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Authors: Robyn Carr
Tags: Romance
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ratty grass and flower beds trimmed and weeded—and she cried. “Oh, my God, I can’t believe it. It’s so beautiful!”
“The sign’s not exactly beautiful,” Jack said. “It’s homemade—but the price was right. Free. We didn’t want to spend money on signage when there are women and children who need basic stuff.”
Mel handed her a small box, and she opened it to find business cards bearing her name, the address and phone number for the center, and a small list of available services. They were simply beautiful to Dory. “Where did you get these?”
“I signed up for one of those online Web sites that offer five hundred free business cards. Bet you go through them in no time. And John just about has the center’s Web site ready—take a look at it in the morning and if you have any tweaks, let him know.”
“This is really happening,” Dory said. “After three years of doing the best we could, we actually have a real, live, nonprofit resource center.”
“Dory, we’ve gotten a lot done in three years, and now with more space, more volunteers and more time, we’ll help more people. Thank you for bringing us this vision.”
“Thank the Zoë Institute,” she said. “Without them, I don’t know where I’d be today. I sure wouldn’t be holding business cards with my name and the title Director on them.”
D ORY FELT SHE’D HAD one of the most productive weeks of her life, and for some reason she couldn’t explain, she’d had no sense of doom over the loss of her steady job. With overtime she had earned a little more than she was making as the director of the center, but not enough more to make it worth putting up with Mr. Sills’s constant criticism and haranguing. And Corsica was so right—even though she had hardly begun as the director, she was already so much more fulfilled, so much happier.
Dory had left one of the three bedrooms in that little house empty of furniture. She and the rest of the board of directors had been hauling around donated nonperishable food items and supplies in their cars for women in need, but now she could create a bona fide, well-stocked food closet. The first thing she planned to do next week was visit some of the big-box stores like Costco and ask for donations on a large scale to stock that closet. She’d promise them good press and a mention on the Web site. She would hit all the stores, including Target and Albertsons, and she’d even swallow her pride and check with Mr. Sills’s grocery in Fortuna. She’d be lucky if he didn’t spit in her eye, but this wasn’t about her. She’d ask anyway.
But the next thing on her agenda was to make red beans and rice for Sunday dinner with Clay. She’d been too busy to think about it much and was surprised to realize she wasn’t stressed out about it at all, but rather very excited. She’d been on the run so much all week, she hadn’t even seen him to wave across the yard. With her time divided between work and The Single Mother’s Resource Center, she didn’t hang around the house with time on her hands much.
The kids were so jazzed about having Clay to dinner, they helped her by cleaning their rooms and doing a few chores around the house. And to her surprise, Clay must have been looking forwardto it, too. He stopped by her house at around noon on Sunday and said, “You never told me what time.”
“Would five be too early for you? I know you bachelor types start your evenings at ten at night. You probably haven’t eaten earlier than nine in years. But the kids—”
“Five is great. Is there a wine that goes with red beans?”
She just laughed at him. “Clay, do I look like someone who knows anything about wines? I couldn’t tell you. I usually drink milk with the kids. We’re keeping our bones strong.”
“I drink a lot of milk, too, but for the first time you have me to dinner, I’m going to find something special.”
“Knock yourself out,” she said. “Now, get out of here.
“The sign’s not exactly beautiful,” Jack said. “It’s homemade—but the price was right. Free. We didn’t want to spend money on signage when there are women and children who need basic stuff.”
Mel handed her a small box, and she opened it to find business cards bearing her name, the address and phone number for the center, and a small list of available services. They were simply beautiful to Dory. “Where did you get these?”
“I signed up for one of those online Web sites that offer five hundred free business cards. Bet you go through them in no time. And John just about has the center’s Web site ready—take a look at it in the morning and if you have any tweaks, let him know.”
“This is really happening,” Dory said. “After three years of doing the best we could, we actually have a real, live, nonprofit resource center.”
“Dory, we’ve gotten a lot done in three years, and now with more space, more volunteers and more time, we’ll help more people. Thank you for bringing us this vision.”
“Thank the Zoë Institute,” she said. “Without them, I don’t know where I’d be today. I sure wouldn’t be holding business cards with my name and the title Director on them.”
D ORY FELT SHE’D HAD one of the most productive weeks of her life, and for some reason she couldn’t explain, she’d had no sense of doom over the loss of her steady job. With overtime she had earned a little more than she was making as the director of the center, but not enough more to make it worth putting up with Mr. Sills’s constant criticism and haranguing. And Corsica was so right—even though she had hardly begun as the director, she was already so much more fulfilled, so much happier.
Dory had left one of the three bedrooms in that little house empty of furniture. She and the rest of the board of directors had been hauling around donated nonperishable food items and supplies in their cars for women in need, but now she could create a bona fide, well-stocked food closet. The first thing she planned to do next week was visit some of the big-box stores like Costco and ask for donations on a large scale to stock that closet. She’d promise them good press and a mention on the Web site. She would hit all the stores, including Target and Albertsons, and she’d even swallow her pride and check with Mr. Sills’s grocery in Fortuna. She’d be lucky if he didn’t spit in her eye, but this wasn’t about her. She’d ask anyway.
But the next thing on her agenda was to make red beans and rice for Sunday dinner with Clay. She’d been too busy to think about it much and was surprised to realize she wasn’t stressed out about it at all, but rather very excited. She’d been on the run so much all week, she hadn’t even seen him to wave across the yard. With her time divided between work and The Single Mother’s Resource Center, she didn’t hang around the house with time on her hands much.
The kids were so jazzed about having Clay to dinner, they helped her by cleaning their rooms and doing a few chores around the house. And to her surprise, Clay must have been looking forwardto it, too. He stopped by her house at around noon on Sunday and said, “You never told me what time.”
“Would five be too early for you? I know you bachelor types start your evenings at ten at night. You probably haven’t eaten earlier than nine in years. But the kids—”
“Five is great. Is there a wine that goes with red beans?”
She just laughed at him. “Clay, do I look like someone who knows anything about wines? I couldn’t tell you. I usually drink milk with the kids. We’re keeping our bones strong.”
“I drink a lot of milk, too, but for the first time you have me to dinner, I’m going to find something special.”
“Knock yourself out,” she said. “Now, get out of here.
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