More Than Words, Volume 7

by Carly Phillips

  Ronald glanced skyward. “Too cold for snow.”

  Verna looked up at him in the waning afternoon light. Six foot two, she surmised. He stood a good head above her, even in her heels. His dark hair was cut close, but still held a hint of gentle waves. He had what the old folks would call an easy face, one you could get real comfortable looking at.

  “I was wondering if I could make an appointment to stop in for a visit,” Ronald said, halting her assessment of him.

  The brisk wind caused them to hasten their steps and inadvertently they drew closer.

  “That’s not a problem. Did you get one of my cards and the packet of information?”

  “Sure did.”

  “Give us a call and we’ll set something up.” She paused. “Teacher or guidance counselor?”

  “Guidance counselor at Lexington High.”

  Verna nodded. “The school in Clinton Hill. Charter, right?”

  He grinned and she noticed how the corners of his eyes crinkled.

  “You’re good.”

  “I try to keep up.” She lifted her chin. “That’s my car over there. The blue Honda.”

  Ronald looked to where she indicated. “I’m right behind you in the silver Honda.”

  They laughed at the coincidence.

  “Seems we have a few things in common—looking out for kids and driving Hondas,” Ronald quipped.

  Verna wasn’t sure if his comment was a friendly observation or a come-on. Rather than guess wrong, she chose to ignore it. She pressed the red button on her key ring and deactivated the car alarm with a soft chirp. An airplane roared overhead. She turned to him. “It was nice talking with you. I hope to see you at Someplace Like Home.”

  “I’ll give your office a call and set something up.”

  “Great. Take care.” She reached for the door handle, but Ronald got to it first. They stood barely a breath apart and Verna caught a whiff of his warm scent.

  He opened the car door then shut it for her while she fastened her seat belt.

  “Thanks,” she mouthed through the glass.

  He waved goodbye and went to his car.

  Verna watched him through her rearview mirror while the heater warmed up. He was a good-looking man. A gentleman and someone who cared about what he did. She smiled to herself. Not bad, not bad at all.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Verna was in the middle of drafting a grant proposal when Nichole, who’d joined the team the moment Someplace Like Home opened, tapped on Verna’s office door.

  “Still at it?” she asked, poking her head in and stepping inside.

  Verna leaned back in the comfort of her chair.

  The office was small but cozy and looked more like a mini living room. Instead of a traditional desk, Verna had opted for two circular tables, and cushiony club chairs replaced standard swivel seats. Files were stored in built-in wall cabinets that went up to the ceiling. She preferred a laptop to a desktop computer so she could easily tuck it away or take her work with her. Paintings hung on the cream-colored walls, and drapes adorned the windows. Someplace Like Home was located in a four-story brownstone in the heart of Brooklyn’s Fort Greene district. Verna had been determined that when the place was redesigned to suit her needs, she would maintain as much of the original architecture as possible. She’d searched for months for just the right building and finally found one that had been taken over by the City of New York and left abandoned for years. When she presented her proposal for a residential and therapeutic program to the Homeless Housing Unit of the city, they were more than happy to get rid of the albatross. She’d purchased it for a steal and used much of her own savings, along with donations and government grants to get it into shape.

  The doors were heavy inlaid oak. The floors were the original parquet, shined to a high gloss, and many of the windows still displayed the priceless stained glass. Chandeliers hung in the hallways and main rooms and there was even a working fireplace in the gathering room.

  “Have a seat and relax for a minute,” Verna said. She placed her glasses on the tabletop and absently ran her fingers through her short hair.

  Nichole sat down and stretched her legs out in front of her. “This sure is a change from the Agency for Children’s Services,” she said. “You’ve come a long way, Verna.”

  “I had a lot of help. You included.”

  “You know I was never one to pass up an opportunity.” She laughed lightly. “Besides, we do good work here. There’s nothing else like this in the city.”

  “Well, if we get this new grant I’ll be able to make some improvements. The backyard needs an overhaul. Plus, I want to get a van or two so that we can pick up the kids and drop them off. And—”

  “Whoa!” Nichole interrupted. “Are you going to take over the world while you’re at it?” she teased.

  Verna lowered her eyes. “I know, I know. I get carried away sometimes. But I want so much for these kids, Nikki.”

  “No one works harder than you do, and the kids appreciate it. But you need more in your life than just work. When was the last time you took a vacation? Or for that matter, took a day off? You’ve been working nonstop for two years.”

  Verna sighed. “We’re not going to have that discussion again. This is my life, plain and simple.”

  Nichole pursed her thin lips. “Fine.” She threw up her hands in mock defeat. “But just remember, all work and no play makes Verna very boring.”

  Verna snickered. “I’ll keep that in mind. How many do we have in the house today?”

  “Hmm. Let’s see. Felix and Alexander and Shawn are in the game room. Lynn, Stacy and Carmen were in the library. April is in her room. Carol and Yvonne haven’t gotten in yet. And Leslie is helping in the kitchen.”

  With each name Verna registered a face and a story. They’d all been in and out of the foster-care system since middle school or younger, having been removed from their dysfunctional homes by court order. Carol and Yvonne were seniors in high school and lived in the residential section of the building on the top floor, along with April and Carmen. All of them had entered the program unwillingly, angry and wary. But in the months that they’d experienced the magic of Home, Verna had seen marked improvements. Their school reports and their foster parents concurred. She drew in a breath of satisfaction. This was her calling.

  “I never got a chance to ask you how the conference went last week. Any takers for the volunteer slots?”

  “I thought it went well. But as far as I know we haven’t gotten any new calls.” She’d thought she would have heard from Ronald Morris. He’d seemed genuinely interested. But she was fully aware that once people reviewed the material and the time required to volunteer, it was more than many were willing to handle. That’s why she needed this grant. It would allow her to at least offer a small stipend to the volunteers.

  “We’ll manage,” Nichole said.

  “Yes. We always do. But with spring break coming we’ll be swamped. The ‘come back anytime’ policy is a crowd-pleaser.” When school was not in session, many of the previous program participants came back to Home to hang out, see old friends and simply return to someplace nurturing and familiar. “We’ll need to make sure that we have plenty of supplies. I’ll give Vinny a call and see if he has any more game boxes to donate.” Vinny was an old friend and game store owner. He refurbished used gaming systems and was always willing to donate.

  “We could use another television in the rec room. It’s about on its last leg.”

  “Hmm.” Verna made a note. She might have to go into her own pocket for that, something she did more than she let on.

  Nichole pushed up from her seat. “How long are you staying?”

  “About another hour. I’ll do my last rounds and then head home.”

  “Promise?”

  Verna smiled. “Promise.”

  “Okay. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Oh, did Phyllis get in yet?”

  “Yes, she’s been here about an hour.
She was checking on April and then she was going to do some inventory.”

  “Great. I’ll be sure to see her before I leave.”

  Phyllis Warren was the housemother and stayed overnight at the residence. To the teens who lived at Home, she was often the mother they never had. Everyone adored Phyllis.

  “Okay, see ya.”

  “Night.”

  Nichole closed the door behind her.

  Verna stretched her arms high above her shoulders and slowly tilted her head from left to right. The tight muscles began to unwind. She checked her watch. It was almost seven. The aroma of beef stew drifted into the room, and her stomach rumbled in response. Gail, the cook, was up to her fabulous cooking. If it wouldn’t look so obvious that she had nothing else to do, no one to go home to, Verna would stay for dinner. Instead, she’d probably warm up some leftovers and watch the news.

  She switched off her laptop and tucked it away in the cabinet, checked around the office then walked out, locking the door behind her.

  Ronald hung up the office phone. His frustration level had reached its threshold. For weeks he’d been trying to reach Dayna’s family—mother, father, anyone—to no avail. He was worried about her. He’d seen the change in her over the past few months: missing classes, arguing with teachers, getting into altercations with other students. She’d started to look different, too. Dayna had always been well-groomed. Lately she’d come to school unkempt and tired, as if she’d slept in her clothes. She was smart enough not to miss consecutive days of classes or get picked up for truancy, and when he’d called her down to his office to talk, she was sullen—slouching in the chair and refusing to meet his eyes. She insisted that she was fine, and that’s about all she would say.

  If it were up to him he would pay a visit to her house, but that was against school policy. His hands were tied and he didn’t know what else to do.

  He opened a file folder on his desk and began working on reference letters for two of his college-bound seniors. There was some good that he was able to do, but it was cases like Dayna’s that made him question his effectiveness as a counselor.

  Ronald completed the letters, made copies for the files and put the originals into the college packets for mailing. He leaned away from his desk and massaged the back of his neck with the tips of his fingers, sighing as the tense muscles relaxed. It had been a long day. Classes had been over for a couple of hours and he’d been at his desk since seven that morning.

  He stood and took his coat from the hook on the back of the office door and headed out.

  “Long day, Mr. Morris,” Cliff the security guard said when Ronald reached the exit.

  Ronald chuckled. “That it has been.” He buttoned his coat. “Have a good evening.”

  “You, too.” He gave a mock salute as Ronald walked out into the encroaching evening.

  When Ronald reached the faculty parking lot, his car was the only one left. A regular occurrence, he mused. Most days he didn’t leave much before five, often later. He enjoyed his job. He enjoyed working with the kids, helping them. But the question always nagged him: Was he doing enough?

  He stuck his hand in his jacket pocket to pull out his car keys and a white card floated to the ground. He bent to pick it up. Someplace Like Home. He palmed the card. Since the conference he’d had every intention of contacting Verna Scott and setting up an appointment. But the days seemed to get away from him. He made a mental note to call the next morning without fail.

  As he got behind the wheel and started the car, a crystal-clear image of Verna materialized. He recalled the warm welcome of her light brown eyes, the smoothness of her honey-toned skin and the direct way she spoke—confident and assured. He liked that about a woman, someone who knew who she was and was not afraid to show it. He smiled to himself as he drove off. Yes, tomorrow he would give Verna Scott a call.

  Verna had a restless night and awoke edgy and achy. She’d had that dream again. It had been several months since she’d seen herself in that room, waiting for a decision, listening to her heart pound. The door would open. A shadow would fill the doorway. She could never tell if it was a man or a woman that would beckon her to the door.

  On the other side was a nondescript bus that would take her from one house to the next. At each house she would ask, “Do you want a little girl?” And each time a door would slam in her face with a resounding no.

  The dream was repeated over and over in some kind of macabre loop until her alarm clock went off at five. It usually took her a couple of hours to shake off its effects, and today was more trying than usual.

  Verna stood by the sink watching the percolating coffee drip hypnotically into the pot. She yawned loudly as she took a mug from the cabinet. That’s why her work was so important. She needed to do everything in her power to keep other children from having her nightmare of no home, no roots, no one to love them.

  She poured her coffee and took the mug into her bedroom to continue preparing for the day. She might have had a lousy sleep, but she needed to be at the top of her game today. The facility was scheduled for its quarterly state inspection and she wanted to ensure that all her records were in order.

  In the current economic climate, municipal, state and federal funding was being slashed left and right. She didn’t need to give the inspectors any excuse to deduct a dime from her budget.

  By six she was in her car and on her way to work. While she drove the fifteen minutes to her office, she ran through a mental list of everything that would be scrutinized today: case files, staff certifications, building-inspection clearances, the kitchen, financial data and a review of all the spaces to ensure that they were being used according to the information on file.

  For the past two weeks, the entire staff had evaluated each of their assigned areas, reviewed charts and made sure that every corner of the house was spic and span. She was confident that, as always, Someplace Like Home would pass with flying colors, but she was never one to leave anything to chance.

  Thankfully, she found a parking space on the right side of the street and wouldn’t have to worry about moving her car during the day. Alternate side parking was one of the frustrations of New York life.

  Mike, the overnight security guard, greeted her. “Good morning, Dr. Scott. You’re earlier than usual.”

  “Morning, Mike. Busy day today. How is everything?” She shook off the chill of the outdoors.

  “Quiet night.”

  “Quiet is good.” She started for her office down the hallway.

  “Uh, Dr. Scott…”

  Verna stopped and turned back.

  “I really hate to ask this,” Mike began, his usual open expression now tight and drawn. “I was wondering…since you’re in early, would it be all right if I clocked out? My wife called during the night. She’s not feeling well and she thinks our daughter is coming down with something, too.”

  Verna walked back to where Mike sat and pinned him with a hard look. “You mean to tell me that you’ve been here all night and your wife and daughter are sick?”

  Mike sputtered out a response that Verna didn’t bother trying to decipher.

  “Get up. Get your things and go home. Now.” She pointed straight for the door. “And don’t come back until they’re better.” She exhaled a rush of frustration. “What’s our motto around here?” she asked as Mike scampered to collect his belongings. He dared to glance at her.

  “Family first.”

  She gave a short nod of agreement. “Exactly. Now go. Take care of your family. I’m sure that Paul can cover your shift.”

  Mike shoved his arms in his jacket. “Thanks, Dr. Scott. Really.”

  Worry pulled at the corners of his eyes and Verna wished that she could loosen its hold. Mike was a good guy. A hard worker. He made sure everything and everyone in Home was safe and looked after, but now it was time for him to turn that same attention on the people who needed him the most.

  Verna patted his shoulder and walked him to the front door. “M
y best to Kim and Lisa.”

  “Thank you.” He put his wool ski hat on his bald head and stepped out into the chilly morning.

  “Keep me posted,” she called out after him as he hurried toward his car.

  “I will.”

  Verna closed the outside door and locked it. She took a quick mental inventory as she walked to her office. Gail, the cook, should arrive any minute. Phyllis, the housemother, was already here and would go off duty at eight. Nichole and the rest of the staff would get in around nine.

  She unlocked her office door and left it open, went straight to the cabinet and took out her laptop. The representative from the state would be here at eleven and she’d planned a short staff meeting at ten to go over any last-minute items and make sure they were all on the same page.

  Just as she powered up her computer to review the staffing schedule her phone rang. Her stomach jumped. Phone calls at this time of the morning didn’t bode well.

  “Good morning. Someplace Like Home, Verna Scott speaking,” she said, bracing herself.

  “Oh…Ms…. Dr. Scott. I, uh, this is Ronald Morris. We met at the conference.”

  “Yes.” She sat up straighter in the chair and gripped the phone a bit tighter. “How are you? Is something wrong?”

  “No. Not at all. I’m an early riser. I knew if I didn’t call now the day would get away from me again. I was expecting your voice mail.”

  The stiffness in her spine eased. She leaned back in her seat and laughed lightly. “Something else we have in common,” she said, taking them back to their conversation in the parking lot. “Early risers.”

  “You’re right.”

  “So…what can I do for you?”

  “I know when we met I said I wanted to come for a visit. That’s the reason for the call. I was wondering what day would be good.”

  “Today.” She said it so quickly she surprised herself. “Later, of course,” she qualified. “We have an inspection this morning and I’m sure you have to work.” She was babbling for some unknown reason. Zip it, she warned herself.