“Furnishings?” Grace felt a wave of concern.
“Yes. Didn’t you read the letter? The furnishings are being donated as a Christmas blessing to the three Habitat families.”
Grace’s mouth went dry. “Oh.”
“Didn’t you understand?”
“Yeah, sure. Of course,” Grace said quickly. “I was so focused on the Christmas decorations . . . I hadn’t given the actual furnishings and designs much thought yet.”
“Well, as I said, none of the rooms are very big. And most of the designers are seeking donations from various businesses in town, although a few have donated from their own warehouses. And, of course, you’re allowed to shop for free in our Habitat Restore. That’s always fun—seeing an old piece put to use.”
“Right . . .” Grace wanted to backpedal now, to admit she’d made a stupid mistake, but her pride kept her from speaking up.
“So you’re okay with it?” Julia asked hopefully. “It would mean so much to have all three homes completely finished in time for the open house. We plan to have refreshments and a Santa and music and all sorts of festivities that day.”
“Yes,” Grace said mechanically. “I’m okay with it.” But as soon as she hung up, she felt sick. Had she actually agreed to furnish three living rooms—and decorate them for Christmas—all out of her own pocket? What had she gotten herself into? And what would Joel have to say about it?
By Tuesday, Belinda and the principal at McKinley High had exchanged several emails and come up with a pretty good plan. Belinda was impressed at how much Carey seemed to care for her students. She really had their best interests at heart. In fact, it was her idea to put together a holiday fashion show that would utilize the teenage girls as models. The fund-raising proceeds, they’d both decided, could go into the high school’s academic scholarship fund—the same fund that had helped Emma to get into a more expensive college when she’d graduated from McKinley a few years ago.
Carey invited Belinda to come in after school on Tuesday afternoon to go over the details and to meet the girls that Carey was recommending as models. Carey had warned Belinda that the girls would not be stereotypical fashion models, but would come in various shapes and sizes. And Belinda had responded by saying she thought that was a great idea and that her shop could accommodate them.
As prearranged, Belinda went to the administration’s conference room at 3:30. She could hear the young voices as she approached the room. Hopefully the girls would be excited about the prospect of modeling. Although you never could tell with adolescents. The last thing she wanted was to have to twist arms to get cooperation. In fact, she’d decided if she couldn’t get them on board today, she would put on the brakes and look for a different sort of project.
As she entered the conference room, she observed there were about a dozen teen girls, but she didn’t see anyone who looked like the principal among them. Where was Carey?
“Hello, ladies,” a deep voice said. The girls grew quiet, looking toward the door as an attractive African American man strolled into the room. Belinda wondered if he was a teacher—not one who was here when Emma was in school, because Belinda knew she would’ve remembered him. Was he in the wrong room?
Instead of excusing himself and leaving, he went to the head of the table. Dressed in a handsome charcoal gray suit with a burgundy tie, he smiled at everyone. “I’m so glad you could all make it.” He looked over to where Belinda was standing and his smile grew even brighter. “And you must be Ms. Michaels.” He went over to shake her hand. “I’m Mr. Trellis, McKinley High’s new principal.”
“You’re a man?”
The room broke into giggles along with a couple of snarky remarks.
He grinned. “Hey, thanks for noticing.”
“But your name,” she stammered. “I assumed you were a woman.”
He laughed. “Sorry about that. I didn’t even think. Please tell me you’re not going to walk out on this idea because I’m a man. I happen to have great respect for fashion.” He looked over at the students. “Don’t I, girls?”
This set them off to giggling even more. It was obvious that the girls were as enamored of him as she was feeling. More comments were exchanged, and one girl mentioned that Mr. Trellis was so into appearances that they sometimes called him the Fashion Nazi. Of course, based on some of these girls’ outfits, Belinda couldn’t blame him. She never would’ve let Emma out the door looking like some of them.
“See what I mean?” he jokingly told Belinda. “This is a tough crowd.” He took a moment to introduce Belinda, explaining their collaboration to hold a fashion show that would help with the scholarship fund. “Who knows, maybe some of you will be the recipients of a scholarship.” Then he excused himself to go attend to some other business, and Belinda was all by herself with the roomful of girls.
Trying to conceal her embarrassment over her wrong assumption about Carey, she nervously launched into her plans for the fashion show. But as she talked, she could tell that some of the girls were not showing much, if any, enthusiasm. In fact, the longer she went on about it, the more she knew she was losing them. They probably wished that it was Carey leading this meeting—not her. For that matter, Belinda did too.
Belinda paused for a moment, looking out over the girls’ bored faces as they slumped like sloppy bags of grain in the conference chairs. They clearly did not want to be here. And they probably had no interest in modeling clothes from her shop. No matter that every single one of them could use a serious makeover!
It suddenly became very important that she not lose them—not a single one. Not only for Carey’s sake, although to be honest she really wanted to impress that fine-looking man. But seeing these girls and the way they were dressed—in shabby, ill-fitting clothes—made her truly want to help them. The same way she used to help Emma and her friends when she’d first started up Glad Rags. And she wanted to do it in such a way that they wouldn’t even know they were being helped.
“So this is the plan,” she said loudly, to be heard over some of the chattering that was developing between the girls. “Anyone who volunteers to model for this fashion show will get to keep one of the outfits she wears.”
“We get to keep the clothes?” one of the girls said with interest.
“That’s right. You’ll need to wear several outfits, but you can choose the one you like best to keep as a thank-you for cooperating.”
“Cool,” a girl with frizzy red hair said.
“Glad Rags has some pretty rad stuff.” A skinny blonde with a tattoo of a thorny rose on her wrist made a shy smile.
Suddenly the girls started chattering among themselves—and with her too. It sounded like they were totally down with the whole thing. She handed them forms to fill out regarding their sizes, even providing them with a couple of dressmaker measuring tapes to fill in some of the lines. For about an hour, they all worked together, measuring and filling out the forms. Although some of the girls were giving others a bad time over some measurements, Belinda reminded them that there was no “perfect” size and that everyone would be a great asset to the fashion show. “Beauty comes in all shapes and sizes,” she declared.
“Yeah, that’s easy for you to say,” a girl named Remmie told her. “You’re gorgeous.”
“Yeah,” another said. “You were probably a professional model.”
“As a matter of fact, I was a skinny, awkward teen,” she told them. “Girls made fun of my height and my braces, and I never even went out on a date until after high school.”
This really seemed to win them over, and by the time they finished with the forms, it felt like they were all becoming friends. At the end of the meeting, she explained that she’d secured the Amber Room for the fashion show, and that it was scheduled for the Saturday before Christmas. She held up the tickets that Savannah had printed for her this morning, even taking the time to hand-number each one and bundle them into twenty packets of ten.
“I’m going to give a prize to the
girl who sells the most tickets,” she told them. “A hundred-dollar gift certificate for my shop.”
Suddenly the girls were clamoring for ticket bundles. Wanting to keep track of who sold what, Belinda got Remmie to write down the numbers on the bundles as she handed them out to the girls. When it was all done, she explained how they should report to her every few days how many they’d sold. “We have limited capacity, so you don’t want to procrastinate. And I’ll let you know when the room is full up.” She gave them a positive smile. Hopefully the Amber Room would be sold out, but she didn’t really expect it.
She felt like she’d covered everything, but decided to invite the girls to ask questions. One asked what they would do for hair and makeup, and she told them that she’d have some volunteers on hand to help. A few more practical questions were asked, and then a heavyset girl who’d been pretty quiet spoke up. “Why are you doing this?” she demanded. “Is it cuz you feel sorry for us?”
Belinda just smiled at her. “The truth is, I needed something to distract me from feeling sorry for myself.” She briefly explained about the death of her best friend, Abby. Not surprisingly, many of them knew who Abby was, and several had been in her kindergarten class. “Besides that, my daughter Emma went to school here. She graduated three years ago, and I used to have such fun helping her and her friends put outfits together. I guess I missed that.” Several of the girls remembered Emma, and by the time Belinda was leaving the conference room, she felt like she’d made a whole roomful of young friends.
“So how did it go?” Carey Trellis asked, falling into step with her as she walked through the courtyard.
She smiled at him. “I think it went really well.”
He looked relieved. “That’s great to hear.”
“I mean, after I got over the shock of you not being a woman,” she teased.
He laughed. “Sorry about that. I wondered if you thought that while we were emailing back and forth. You seemed so open and friendly, like you were chatting with a girlfriend.”
She frowned to remember how she’d imagined that she and Carey were going to become friends. “That might’ve been because I was missing my best girlfriend.” She quickly explained about Abby.
“I’m sorry.” His dark brown eyes looked truly sympathetic. “That’s hard.”
“But the girls in there were great.” She nodded. “I think they’re all on board.”
His eyes lit up. “Impressive. To be honest, I wasn’t so sure they’d agree so easily. You must have the magic touch.”
She decided not to mention her little incentives. Better to let him think she was simply amazing. “Well, thanks for inviting me to help with this,” she said. “I think it’ll be fun.” She forced her eyes away from his face—worried that he might figure out that she was ogling him. But as she looked down, she couldn’t help but notice that his wedding ring finger was conspicuously bare. Not that it meant anything. Lots of men didn’t like to wear rings.
“So, I think I heard that you’re single,” he said as he paused on the edge of the courtyard, looking out toward the parking lot.
She glanced back at him, feeling embarrassed for the second time. He’d obviously caught her staring at his ring finger. “Well, yes,” she said crisply. “I have been single for quite some time. It’s no secret.”
He nodded with a somber expression. “I lost my wife to cancer several years ago.”
“I’m sorry.” She could see the sadness in his eyes.
“That’s one of the reasons I decided to relocate to a new town and new job—I thought a change of venue might help me move on.”
“Has it helped?”
He shrugged. “I think so . . . but it’s still not easy.”
Her heart went out to him. “I know. It wasn’t easy when my husband left me. Although he didn’t die—he just found a new wife.” The truth was, she thought it would’ve been easier if Byron had died, but she had no intention of saying that.
“I’m sorry . . . that must’ve been hard.”
“Thank you, Mr. Trellis.”
“Please, call me Carey.” He smiled. “At least when the kids aren’t around.”
“Only if you call me Belinda.”
He stuck out his hand and they shook. “Thanks for what you’re doing for these girls, Belinda. Hopefully it will make a difference in the way they see themselves.”
She nodded eagerly. “I think it will. I’m actually really excited about this.”
They promised to remain in touch by email, and she even handed him a small bundle of tickets to sell. “Let me know if you need more,” she called out as she headed across the parking lot. As she walked, she felt a lightness in her feet—something she hadn’t experienced in years.
8
After only three days, Grace knew she was in way over her head with the Habitat project. Getting the local furniture stores to consider donating three rooms of furniture right before Christmas was like pulling teeth. And the selection of fashionable furnishings at the Habitat Restore was, at best, limited. Despite the fact that she and Camille had been calling all over town, scouring back rooms and warehouses, she had very little to show for it by Wednesday.
“You need to lower your standards,” Camille was telling her during their lunch break. “These Habitat houses aren’t paying clients. They should be glad to have anything. Even if you get it at Goodwill.”
Grace frowned. “But it’s a reflection on me as a designer,” she pointed out.
“Yeah, but you’re doing it for free,” Camille reminded her. “What’s the big deal?”
“The big deal is that my name is on it and I want it to be nice.” Grace crumbled up her brown bag as she stood. “Keep calling around. You’ve got the list I gave you.” She tossed her bag into the trash and sighed. “I’m going out to do some more schmoozing. Maybe I’ll get lucky.” Although as she pulled on her coat and scarf, she doubted it.
Reaching for her bag containing the floor plans and room sketches she’d put together for the Habitat rooms on Monday, she wondered why she’d even bothered with them. It wasn’t as if she was going to find the individual items that she felt would make the rooms really sparkle and shine. She would be lucky if she rounded up three decent couches and a few chairs. Why on earth had she ever agreed to this? Oh, yeah, she thought she was only putting up Christmas decorations. That’s what she got for moving too fast. Joel had warned her of this very thing plenty of times.
She got into her car, pushing away thoughts of Joel. Naturally, he had thought she was crazy for taking on this impossible task. He’d liked the idea that she wanted to help with Habitat, but he predicted her failure. And that had simply made her more determined to succeed. Somehow she had to pull this off. But it would take a miracle.
Her plan for the afternoon was to hit the less-traditional stores. Even if that meant doing one of the homes only in import items, it could be worth it. She made numerous stops, sharing her story and practically begging for donations, but other than a few odd pieces that she wasn’t even sure she could use, she was not making much progress. By the end of the day, she was discouraged and weary. Why had she taken this on?
Not wanting to carry the items she’d foraged around in her car, she decided to drop them off at the nearest Habitat house. Julie Abernathy had given Grace keys to all three homes, and since one of them was on her way home, she decided to stop there. When she noticed an old blue pickup in the driveway, she assumed it was a volunteer worker staying late. But when she went inside, she was surprised to meet the family who would soon become the owners of this house.
“I’m Ginny,” the young woman told Grace. “And these are my girls. Hannah is almost three and Holly is six.”
“Pleased to meet you.” Grace introduced herself, explaining she was the designer in charge of the living room.
“It’s so exciting,” Ginny said happily. “Not to just get a house but furniture too. I felt like I won the lottery when they told me that.”
&nbs
p; “Is that for us?” Holly asked with wide eyes as she stared at the glass lamp in Grace’s hands. “It’s really, really pretty!”
“I—uh—I’m not sure. It might be.” She smiled at the little girl. “I’m still working out the plan.”
“We never really had much furniture before,” Ginny told her. “An old futon that doubled as our couch and my bed. Boxes for end tables. Pillows to sit on.”
“We pretended we were gypsies,” Holly told Grace.
“That’s because we kept having to move,” Ginny explained. “One rental house got sold. Then the apartment complex got condemned. Right now we’re staying in a travel trailer that’s parked at my sister’s house. It’s been a real challenge.” She smiled as she looked around the room. “I still can’t believe this is going to be ours.”
“We helped to build it,” Holly said proudly. “And Mommy has worked on a whole bunch of other people’s houses. She knows how to hammer and saw and everything.”
“That’s how it works,” Ginny told Grace as she picked up the smaller girl, who was starting to whine. “You have to live in the same town and keep a job and work on other Habitat houses before they even put you on the list. I got us on the list before, uh . . . ,” she lowered her voice as Holly did a somersault across the carpeted room, “before my husband left us. That was right before Hannah was born. But because I had a full-time job and I kept helping on the other Habitat houses, they let me stay on the list.” She stroked Hannah’s hair, pushing it out of what looked like sleepy eyes. “It’s not easy with childcare and stuff. But my sister has helped a lot. She watches the girls for me sometimes.”
The Christmas Angel Project Page 6