resisting a sigh, Maura inched out of bed. Reminiscing was fine, but she didn’t have time to dwell on what had been or could have been. She turned and quickly tucked the covers around Ben so he wouldn’t freeze.
December wasn’t the coldest month in Chicago. But average temperatures of twenty-some degrees coupled with high winds and an unreliable thermostat made getting out of bed a challenge.
She stuffed her socked feet into waiting slippers, wrapped a tattered old robe around her body — even though she slept in sweatshirt and sweatpants — then snatched her bath caddy off their shared dresser, and headed to the bathroom.
“Mom,” Ben whispered. “Wake me when you’re done, okay? Yesterday all the hot water was gone.”
Maura shuffled back to the bed and stooped. “I’m sorry, baby. Was I noisy?”
He scrunched up his face and shrugged. “I’m a light sleeper.”
She curbed the urge to laugh at her little old man, then brushed back his curls. “Okay … but if you’re going to start getting up at four, you have to go to bed earlier.”
He sighed. “They never watch what I like anyway.”
They … his two older cousins and the teenaged girl who lived under the same roof, not to mention the three adults. Even if Maura could afford to buy a TV for their room, the internet was too slow. Her cousin’s name was on the lease, so she made the rules. Even though Maura paid her share, it wasn’t her apartment. She rented a hundred square feet of an eight-hundred-square-foot apartment. Seven people shared one bathroom, a living area barely large enough for a full-size sofa, and a tiny kitchen. That was all — just a roof over their heads, not a home.
“Let’s go, Ben!” Maura buttoned up her coat, draped a scarf around her neck, and scooped up her keys, briefcase, gym bag containing a change of clothes, and snacks out of the pantry she kept locked in their ten-by-ten space.
Ben’s backside remained facing her as he rummaged through the closet. “But I need …” He pulled items from boxes, tossing them on the floor. “Where’s the box where you keep …?” He hurled more objects behind him.
“B
en! We have to go!” She peered over him. “What on earth are you looking for, sweetheart? You’re making a mess.”
He turned to her. “Where’s Dad’s hat?”
“His hat? Which hat?”
He stared up at her, arms crossed, as if they’d been discussing a missing hat for days. “His uniform hat. What other hat would I be looking for?”
“I put it away.”
“I need it.”
She crossed her arms, mimicking his stance. “Why?”
“For the school play tonight.”
The school play … Maura had yet to find someone to cover her bartending shift tonight. Annoyed, but not wanting to upset her son, she kept her tone level. She lifted a finger. “One, why in the world would you be looking for something five minutes after it’s time to leave?” She raised another finger. “Two, even if I could get to it, I can’t let you take your father’s uniform. What if someone steals it?”
His fuzzy brows lowered as he held up a finger, mocking her. “One, I would never let someone take my father’s hat.” He held up another finger. “Two, if you’d made it home last night before I went to bed, I would have asked you yesterday.”
“That’s not fair, Ben.” She knelt and tossed several of the items he’d thrown out back into the closet as she locked eyes with him. “And we don’t have time to get it now.”
His shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry, Mom. I know you work too hard. But please … I really need it. I told Mrs. Mills I’d bring it. It’ll make my role so much more convincing.”
“You’ll be late.”
His brow lifted. He knew how to play her like a fiddle. “You can write me a note. I haven’t been late all semester.”
“I’ll be late.”
His lips turned up at the edges. “You’re always the first to arrive anyway, right? They’re all lazy butts who drink and party all night and show up late, making you do their job —”
“Ben!” She couldn’t blame her son. Out of the mouths of babes, her grandmother had always said. He was just repeating her words. Words that, sadly, were true. “Fine. I’ll get the ladder.”
“Jim … I swear, you’re gonna drive me to drink.” Maura tapped on the outside of the man’s cubicle. His Travel & Outdoors article for the Lifestyle section was due at the same time every day, but he was always late — always. Cowboy boots propped on the desk, AirPods in, and typing on his laptop while laughing at whoever had his ear, he obviously couldn’t hear her. “Jim …” She tapped on his shoulder, and he jumped, the heavy heels of his boots barely missing her black pumps as he dropped his legs and swung around.
When he saw it was her, his eyes widened as he took in all five-foot-five of her. As usual, though, his eyes landed back on her chest, not her eyes, so he couldn’t see how frustrated she was.
Ugh! And he calls himself a southern gentleman. More like an Urban Cowboy. Who wears cowboy boots in downtown Chicago?
He clicked Mute then stared up with his too-white smile. The only thing missing was a toothpick dangling from his lips. “What’s up, darlin’?”
She didn’t have the strength or patience today. Not when she needed to finish her job and somehow get to her second job, then beg her way out so she could make it to Ben’s play.
“Your draft …” she said, hands raised in question. Every day she had to come looking for Jim, and every day he acted surprised, as if she might have come to take him up on his: We’re two peas in a pod, darlin’. You’re from the South; I’m from the South. Let’s go out sometime.
He glanced at his watch, then clicked the phone off mute. “I’ll call you back.” He clicked End, returned to his laptop, clicked Email, attached the document, hit Send, then turned to her. “Sent!” He stretched back again, looking like a cat eying a canary. “So … Ms. Maura,” he drawled. “Are you bringing someone special to the Christmas party tonight?”
The Christmas party … Oh, no! Craaaaaaaap!
If only she could be in three places at the same time. Not that she wanted to attend the Christmas party. The last thing she wanted was to rub elbows with the uber-wealthy while she showed up in an Off 5TH made-for-outlet LDB. Still, the annual Christmas party was a great way to meet execs she normally wouldn’t have an opportunity to talk with. Every chance she got, she reviewed other online media sites, studying what they did and didn’t do. She researched trends, news, social media … everything happening locally and around the world, in the event she found herself in an elevator with Mr. Barros himself, as unlikely as that was, since he normally entered the building via the roof — or so she was told. Missing the Christmas party would be tantamount to shooting herself in the foot before the big race. But how in the world would she manage to attend her son’s play, bartend, and then dress for the ball? Even without evil stepsisters tearing apart her dress, unless her fairy godmother suddenly made an appearance, she saw no way to accomplish all three of these responsibilities.
Instead of answering Jim, she clicked the email on her phone. She opened the Word doc and quickly scanned the article.
She stared down at him, hating she also had to copy-edit his article daily. “I’ve told you a million times, i-t-apostrophe-s is the contraction for it is, not the possessive determiner its.” He rolled his eyes, and she continued reading. “And you-apostrophe-r-e is the contraction for you are … not your. Jim … Why do I have to fix your article daily?”
“Maura …” he whined. “Copy editing is your-no-apostrophe-r-e job. Not mine. I’m the talent.”
It was her turn to roll her eyes. “No, it’s not my job, Jim. I’m not your personal copy editor. And if I sent your pages in the way you send them to me, you wouldn’t be the talent for long.”
“It’s a good article, though, right? Very Norman-Rockwell-y, especially this time of the year. Gets people thinking about sleigh rides and hiking through the snow to chop down a Christmas tree.”
She sighed. “Few families have money to go on sleigh rides. And chopping down a tree? Really?” He waved her on, so she continued reading, then shrugged. “It’s all right.”
Jim threw a hand over his heart. “Oh, Miss Maura, you wound me! I thought you’d nominate me for a Pulitzer.”
A Pulitzer … She’d be happy if she could afford her own apartment, and his biggest worry was whether she was going to bring anyone to the party or if he’d win an award. And to think she fixed his stories, even though she made about a third of the income he did. When she’d gone for a journalism degree, she didn’t think she’d end up as an editorial assistant in a city that paid about ten percent less than everywhere else in the country.
Maybe her cousin was right. Perhaps she should go back to North Carolina. But the thought of returning to her hometown … without a husband — without a pot to pee in, as her grandmother had always said — instilled more sorrow in her than sharing a room with her eight-year-old son.
Or maybe she was like her grandfather had always quipped: Proud as a peacock.
Chapter 2
In the lunchroom, Maura nibbled on her nails instead of her untouched granola bar as she waited for the nighttime manager to pick up the phone.
“You got Tony!” His tone was short and sharp. He hadn’t even bothered to add a hello. He clearly knew if the host was transferring a call to the office, it was an employee calling in sick. Maura didn’t want to lie, especially since she’d have to walk right past the bar to attend the Christmas party.
“Hey, Tony. It’s Maura —”
“Don’t say it, Maura. I know you ain’t calling to say what I think you are.”
“I can’t come in tonight —”
“I said …” he drew out the two little words, “don’t say dem words. I give you dibs on Friday night ’cause you’re reliable, but if I can’t rely on you, I’ll give dem to someone else.”
“What if I come in early, work through Happy Hour, and then dip. Dawn likes to work late, anyway. It’s my kid’s Christmas play, Tony. I can’t miss my baby’s first play. I t
ried to cover the shift, I swear —”
“Sheesh! Cry me a river, will ya? Fine! Be here by four, and we’ll see how it goes.”
“Thanks, Tony!” She hung up before she talked him out of it. She had a habit of rambling on instead of just taking the close.
Promptly at 3:45, Maura clocked out, dashed to the washroom, and changed into her black pants and white shirt. She pulled her long brown hair up into a ponytail, then darted out.
Seeing the mass exodus at the elevator doors, she sprinted for the stairwell. She practically hurdled the steps, making her way to the lobby of the high-rise. More than likely, she’d beat half of the employees waiting for the elevator, and then catch them as they ordered a drink before hopping on the L.
The only good thing about working Friday night Happy Hour in downtown Chicago was the tips. Chi-Town execs knew how to tip. Of course, those generous tips often came with other suggestions and proposals she never accepted. Going out with someone she worked with — or even someone who frequented the bar where she worked — was a big no-no. She’d learned that lesson at sixteen. Also, she certainly wouldn’t go to an apartment of a possible American Psycho, and she definitely wouldn’t bring a man home to her room with her son. So all suggestions were merely that, suggestions. Sex wasn’t on her horizon any time soon.
Maura tied a black apron around her waist and hopped behind the bar. “Hey, Dawn!”
“I’m so glad you came in early! The Christmas season is in full swing. The Mag Mile is hopping with holiday shoppers, sweetie, and we’re seeing the aftermath. Would you get those women over dere?” Dawn pointed to two women standing at the end of the bar as she tossed several cardboard coasters in front of three tall yuppies, who looked as if they’d stepped off a GQ shoot. “What yous having?”
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