Right from the Start (25 page)

“Great,” she said, following his lead.

“I’ll take care of the equipment if you want to go grab
anything or lock up.”

“Thanks.”

Slipping out of the room, she vanished without a word. By the
time Will had unplugged everything and gathered the bucket she’d been using to
store discarded paint, she still hadn’t returned. He headed outside through the
side door and disposed of the bucket’s contents in the construction Dumpster
he’d had parked in the lot for Angel House’s debris.

Will hoped he wasn’t setting himself up to fail the test of
being with her. He needed to give her a heads-up about the media storm about to
break, needed to reassure her that her agency wouldn’t get caught in the
fallout. That’s what a responsible council member would do since he’d involved
her in the Family Foundations project in the first place.

That’s what a friend would do.

And they damn well needed to get to some reasonable place where
they could function for the duration of this project without winding up with
their hands all over each other.

Still, when Kenzie appeared in the reception area with her hair
freed of its ponytail and a purse slung over her shoulder, Will thrust his hands
into his pockets to resist the urge to touch her. He wouldn’t even trust himself
with a simple hand on her waist to guide her through the door. The gesture might
be instinctive but it was so dangerous given how tempted he felt right now.

He held the door open with his foot instead, a desperate jerk
trying to do the right thing for once. He didn’t have to wonder why so many
people let their desires lead them through life—it was a hell of a lot
easier.

Kenzie locked up, and then they were on their way up Main
Street, walking side by side, him measuring his pace so he didn’t force her to
run.

“So what’s up, Will?” she asked as he’d opened his mouth to
comment about the city’s efforts with downtown renewal. “Should I be
worried?”

“No. That’s why I’m here. To give you fair warning so you don’t
worry.”

Her step faltered and she glanced at him, her beautiful
features golden in the spill of light from the streetlamp. “What’s going
on?”

“You want the good news or the bad news first?”

“Good news, always.”

“I go for the good news first, too.” The observation popped out
of his mouth, a shared bond he shouldn’t be pointing out.

“My mother always says to remember the blessings first so we
can accept the disappointments graciously.”

“I like that,” Will said. “I’ve got a friend who always wants
to feel good before he gets knocked down. Swears it doesn’t hurt as much.”

Kenzie’s gaze widened. “Sounds like quite a character.”

“He’s that, all right. He’s also the uncle of the kid who
drywalled over your outlet.”

She didn’t get a chance to reply because they were suddenly
crossing Main Street to reach the pub on the other side. Will did touch her
then, just a hand on her elbow as they stepped off the curb against the light.
Then he grabbed the pub’s door and she swept past.

They were led to a booth not far from the bar, but with enough
privacy they could talk.

“Are you hungry? I know it’s kind of late but it occurred to me
I missed dinner.” Nothing like feeling stupid to remind him this get-together
wasn’t a date.

“Peanuts and a protein bar don’t last long, do they?” The
corners of her mouth tipped up, almost a smile. “They have a dessert here I
love. The Irish Crème pie. I could splurge.”

“Go for it. You work hard.” She probably ordered only so he
wouldn’t feel rude eating alone. But he liked that about her, liked the way she
thought of others and came up with equitable solutions.

That ability was some gift.

She ordered the house cabernet, explaining, “This is actually a
good vintage and it’s not too high on the alcohol count, which is good because I
need to be able to think in the morning.”

“I’m going with a Guinness, since I don’t have to put my son in
the truck.”

“Nice to hear. Alcohol around children can be one of the
tougher points of negotiation between a divorcing couple.”

“I had no clue. Kind of sobering to think there are that many
alcoholics.”

She made a face and laughed. “Often one parent will have a
problem the other parent is concerned about. Sometimes one parent wants to
micromanage the other, and alcohol is a convenient target. Sometimes parents
simply have differing opinions about what constitutes acceptable consumption.
Some people feel as long as they’re below the legal limit, it’s okay to get
behind the wheel. Others feel even one drink is too many when there’s a child in
the car. I guess I know where you fall on that topic.”

“And you, too. Kids can be distracting under the best of
circumstances.”

That earned a soft smile, approval if he read her right. “So
you were about to share the good news...” she prompted after the waiter had
delivered their drinks.

“Right. The good news is your agency is officially the
long-term tenant of one of Hendersonville’s historic buildings with first option
on renewing the lease,” Will said. “The renovations will continue until they’re
completed and whatever happens with the rest of the building won’t impact
you.”

“And what’s happening with the rest of the building? Please
tell me there isn’t a problem with Angel House.”

He took a long draught and let the cold brew take the heat out
of his admission. “A friend who covers a beat with the local paper told me today
that a controversy could be brewing. There were some letters to the editor about
Family Foundations that sparked an interest in the recipients of the city’s
funds. Naturally, they’re calling attention to Angel House’s religious
affiliation and questioning why a group should be eligible for public money. The
first of the series of articles will run in Sunday’s edition.”

“Will there be fallout?”

He shrugged. “Probably, but the mayor’s office has a plan in
place—has from the beginning. The bad press isn’t unexpected. That’s why we
worked so hard to cover all the demographics with Family Foundations. People get
touchy about religion.”

“But Angel House serves all children, right?”

“Any race, religion and socio-economic group. If a kid needs
the services Angel House provides, that’s the only qualification. The parents
also must provide transportation—we don’t have buses or vans to transport kids.
Yet, anyway.”

“I really don’t think where a program began should impact the
way the city provides services.”

“Personally, I don’t think it should, either. People affiliated
with religious organizations are still a segment of the population with the same
rights as everyone else. Unfortunately, that’s not mainstream opinion right now.
The minute religion comes up, the media uses it as a platform for social issues.
Then people get riled up.”

She folded her hands on the table, considering. “And the mayor
and the council back up the choice of Angel House?”

He nodded. “I wouldn’t have pushed for any of this without
their support. It’s going to be tough enough to overcome the negative.”

“I don’t like the sound of that. You don’t think they’ll
withdraw their support if the public backlash gets too loud, do you?”

“Not if they can help it. The mayor understands the need and
knows the services are not being provided at the levels of current demand. It’s
her job to provide for all segments of her constituency. It’s all our jobs
whether we’re career politicians or average Joes like me. We’ve agreed to
represent the people of Hendersonville. Not just the ones whose issues are
garnering the most media attention. It’s pretty black and white. That said, I
can’t realistically expect her or any of the council members to damage their
reputations by going to bat for my cause.”

“I
really
don’t like the sound of
that. It’s called bullying, and it’s an unacceptable way to handle any
situation. There are ways to negotiate difficult compromises.”

“You’d be the expert on that. Let’s hope Angel House gets a
chance to overcome the opposition.” The thought of that opposition and having to
defend their position put a big dent in his appetite.

“What happens if they can’t, Will?”

He reached for his glass, took a fortifying swig before
admitting the simple and brutal truth. “It’ll be the end of the road for Angel
House. We’ve tapped out our resources. We rely on the church’s support, several
grants we have in place and fund-raising, but it’s not enough in this economy.
There’s a waiting list for enrollment a mile long, but we’re not able to
continue services for our kids now without more financial help. I’ve found a
grant we’re eligible for, a big one that will put us on solid financial ground
so we can cover our overhead. If we can get this grant, we’ll be relying on
fund-raising and donations to grow the program rather than simply maintain
it.”

“What’s the catch?”

That she read between the lines made him smile. “We have to
have a permanent location that serves the community.”

“Family Foundations.”

“You got it. No other way to make it happen. We can’t continue
on the income we’re bringing in now. You’ve got to realize that as a ministry,
we’re already circumventing a lot of the basics. The church gave us the house
we’re located in, so we don’t pay rent. The woman who runs the program doesn’t
take a dime for a salary, and with the exception of the certified faculty and
staff, the rest of the paraprofessionals like classroom aides and dietary and
custodial staff are volunteers who are willing to undergo extensive training.
Most of them from the church.”

Kenzie shook her head, clearly disbelieving. “The government
couldn’t possibly provide that level of care, and yet people would rather
sacrifice all those services because a church is involved?”

“All I can tell you is parents of kids with autism are all
about believing in miracles. Church involvement is not an issue.” He hadn’t
expected this conversation to become a tell-all, but Will wanted Kenzie to
understand, needed her to know the reasons he couldn’t drag her into his world
even though he wanted to.

And he wanted more than he had ever had before.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

K
ENZIE
WAS
A
huge
believer in being in the right place at the right time, but she had no clue she
was stepping into one of those situations on her way outside to unload the paint
scrapings into Will’s construction Dumpster.

She’d pushed open the door to the parking lot when a shout
stopped her in her tracks. In one startled instant, Kenzie took in the
unfamiliar car parked in the lot, and the dark-haired child barreling toward her
at full speed.

“Sam!” a voice rang out, and Kenzie saw a blonde woman lunge
around the front of the car.

The former Mrs. Russell.

That was Kenzie’s only thought as she leaped into Sam’s path,
which had him aiming right for Main Street.

He crashed into her with surprising force, and the bucket
clattered to the asphalt, knocked from her hand. She stepped backward to balance
herself, steadying both of them with a hand on Sam’s shoulder as she knelt in
front of him, ready to stop him if he attempted to take off again. But by then
his mom was there, grabbing him by the arms and pulling him close.

“Oh, my God, thank you.” She exhaled the words on a breath,
then did a double take as she glanced at Kenzie.

They didn’t get a chance for reminders about where they’d
previously met because Sam began to struggle against the restraint, huffing with
obvious frustration and sounding as if he was trying to say something.

“It’s okay, honey,” Melinda formerly Russell said. “It’s all
right. Let’s go find Daddy.”

Sam wasn’t having any part of her reassurances. He struggled in
earnest until his movements threatened Melinda’s grip on him. His actions were
accompanied by noises that were getting louder and louder.

“Come on, honey. It’s okay. Don’t be upset.”

Kenzie stood there unsure how to help, so she scooped the dried
paint peelings into the bucket. A couple jogged down Main Street past the
parking lot, their gazes locked on Melinda and Sam. They couldn’t have been much
older than Kenzie, and they ran with their dog on a lead.

“Can’t figure out why some people bother to have kids,” the man
commented loudly as they passed.

Kenzie overheard the comment. So did Melinda, judging by the
stricken expression on her lovely face. She glanced at Kenzie, who felt a pang.
This woman was so, so beautiful.

A perfect match for Will, in appearance, at least.

“He doesn’t want me to leave,” Melinda explained as if Kenzie,
too, might pass a similar judgment.

Then hanging on to Sam with a death grip, she maneuvered him
around to face her. “Honey, Mommy has a work function tonight. I have to go.
I’ll come back in the morning. I promise.”

Kenzie recognized two things. The first was that there was a
noticeable difference between the way mom and dad handled their son. Mom tried
to reason verbally with Sam. Kenzie remembered Will being noticeably concise,
every interaction of minimum words.

The second thing she realized was that Melinda could use some
backup.

“Would you like me to get Will?” Kenzie asked. “He should be
working inside.”

“Oh, please. Would you mind?”

“Not at all.” Kenzie set the bucket on the curb and took off,
letting herself in the unlocked side door to Angel House.

She found Will in the labyrinth of rooms that occupied what
used to be Madame Estelle’s prized recital hall.

Will was crouched in a corner working with a saw. When she got
close, she recognized the miter box. A professional version of the ten-dollar
plastic one she’d used for her baseboards.

“Kenzie.” Will glanced up and saw her. “What’s going—”

“Sam’s mom could use a hand outside.”

That was all she had to say. The electric saw ground to sudden
silence, and he was on his feet without another word. She didn’t run to keep up
with him, knew she’d helped the little bit she could. Her place wasn’t with
their family.

And that knowledge ached inside her.
Ached.

Slipping back outside, she intended to quietly grab her bucket,
but the scene she walked out on was an intimate one.

Will and Melinda kneeling in front of their son, Sam’s mouth
working so hard to speak, maybe to share what he felt. Kenzie didn’t know. She
only knew the little boy was frustrated and angry because he pushed against
Will’s restraint when Melinda said, “We went for ice cream and had a good
time.”

Will only nodded. “Wave goodbye, Sam.”

Sam clearly wasn’t having any part of waving or anything else
right then. He flailed wildly until Will finally hoisted him into his arms and
told Melinda, “Go ahead. Don’t worry. I’ll text to let you know when he settles
down.”

Melinda looked so torn in that moment, raw emotion obvious on
her features. Then she nodded.

Will caught Kenzie’s gaze and inclined his head in a silent
thanks before disappearing with his son inside Angel House.

Melinda had tears in her eyes as she watched them go. Then she
blinked past them and turned to Kenzie.

“It took me a second to place you, but I recognized the name of
your agency. Thanks for your help.”

“I hope everything worked out,” Kenzie said softy. “You have a
very lovely family.”

Tears welled again, then Melinda circled her car and climbed
in.

Kenzie made her way to the Dumpster, and everything about her
felt heavy. She ached inside for a little boy who’d been so upset because his
mom was leaving.

She ached for the mom who hadn’t been able to console her
little boy.

She ached for the man who was running interference between the
two, sacrificing himself to be there for his family.

She’d had it all wrong from the very beginning. Melinda hadn’t
mentioned her son’s special needs during their meetings, and Will hadn’t even
mentioned his son during the election.

Because they’d wanted to protect him from people who didn’t
understand? People like the runner who’d passed judgment after one glance.

Or because they ached for their son and were trying to provide
for his needs in the best way they could?

Kenzie suspected the answer was a bit of both.

She tried to imagine what it might be like to be in Melinda’s
shoes. How did a mother cope with not being able to make things better for her
child? Kenzie couldn’t even imagine, had zero frame of reference. All she knew
was that Melinda had been hurt because she couldn’t console her son.

Will had stepped in and taken charge, as she suspected he
always did, comforting both Sam and his mother in the process.

God, Kenzie hadn’t understood him at all.

She had thought she’d had all the answers about love, but she
hadn’t even been asking the right questions. She’d believed Will had failed at
love because he had two divorces behind him. But those divorces didn’t define
him. No, what defined him was his commitment to his family, his dedication to
his son.

That was the mark of someone succeeding at love.

Kenzie hadn’t understood at all. With Nathanial, she’d been
allowing friendship and familiarity to define their relationship. Then she’d
waited, avoiding any real commitment, never testing herself against her inner
child, loving but never actually being in love.

Until Will had come into the picture.

And ever since, she’d been on a roller coaster of emotion, more
alive, more in love than she’d ever been in her life.

* * *

“D
OESN
’
T
THE
MEDIA
oversee what’s written
anymore?” Will folded the newspaper and handed it to Deanne. He didn’t want to
read any more. Not another word or the top of his head might blow off. “Whatever
happened to integrity in journalism?”

“All I ever hear about is slanted media. And in the advent of
the internet all bets are off. Anyone can write anything they want.” She glared
at the paper and gave a huff of exasperation. “Okay, that’s not entirely fair.
There are a few publications that stubbornly wield their power for good and not
evil.”

“Just doesn’t feel like it today.”

Crossing the hall in a few steps, she leaned into an empty
classroom and dropped the paper in the trash. “No, it doesn’t.”

They stood in the hallway at the old Angel House location while
Sam was working with the speech therapist. School didn’t begin for another three
weeks. And they needed two of those weeks to move and get Angel House up and
running in the new location, which left him only a week. Seven days.

Where
school would begin became the
question.

Not only did the entire place still need to be painted, but all
the flooring, wall covering and lighting were sitting in one of his warehouses,
waiting for his crew to finish installing bathroom fixtures.

But instead of concentrating on finishing the renovations in
record time, Will was knee-deep in the backlash from the exposé on Family
Foundations. The mayor, the council, Angel House parents...they’d all expected
some opposition but hadn’t anticipated the spill-over effect of the previous
presidential election year. People were still raw from the constant bombardment
of controversial social issues.

An advocacy group now picketed at the original Angel House,
making sure they called every media outlet so the protest could be documented
live. The mayor had immediately responded by going on record stating that Family
Foundations served, and would continue to serve, all representatives of
Hendersonville’s population without discrimination or bias. She touted the
careful safeguards Will had put in place, from Kenzie’s agency to the work of
the Main Street Advisory Board.

Hendersonville had been well covered.

The mayor had also made Family Foundations financials and
guidelines available on the city website for any who wanted to see where Family
Foundations spent money. She also posted links to direct people to all the
public records that proved Angel House was a legitimate nonprofit organization
serving the public based on need.

Angel House had done the same on their own website, providing
documented and historic proof they served kids from all backgrounds. Their
defense was total transparency.

The dust still hadn’t settled.

And while Will didn’t think the mayor would give in to the
bullying by refusing Angel House the Family Foundations lease, he was now
worried about the effect of the public controversy on Angel House’s chances with
the Ramsey Foundation.

Serving the community was a criterion for the grant, but
picketers and inflammatory letters to the editor didn’t demonstrate a community
embracing the service. If Angel House didn’t win the grant, then all this work
with Family Foundations, with the move, with the renovations would have served
no purpose whatsoever because Angel House wouldn’t be able to keep the doors
open, anyway.

“The Ramsey Foundation emailed me again,” Deanne said.

“They want a date?”

She nodded. “The application process is complete, and all we’re
waiting on is the walk-through. They said we may have a problem scheduling if we
wait any longer.”

“So you need a date.” Not a question this time.

She didn’t reply, simply waited with a somber expression. She
knew he’d have already given her one if he’d had it.

Leaning against the wall, Will dragged a hand across his
forehead to relieve the pressure there. God, he was tired. He couldn’t remember
the last time he hadn’t been tired. “Are we going to have anyone left to move
this place with all the preparation for the Apple Festival?”

Answer a question with a question. He’d bought himself a few
more minutes.

“Our wonderful pastor told me not to worry about that part. He
said he’d ask for help from every committee at the parish if we need it.”

What did Will even say to that kind of support?
Thank you
didn’t begin to cover his appreciation to
people who so generously offered hope whenever and wherever it was needed.

“I’m surprised they’re even willing to touch us with all this
media fallout. Instead of telling the world about the amazing work they do at
this parish, we’re going out of our way to disconnect from them. They deserve so
much better for everything they’ve provided Angel House.”

Her expression softened thoughtfully. “No doubt about that, but
they understand what needs to happen for Angel House to grow. And keep in mind
the parish isn’t involved for recognition, although recognition would certainly
be appreciated. The parish is involved because it can fulfill a need. It’s
really that simple. That’s what everyone around here does. They help people who
need them.”

“They may wind up with picketers in the church parking lot for
their effort.”

“Then I’d say a prayer for the picketers because they’ll get a
lot more than they bargained for when Father gets a hold of them.”

Will chuckled. Deanne was always so quick to give him
perspective with reminders of how he needed more faith in people and more trust
in miracles.

“Come on,” she said. “Sam’s still going to be a bit. Let’s get
coffee in my office. We can talk more there.”

Will followed to the break room, mentally reviewing the list of
things still to be finished before he could give her free rein to begin moving
into the building.

Once ensconced in Deanne’s office, Will took one look around at
the books and computer software stacked on her desk and the empty shelves lining
the wall. “Coffee,
right.
You want help packing
boxes.”

“Drink that before you fall down and land in one of those boxes
yourself. When was the last time you slept?”

He considered that. “Got a few hours between the cops breaking
up the picketers and the mayor’s press conference.”

Deanne eyed him from over the rim of her cup. “You can’t
complete the renovation if you kill yourself.”