by T L Gray
Minutes later, I slid my bike to the curb and locked up all my gear. The neighborhood was known for petty theft. The building had been given quite a face-lift since Liz took over. The crumbling steps had been replaced with fresh concrete and were regularly power washed to avoid graffiti or other forms of “art.” While she had done a lot to spruce up the old commercial building, the barred windows and faded bricks still reflected the roughness of the surrounding neighborhood.
In fact, the center had been run by the state until vandalism and lack of volunteers led to funding cuts five years ago. Philanthropist and billionaire Sam Hartsford had bought the property and hired Liz, and together they turned the forgotten place into one of the best private community centers in North Carolina.
Sometimes I wondered how things might have gone differently for me if I’d connected with a “big brother” when everything went down with my parents, but I wouldn’t let myself dwell on the unknown. God had given me Bruce.
I texted Liz and banged on the solid metal doors, knowing they would remain locked until the center opened at nine. When the doors finally opened, Liz scowled at me.
“You dare to come here this time of morning without so much as a cup of coffee?” She was trying hard to look annoyed, but I knew better.
My eyebrows shot up as I turned to look at my bike. “You want me to leave?”
Softening, she stepped aside. “No, I guess I can find something for you to do.”
Liz looked the same as she had every day for the past three years. Faded jeans, work boots, worn-out Hartsford T-shirt, and her hair swept back into a low ponytail. If there were any feminine qualities in her, she sure knew how to hide them. Though not tall or heavyset, Liz was intimidating enough to take down even the unruliest of thugs with her arctic glare.
She locked the doors as I looked around. The building had been gutted to accommodate a basketball court. Two areas—a game room and TV/lounge room—were set off to the left, while Liz’s office and a couple of counseling rooms were to the right. Bleachers loomed just across the court and were often full during intramural basketball games.
Liz swept by me and continued to her office as if on a mission. That was often how she moved, intentionally and with speed. I’d heard more than one of the kids call her the Energizer Bunny.
“So this is it?” I leaned against the doorframe of her office. A few boxes with personal belongings were scattered around. She shuffled papers while searching for something on her desk, likely the report on Marcus.
“Let’s sit.” She pointed to the small couch against the wall and spread out the file on the coffee table in front of it. Liz was all about full disclosure, which was one reason why we worked together so well. I trusted her implicitly.
“Marcus hasn’t had the easiest time of it,” she began after I joined her on the couch. “He was removed from his parents’ house at five years old. Then he spent the next three years in foster care until his aunt could finally get custody. From what the counselors tell me, those years were pretty bad, but it appears that he’s got some stability now. His aunt’s involved, but like most of the single parents we see, she works too many hours to keep Marcus out of trouble.”
Liz then pulled out pictures taken by the state that spanned several years. Some were from his biological family. Others were the results of poor foster care. The last picture surprised me. Bruising on his back and arms. His face was filthy and battered. One eye nearly swollen shut while the other, a rich brown, held a bitterness no child should feel. Photographs like that one were rare, since most abusers tend to hit only in places easily hidden by clothing.
“I won’t lie to you, Matt,” Liz said. “This kid is a hothead and has a massive attitude problem. He shows no respect for authority and is especially aggressive to anyone of the male gender. You’re going to have your hands full. But, deep down, I know it’s not too late for him. He’s scared and hurting. The fighting and tough-guy act is the only thing in his life he thinks he can control.”
Listening to her assessment, I knew exactly why she felt I was the big brother he needed. That file could have been about me and would have looked pretty much identical, minus the foster care part.
She looked up at me expectantly, waiting for my answer.
“When do I meet the little monster?” I finally asked, getting a huge smile from her in return.
“He’s suspended until Wednesday because of fighting, but I’m sure he’ll sneak back over since he knows I’m leaving. That kid loves basketball and plays nonstop. I’ll make sure Ms. Covington knows who to look for and introduces you two.”
Liz shuffled the papers into the file and stood to get back to work.
“So what’s this lady like, anyway?”
She turned and leaned against her desk. “She’s young, comes from a dynasty family with tremendous connections, and is exactly what this place needs right now.”
I shook my head. “No way. You are what this place needs. I can’t believe you’re leaving. Hartsford must have lost his mind.”
Liz sighed and returned to the couch. “I’m going to tell you something, Matt, and if you repeat it, I’ll have you flogged.”
I nodded, waiting.
“I haven’t been happy here in months. When Sam approached me with this project, I was thrilled. It needed strong hands and my hard-nosed personality. But now that it’s running so well, what the center needs is investors, donations, and volunteers. I have a laundry list of needs and no money. My duties went from drywalling to phone calls and charity events, and I’m miserable. I’m not a sweet talker, nor am I politically correct. Leaving is my choice. Don’t ever doubt that.”
“So where are you headed?”
“I’ve taken a position at a rehab center in Raleigh. State run, taxpayer funded, and a complete mess. Basically, it’s right up my alley.” She smiled and I could see the enthusiasm in her face. “I really am excited.”
We both stood and I gave her a quick hug. “They have no idea what they’ve gotten themselves into,” I teased. “But seriously, you’ll be missed more than you know.”
“Well, I better be!” She pushed me back and laughed right as a soft knock echoed through the building. Glancing at her watch, Liz smiled. “Right on time. I guess you’ll get to meet Ms. Covington after all.”
I followed Liz to the front doors, but stood back in the shadows. Despite hearing Liz’s confession about resigning, I was still skeptical about this new lady. Even if she were some kind of fund-raising genius, it would take more than smooth words to keep the Hartsford machine running.
The doors opened and Liz’s voice echoed through the empty building. “Ms. Covington. It’s nice to see you again.”
“Oh please, call me Grace.”
Heat flushed my body and sweat prickled on the back of my neck. Liz stepped aside and Grace’s eyes met mine. If she was startled, I couldn’t tell, because her smile remained unchanged. I could instantly see why she excelled at working investors. Except for the few times I’d pushed too far, she had carried herself with an almost royal air. It was the quality that got under my skin so fast that night at the gym, and was now making me even crazier because I knew what a sweet, sensitive person she was behind the facade.
Carrying on with Grace, Liz pulled me closer. “This is Matt Holloway. He’s one of our most dedicated volunteers. In fact, the little brother I just paired him with is at the top of our discussion list.”
Grace embodied her name as she shook my hand with a regal ease. “I look forward to working with you, Mr. Holloway.”
I aimlessly shook her hand, unable to put together a coherent thought, much less a reply.
Turning her attention back to Liz, Grace calmly said, “Ready when you are.”
They both gave me a quick good-bye before Liz swept Grace along to the office. I watched them walk away and couldn’t help but stare at their differences. I’d normally find the skirt and jacket Grace wore to be pretentious, but she managed to look both sleek and
sexy in the copper-hued getup. In her high heels, she stood a head taller than Liz, and the stilettos clicked rhythmically across the gym floor. Grace oozed femininity and her warm, floral perfume lingered in the air long after they’d disappeared into the office, closing the door behind them.
I felt an inexplicable need to curse as I slammed the metal doors behind me. Looking up to the heavens, I threw my arms in the air. “Is this your idea of a joke?”
Grace was everywhere. In just a few days, she had managed to infiltrate my gym, church, friends, and now the Hartsford Center. Worse, this need to know her and protect her was beginning to take root. Feelings I hadn’t had toward a girl in nine years. Dangerous feelings.
I threw my bike into gear, swallowing the guilt of my bitterness toward God, and drove straight to The Storm. Only one thing could calm the hurricane raging inside me—an hour alone in a room called Apocalypse.
Chapter 6
* * *
GRACE
I tried not to feel overwhelmed as Liz handed me stack after stack of files—one for each of the registered children and one for their assigned big brothers or sisters.
The system appeared to run exceptionally well. Every person who came through the doors had to check in with a staff member and get an ID tag. Each unregistered child received a guest pass that could be upgraded to a permanent one if he or she followed the rules for ten consecutive visits.
Liz explained that access to the basketball courts, game room, and TV was the only incentive the kids needed to follow the rules.
“We have a zero tolerance policy here, Grace. After three violations, the child will be banned for six months. Consistency is key.”
“How do you enforce your decision once a kid is banned?” I asked, wondering if I was equipped to toss out an unruly child.
“There are three staff members besides you who are here from open to close—our activities coordinator and two counselors. All three of them have extensive takedown training and concealed handgun licenses, and they’re all ready to react if things get out of hand. In the five years I’ve been here, we’ve only had to resort to force one time. Once the kids realized we were serious, they stopped pushing.”
I swallowed hard, trying not to look terrified. “None of the parents have complained?”
Liz stared at me for a second. “Most of these kids don’t have involved parents. If we happen to have a boy or girl from a decent home, the parents are usually grateful their kids have a safe place to come to after school and during the summers. We had some protesters from around the city when they first found out we were going to carry firearms, but Sam held his ground, knowing we had to create a safe place for these kids. The zealots eased off when Sam reminded them it was private property and he could have them arrested.”
I simply nodded.
“Grace, you shouldn’t have to deal with anything like that. The Hartsford Center is nationally recognized now and loved by the community. I know your strengths are more political, so embrace those. We need finesse now, not a pit bull like me.”
Liz smiled warmly at me before patting my hand. I wasn’t sure what I had expected from her. Maybe bitterness or condescension, but she had shown neither, only a desire for me to succeed. Her faith in me was encouraging and just what I needed to calm the storm of uncertainty that was beginning to churn in my gut.
“Okay, well, we’ve pretty much gone through all the boring stuff. Do you want to meet the rest of the staff and some of the kids? Most will be here by now.”
I looked down at my watch and couldn’t believe the time. The morning had flown by at lightning speed. “Wow, time just disappeared. How do you get it all done?”
Liz stood and stretched. “The center doesn’t open until nine, so I have about three uninterrupted hours between dawn and chaos. Oh, before I forget, you are never to be here alone after dark. We close at eight and after cleanup, all of us walk out to our cars together. No one stays . . . ever. Mornings are quiet, though, so as long as you lock the doors behind you, it’s safe to come before opening.”
Cringing a little, I realized I would need to start going to bed earlier. I’d never been much of a morning person. “No problem. What time does the staff get here?”
“It depends, but usually by eight.”
Following Liz out of the office, I was struck by the difference a few hours could make. The once-quiet building bellowed with yells, laughter, and the sound of sneakers scooting across the gym floor. Boys and girls of every race filled the bleachers to watch the two teams chase after the ball. The game room was also in full swing as both TVs blared, battling each other for dominance.
Taking it all in, my heart raced. Did I even bring tennis shoes?
Liz tugged at my arm, and we walked around the perimeter of the gym to stop at one of the other staff offices.
A tall, burly man stood to greet us and then approached with a smile. His smooth face glistened like polished ebony, and his confident expression made me think he was someone who could stay composed even during the worst crisis. He was intimidating in stature, but the kindness in his eyes steadied my nerves. “Ms. Covington, I presume? I’m Darius, but you’ll also hear the kids call me Coach D.”
I shook his hand, hoping the smile on my face would mask my anxiety. “Please, call me Grace.”
“Darius runs all the daily operations and makes sure the kids stay in line.” Liz turned to him. “Speaking of which, I need a list of all your expected expenses and a wish list for the rest of the year. I want Grace to have a good handle on our needs before she starts pushing for donations.”
“You got it, boss. Grace, we’re really happy to have you.”
Feeling his genuine warmth, I found myself starting to relax. Liz also introduced me to the counselors, who were equally gracious. Either Liz put them on their best behavior beforehand, or all my fears were unfounded. My age didn’t seem to be a factor, as everyone regarded me with unearned respect.
“Everyone is so nice,” I said as we left the last office.
Liz proudly swept her gaze across the center. “Yeah, we’ve got a great staff here. You shouldn’t have any problems.”
Before we moved on to the kid areas, I stopped her. “May I ask why you’re leaving? You obviously love this place and it loves you.”
Liz looked around and for a brief moment I thought I saw tears, but they quickly disappeared. “My time here is over, Grace. I’ve done all I can for these kids. It’s your turn now.”
A sense of pride and ownership filled me. “I won’t let you down.”
“It’s not me you have to worry about. Don’t let these kids down.” She looked around the boisterous building again.
“I won’t.”
As we approached the game room, I tried to get my beating heart to settle. The minute we walked through the door, the room went silent and twenty pairs of eyes were suddenly on me.
“Kids, this is Ms. Covington. She is going to be the new director at the center.”
Two of the girls approached me.
“How do you get your hair so shiny?” one asked while the other leaned down to look at my shoes.
“Do those hurt your feet? I’ve only seen shoes like that in magazines.”
Soon more kids found the courage to approach, each asking similar questions about my clothes, hair, or makeup. One boy who couldn’t have been more than six told me I smelled like flowers, and another asked if I would be his girlfriend.
Trying my best to give each one of them some attention, I found myself repeating, “Thank you,” and explaining that I was too old to be the girlfriend of anyone there, and promising to paint a few of the girls’ nails later in the week. After several minutes, Liz shooed them off and ushered me to the next room. The kids in the TV room had a similar reaction, although I noticed one little boy attempting to duck behind the couch while periodically sending hateful stares in our direction.
When we left the room, Liz leaned over to me and whispered, “The one by the
couch, that’s Marcus. He’s supposed to be suspended, but I figure I’ll ignore it if he behaves. Matt should be by later, and I want those two connected as soon as possible.”
Just the mention of Matt’s name sent my pulse into overdrive. Trying to sound nonchalant as we passed by the bleachers, I pried a little. “So Matt has been volunteering for a while?”
“Three years now. His ‘little brother’ is one of our success stories. So many of these kids get sucked into gangs or juvie by the time they get to high school. Derrick, Matt’s kid, just graduated and will be attending NC State in the fall. Writing Derrick’s reference letter for college was one of the most rewarding things I’ve done on the job. Great kid, that one.”
I wanted to ask more questions but stopped when we heard a loud, suggestive whistle behind us and an, “Oh, baby, you are fine, girl.”
Liz whipped her head around to find the culprit, but Darius was already on it, blowing his whistle to stop the game and address the crowd.
“This is Ms. Covington,” he explained in a loud, authoritative voice. “She is the new director here and you will address her appropriately. If I hear any disrespectful or suggestive comments, including those among yourselves, you will be sent home for the day, no excuses. Do you understand?”
As “yes, sir” flowed through the crowd, Darius blew his whistle again, putting the ball back in play.
Liz continued walking and I followed, trying to act as unaffected as she appeared to be. In fact, Liz was like a stone wall. Nothing seemed to bother her or get under her skin. I’d been close to tears at least five times since we’d begun our walk around the center. Sam had said I would fall in love; I thought he meant with the job. Now I can see he meant with the kids.
The day continued with much of the same fury as when it had started. Between steady knocks on the door and numerous phone calls, we somehow found the time to go over all the files Liz had organized. When I asked about investor information, she winced.