Cara reached into her elegant handbag and pulled out a checkbook. My eyebrows shot up involuntarily as she began writing.
“I was so moved by the event,” she said, her pen gliding across the paper, “that I’ve decided to make an additional donation. I’ll be matching Patrick’s bid from the auction.”
My jaw nearly hit the floor. Patrick’s bid had been substantial, to say the least. This kind of generosity was…well, it was game-changing.
“Mrs. McMartin, I…that’s incredibly generous,” I stammered, my mind already racing with the possibilities this donation would open up. “Are you sure?”
She handed me the check with a warm smile. “Absolutely. The work you’re doing here is vital, West. And again, call me Cara.”
I accepted the check, still in a bit of a daze. “Cara, thank you. This will make such a difference for so many kids.”
Cara’s expression shifted as I carefully tucked the check into a folder. “It’s no secret that John and I fostered our children while we went through the adoption process. We fell in love the moment we saw them, and I couldn’t have lived with myself if I’d seen those three boys separated.”
“You and John are the dream of every child in foster care, Cara. Many of us age out of the system with nothing. I’m one of the lucky ones because I came out of it with a family.”
She smiled. “You’re talking about Drew, aren’t you? He’s a lovely man. You both are. I can’t be certain, but I think my Patrick might have a little crush on him. I’ve never seen him more passionate about anything that isn’t his work.”
I tried to keep my expression as neutral as possible.
“Oh really?”
“Patrick was ten when we adopted him. His brothers were a lot younger, so they don’t remember much about their biological parents. Patrick has a very good moral compass. He’s always strived to be a strong student and a good son, a good doctor. Sometimes too good.”
I chuckled. “That sounds like a parent’s best dream.”
“It is, but sometimes I wish he would relax a little. Not focus so much on work. Have a social life. I’m so happy he’s finally doing something fun. Even if nothing more comes from his time with Drew, at least I’ll have a personal bartender at home.”
“That does have its advantages,” I said, trying to make light of it even as I felt the crushing weight of what she was saying.
There was a possibility Drew and Patrick could end up dating, and unlike the otherinvisibleboyfriends, this one had a face and was an actual decent person.
“How about you, my dear? Anyone special in your life other than Drew?”
“There’s a lot going on here, Cara. With the generous donations we’ve received, I’m going to spend the next few weeks hiring contractors, purchasing equipment, and interviewing people for permanent positions. No time to date or even think about dating.”
Cara’s eyes sparkled with warmth as she gathered her purse, preparing to leave. “Forgive me for stepping out of line, but don’t let life pass you by. You are as important as the people you’re helping here.”
“Thank you.” That was all I could say before my throat threatened to close up. I’d never had a mother figure or special person who’d spoken to me like they truly cared. Only Drew.
She squeezed my arm gently. “You’re changing lives, you know? Never doubt the impact you’re making. Keep pushing forward, even when it gets tough. The world needs more people like you.”
Her words hit me right in the chest, leaving me momentarily speechless. I swallowed hard, nodding. “I…I will. Thank you for believing in us.”
As Cara’s heels clicked away down the hallway, I stood there, a sudden restlessness settling under my skin.
I paced the room, my fingers twitching at my sides. There was so much to do, so many people we could help. I also needed to stop thinking about what might happen between Drew and Patrick. The energy coursing through me demanded an outlet, and I knew sitting behind a desk crunching numbers wouldn’t cut it.
Screw it.
If I couldn’t sit still, I might as well make myself useful. There were always repairs to be done, rooms to be prepped. My muscles ached for action, craving the satisfying burn of physical labor. I’d taken a couple of weeks away from my job as a paramedic to focus on the fundraiser, which meant I’d been sitting for far too many hours, and since I wasn’t due back for a few days, that situation was unlikely to change.
I headed to one of the rooms that would eventually serve as a meeting room for our volunteer psychologists and therapists. The walls were a dingy off-white, begging for a fresh coat. After I bought paint a couple of months ago, I’d placed the desired color in each room.
A paint bucket and a set of brushes and rollers were in the corner waiting for me. As I dipped the brush into a can of warm, inviting beige, I felt the tension in my shoulders start to ease.
The first stroke was like a sigh of relief. I fell into a rhythm, and the steady swish-swish against the wall became almost meditative. My mind drifted, imagining how the room would look once we had furniture and some nice pictures on the walls.
Once I’d done the edges, I put the brush down and picked up the roller. That made it all go a lot quicker. In just over an hour, the first coat was done and waiting to dry before the next one.
