Finding Faith

by B. E. Baker

  “The United Way would need to hire someone in my place, and that would cost them as much as I could donate, or awfully close after taxes.”

  “Accountants.” Shauna shakes her head. “Take some time to make your decision, Mary. It's a big one, and we won't even announce my departure until the firm Christmas party. As long as we know the day before that, we'll have plenty of time to select another candidate or bring someone over from another office.”

  I'm relieved when our food arrives and the conversation shifts to the quality of the steak and accuracy of the requested temperature. I ask Shauna about her plans when she moves, and whether her daughter's excited. We discuss the plans for the expansion of the Atlanta office, and the hiring program. Clearly Shauna's dying for me to accept this position, and extra money's always nice, but at the end of the day, I don't need it. And the Sub-for-Santa program gives me a reason to wake up in the morning, a purpose, a goal.

  I shake Peter's hand again after dinner. “It was a pleasure meeting you, and I'll give your offer a lot of thought.”

  He nods. “You do that. If you turn this down, it won't come around again, at least not anytime soon.”

  I'm walking out to my car when I hear my name.

  “Mary,” a deep, barely Aussie accented male voice yells.

  When I turn around, Luke's smiling at me, his dimples visible from here. He waves at me wildly and jogs toward me. He looks even better with a black leather jacket on than he did inside. “Mary, what a coincidence to bump into you here. One might even go out on a limb and call it fate that threw us together again.”

  Oh good grief. “Maybe not such a coincidence, since you were eating dinner at the same time and place as me.”

  He shrugs. “What if I told you I finished eating half an hour ago, and I'm only here because I forgot my phone?”

  “Really?”

  He shakes his head. “No, although that does make for a more interesting story. The truth is, I waited on that bench by the door for no more than ten minutes. I probably would've waited half an hour, fair warning.”

  “I walked right past that bench.”

  “Yep, you did. You were so busy shaking hands with that old guy that you didn't even notice me. Does that count as my third rejection?”

  I count them off on my hands. “Well, number one was refusing your drink. Number two was thinking you were a working man. Number three was not giving you my phone number when you asked. So I think that makes this number four. If you're keeping track.”

  “Since you weren't actually calling me a working man, I don't think that one counts. And I hear the third time's the charm.” Luke smiles and I can’t help but notice his adorable dimples. I don't want to get involved with anyone right now, not with so many other things going on, but he’s unbelievably good-looking.

  “Oh, fine.” I dig an old receipt out of my purse, along with a pen, and scrawl 'Mary' and my number on the back.

  Our hands brush when he takes it, and an electric zing travels all the way up my arm. It's such a strong reaction, that I don't know what to make of it. I almost snatch my number back. I don't have time to deal with a smooth operator anytime, much less at Christmas.

  “I'll call you tomorrow,” he says. “I'd love to take you to lunch.”

  I should tell him I'm busy. I shouldn't agree. For one thing, it's not how the game is played, but for another, he's altogether too eager. I decide to tell him no.

  “I've been craving French food.” The words fly out of my mouth in spite of my plans, but when he smiles again, I decide it's almost worth the risk.

  “I'm guessing McDonald's fries don't count?” he asks.

  I snort. “Uh, no. I was thinking more like La Madeleine's.”

  “I have no idea where that is.” He whips out his phone. “If I text you, can you hit me back with an address for it?”

  “Subtle,” I say. “Making sure I didn't fake number you.”

  He shrugs. “Not my first rodeo, lady.”

  My phone bings. “I'm not a bronco, and I wasn't trying to buck you off.”

  “Good to know. Although a little bucking doesn't bother me.”

  I raise one eyebrow. “As long as you're respectful and listen.”

  “Yes, ma'am I always do.”

  “Then I guess it's a date.”

  His perfect, white teeth, and his beautiful eyes aren't a bad image on which to end the night. I hop into my car and close the door, but it doesn't stop me from watching him walk away.

  Chapter 3

  Peter and Shauna asked me to keep the offer a secret, so my text to Paisley is a lie. WENT OVER MY NUMBERS. THEY MAY WANT ME TO MOVE TO ACCOUNTING.

  She texts me back right away. IF YOU'RE GOING, TAKE ME WITH YOU.

  I smile. If I did take the promotion, Paisley would move up with me. OF COURSE. ALSO, I MET A GUY.

  WHAT?!?

  I THINK IT WAS YOUR DRESS. HE'S HOT, THOUGH, SO THANKS.

  Paisley's been bugging me to go on a date for over a year, ever since Foster and I split. LIKE HOW HOT?

  I roll my eyes, not that she can see me. HOTTER THAN FOSTER.

  Her response is all emojis, heart eyes, the wow face, and party confetti. I swear, Paisley texts like a thirteen year old. A moment later, three dots appear, and she texts again. DOES HE HAVE A BROTHER?

  Oh good grief. HAVEN'T ASKED YET. PROBABLY NOT.

  I CAN'T CATCH A BREAK. YOU OWE ME A PHOTO. HE LIKES YOU BECAUSE OF MY DRESS. ARE YOU SEEING HIM?

  I can't mention that we've got a date tomorrow. She'd probably follow me to the restaurant to try and get a look at him. HE ASKED FOR MY NUMBER.

  I STRONGLY PREFER SUMMER WEDDINGS.

  I don't even reply to that. I can't encourage this sort of madness. The next morning after my jog, I drive over to the United Way office. Over the holidays, I split time between the United Way and Frank & Meacham, coming here in the morning, and doing my real job in the afternoons. It's only eight in the morning, but Foster's always in early and I need to talk to him.

  I wave to his assistant Heather as I pass her desk. She lifts one eyebrow, and I shake my head. “Is he busy?”

  She smiles. “Mr. Bradshaw's always busy, but he's not in a bad mood.”

  “Thanks.” I tap on the door and walk inside.

  When Foster turns to face me, my heart skips a beat. His hair curls a little around his ears and at the base of his neck when he’s overdue for a haircut, and I want to touch it, tuck it back in place. I miss having someone in my life, someone whose hair I’m supposed to fix. It’s been a year, but it still stings a little bit at the strangest times. Sometimes he asks if I’m free for dinner and I wonder if we should give things another try, but I’m always busy even when I’m not really busy. Because he wants kids, and I'll never have any.

  Foster leans back in his chair, his designer suit shifting along with him. Most presidents of a charitable organization wouldn't wear two thousand dollar suits every day, but Foster's a trust baby, so he owns nothing else. “I'm glad to see you made it safely home on the icy streets last night.”

  “There wasn't any ice, no need to worry.” I sit down in one of the plain black chairs facing his modular desk. Foster's determined to pull the United Way out of the stone ages, and he started with the furniture.

  “When I said we needed to talk, I didn't mean you had to rush in this morning before work.”

  I shrug. “As it happens, I need to talk to you too.”

  “Oh?” His eyebrows rise. “What about?”

  “You can go first if you want.”

  “Ladies always go first.” Foster may be a little old fashioned, but no one contests that he's a gentleman.

  “Okay, well, I have a question I suppose. This is confidential, but last night I was offered a promotion at Frank & Meacham.”

  He scrunches his aquiline nose. “To what? Even better CPA?”

  “Senior Partner, and head of the Atlanta office.”

  He whistles. “That's amazing, Mary. Maj
or congratulations.”

  I shake my head. “I told them no.”

  He leans forward and braces his hands on his desk. “Why would you do that, Mary? I don't know anyone who loves their job as much as you do.”

  “Actually that's a large part of it. I love my job, preparing returns for people and businesses. I love the certainty, the absolute answer, the beauty and balance. I love helping people save money, and helping them fulfill their financial goals. But that's not all of it. If I took this job, I couldn't run Sub-for-Santa anymore.”

  Foster breathes in slowly through his nose. “You told them no already, like absolutely no?”

  “I tried,” I say, “but they told me to think about it for three weeks.”

  His shoulders slump a little, and his eyes fall to his desk. “It's not great timing then, for my news I mean. Or, I don't know. Maybe it is.”

  Uh oh. “What's up?”

  “The President of the United Way has been phasing out the Sub-for-Santa programs in various locations for years. They feel it doesn't reflect well on us, and makes us seem to support Christian beliefs at the expense of other religions and cultures.”

  “Wait, what? That's stupid. Santa isn't even a Christian construct.”

  Foster sighs. “Don't make this difficult, Mary. Santa is short for Saint Nicholas.”

  I close my eyes and force myself to count to ten.

  “Don't be so melodramatic,” he says. “If there hadn't been an enormous anonymous gift two years ago, they'd have cut the program then.”

  The substantial anonymous gift, otherwise known as my entire life savings. It was that, or no more Sub-for-Santa. It's nice to know my entire savings fund bought us two years. I've been replenishing my accounts ever since, but it's nowhere near recovered.

  “Stan has asked me to provide him a timeline for phase out. He understands we can't halt it for this year, but he'd like us to develop a press release to issue just after the holidays. It should give the community time to process its termination before the holidays hit again next year.”

  I groan. “We've heard this before, and we've kept it going. Tell him you'll phase it out over five years or something. He'll quit or be fired in the next few years and we'll tell the new boss what a great program it is.”

  “I've pushed back before because I always had a strong leader willing to make things happen. We made sure it remained net neutral from a resource pull, and you've worked for free. If you leave, I'd need to hire a replacement, and that means a bigger chunk of the budget. I think we need to be realistic about this.”

  I grit my teeth. “Are you punishing me with this?”

  The veins in his neck stand out. “It's been more than a year, Mary. Of course I'm not punishing you. This is about limited resources and allocating them in the best way possible. A way that allows United Way to grow and serve the community well into the next hundred years. This is off brand for us now, anyway.”

  “I can't see how bringing Christmas cheer will stymie United Way's growth. It's still good PR, right?”

  “You're looking at this all wrong. This is an escape hatch for you. You can't make life altering decisions around a once a year charity,” he says. “You've worked so hard at your job and at this, but it's time to focus on the one that matters to you.”

  “Sub-for-Santa changed my whole life, Foster, and if you can't see that—”

  “I know it did. And you've paid it forward for a decade, running the whole thing yourself for the last seven years.”

  “Eight.” I cross my arms over my chest.

  “Fine, eight. But the point is that over time, things change and we have to accept them. There are plenty of other charities, some that run year round, where you could make a tremendous difference, but to do that, you have to let go of this obsession.”

  I no longer believe we're talking about Sub-for-Santa. “I have moved on, Foster. This decision has nothing to do with you, believe me. It's not like I'm holding on to this as an excuse to see you. I ran this program for five years before you even got the job you have now. Not everything is about you.”

  He stares at me. “Are you sure?”

  I roll my eyes. “Are you kidding me? Yes, I'm sure. In fact, if your news was that you were offering me your job because you've been offered a transfer, I'd take it. Please move far, far away so I don't have to bump into you in dark parking lots anymore.”

  He purses his lips. “I guess this won't upset you, then. Last week, I proposed to my girlfriend Jessica, and she said yes. We've decided to do a simple wedding in my parents' backyard.”

  “Hold up.” My eyes widen. “You're dating someone?”

  “I didn't hide it, okay. More like, I kept it off the radar because I didn't want to hurt you. But I worried you'd hear about our engagement elsewhere and that might be a real shock.”

  “How long have you even known her?” I mentally tabulate when he proposed to me, a few weeks before Halloween. Last year. Fourteen months ago isn't that recent I guess.

  “We met at a Fourth of July barbecue this year.”

  “You moved from a Christmas girl to a Fourth of July enthusiast?”

  “Oh please.” Foster crosses his arms. “She doesn't even like the Fourth. I doubt she could even recite the Pledge of Allegiance. She was a caterer at the party, that's all.”

  I'm over Foster, I really am. I loved him and he loved me, but he wanted something I couldn't give. I'm happy for him, but even so, it's hard to force the words society demands me to say out of my mouth.

  I gulp once, and then say, “Congratulations. I'm happy for you, and I'm sure you two will build a fantastic life together.”

  “It's all happened really fast, but it feels right and we're both delighted.”

  I stand up, eager to dive into work so I don't need to think about this anymore. “Well, thankfully, you won't need to worry about Sub-for-Santa. Since I'm not going anywhere, it'll stay budget neutral and you won't need to hire someone else. We can make up some stupid phase out plan and say the Mayor of Atlanta would be upset or something. You know him, don't you? Could you talk the program up to him and get a sound bite?”

  Foster stands, too. “Trying to save a dying program is a mistake, and frankly, I'm not even sure I want to try.”

  My eyebrows fly upward. “I'm afraid you're not the judge of that. I'm the President of that program, even if I don't take the pay.”

  “You say you don't have time or energy for children, but you pour all your energy and money and time into this every year. These children aren't your kids, you know. And they never will be.”

  He stood up to emphasize his point. Well, that crap doesn't work on me. I sit back down and fold my arms. I won't leave until I'm good and ready. “You know that's a mischaracterization. I love children, but I won't have kids I can't dedicate enough of my time to, and I love my job. I won't do any children the disservice of having a mother who's never around. I won't have children, because I can't put them first in my life.”

  “I know, I know. Your mom chose her job and left your family. It destroyed your dad. But if you chose your career, and you're pursuing it, then when you get offered a promotion, take it. Don't hide behind excuses.”

  I slam my hand down on the corner of his desk. “Sub-for-Santa isn't an excuse, Foster. I have a chance to make a real difference. If even a few of these kids believe in something, if they believe that someone notices the good things they do, then I've done more than my parents ever did for me, in eighteen years.”

  “Well, I won't be able to help you save it, not this time. I've got too much to do with the wedding plans. You'll have to find sound bites and assemble data to present to Mr. Peters yourself.”

  “When is the wedding? You're probably worrying too much. The guy doesn't usually have to do much.”

  “It's December twenty-third.”

  I throw my hands up in the air. “That's only a few weeks away.” Why would they get married so fast, and right before Christmas? I tilt my h
ead. “What's the rush?”

  “We want to make sure we get the tax break this year, and my parents are leaving for a transatlantic holiday cruise on Christmas Eve.”

  “Just a thought,” I say, “but you don't need the couple of grand you'd save. So why not do it in January or February, or even go wild and wait until March.”

  “Jessica didn't want to wait.”

  “Why ever not?” It makes no sense. Foster's family would pay for everything, and help plan all the details. There's no reason to rush Christmas over a few thousand dollars. I've seen Foster drop that much on a new pair of dress shoes.

  Unless.

  I blurt it out without thinking it through. “Oh my gosh, she's pregnant, isn't she?”

  Foster frowns. “It's a secret, Mary. Please respect that.”

  “Well, I'm glad you're finally getting everything I couldn't give you.”

  “Oh you could have. You just didn't want to.”

  I clench my jaw, but don't say another word.

  I'm over him, but maybe I'm not entirely fine with how things went down. I swipe at an errant tear and spin around before rushing out his door.

  Chapter 4

  Foster follows me to the doorway, but my phone rings loudly down the hall, cutting him off before he can say anything. “I better take that. It’s got to be a sponsor, because no one else has this number.” I spin on my heel and jog around the corner to my office.

  “Hello?”

  “Mrs. Wiggin?” a male voice asks.

  It's Miss, but close enough. “That's me. What can I help you with?”

  “This is Mr. Manning. You left me a message about the Sub-for-Santa program. I've never done anything like this before, so I hope I didn't do anything wrong.”

  Completely unhelpful. He's never been a participant? Or a sponsor family? Ugh. “Yes,” I say, “I did call you last night. We're in a bit of a confusing spot, but it might be easier to explain in person. Is there any chance I could come out and meet with you sometime this afternoon?”

  “I'll be on the job until seven. Deadlines are in overdrive right now with the holidays. They're trying to finish my project and running a little over. I can meet you after that, if you don't mind coming to me.”