Save the Date (3 page)

Walking back down the hall, Lucy could hardly make the necessary small talk for her racing mind. She needed time. There were people to call, companies to contact. She had to find new donors. And quickly.

Lucy guided her back into the office, but Marinell stopped just inside. “What’s that?” Marinell pointed to a series of worn indentions in the sun-bleached wooden floor.

“Saving Grace was a convent until about five years ago.” The thought always made her heart warm. “This is where the nuns prayed. Those dents there? That’s from many hours on their knees.”

“You serious?”

Lucy nodded. “I’d like to think the sisters would be proud of what we do here. Those marks in the floor remind me that I can’t solve anything without putting my own time in on my knees.”

“My mom and dad are Catholic. Um, I mean my mom is.”

“But you’re not?” Lucy asked.

Marinell looked away from the floor. “I’m not anything.”

Lucy exchanged a look with Morgan before handing Marinell her card. “This is how you can reach me. If you need anything, give me a call—night or day.” Pressing it in Marinell’s hand, Lucy felt the warmth of the girl’s skin, the life that pulsed beneath it.
God, help me save this one
. “We’d like Saving Grace to be your home, Marinell.” She smiled into the girl’s weary eyes. “And we’d like to be your family.”

“Do you know how many people have said that to me?” Marinell’s chin lifted in challenge. “I need someone who’s gonna come through for once. I don’t want this to be just another place that lets me down.”

Morgan smiled. “Then I’ve brought you to the right place.” Lucy listened to her best friend’s words and willed herself not to burst into tears. “I promise, Lucy won’t let you down.”

Chapter Two

Y
ou really shouldn’t go to this gala, Lucy.” Morgan stuck her head into the bathroom for the fifth time. Lucy’s apartment was slowly filling up with friends who were there for a Dr. Who marathon. Though Morgan was hosting, the Hobbits always met at their home base—Lucy’s apartment. Officially the Hobbits gathered twice a month to discuss the latest books, movies, and anything else remotely resembling fantasy or science fiction. Unofficially, they hung out all the time.

“She’s right.” Chuck, Morgan’s fiancé, ambled in from the crowded living room and leaned into the bathroom. “There’s a fine line between nagging and stalking.”

Lucy closed her compact with a snap and regarded them both. “I’m not going to hide in anyone’s backseat. I just want to have a calm discussion with a few of the Sinclair board members.”

They were an odd bunch—Morgan, Chuck, and the group eating pizza rolls in the living room. It was Morgan who had been her first friend after Lucy had returned to South Carolina three years ago. And when Morgan had introduced Lucy to the Hobbits, Lucy had felt like she belonged for the first time in her life.

After graduating from college in Florida, Lucy had remained in the state working for the Department of Human Services. Three years on the job, and a routine visit had taken her to a home like Saving Grace. She had walked inside a caseworker, but walked out a woman with a purpose and an unmistakable call on her life. And even though she hadn’t planned to return to Charleston, God had lined everything up and all but shoved her on the plane.

Glancing at her phone, Lucy checked the time. “I need to get going.” She edged past her friends and into her small living room.

“Lucy, you’re looking ravishing tonight.” Sanjay, a fellow Hobbit, stood a little too close to her and visibly sniffed near her perfumed neck. By day, Sanjay worked in IT. But at least twice a month he put in overtime as Lucy’s own harmless stalker.

“I can’t stay.” She smiled at the small assembly of friends around her. “I have . . . a thing.”

“I make a great date for”—Sanjay slowly lifted one dark brow—“things.”

“Please reconsider, Lucy. Or at least let us go with you,” Morgan said, elbowing Chuck.

“Uh, yeah.” He sounded about as interested as Lucy would be in sports. “We’d love to go to your swanky party.”

“No offense, guys, but you’ll just get in my way.” She tugged at the waist of her dress. It seemed to have shrunk since she last tried it on. “I have a strategy for tonight. I owe it to the girls to give this one last try, and for that I need to stay focused.”

Sanjay was not the most energetic of suitors. “And my nearby hotness would be a distraction.”

She stifled an eye roll and sidestepped him toward the door.

Morgan followed Lucy to the door. “Have you at least rehearsed what you’re going to say?”

“Something along the lines of ‘twelve young women will be homeless because of your decisions.’” Lucy tapped her phone. “I also thought I’d show them some pictures. Let them see the girls they’re kicking to the streets.”

Chuck nodded solemnly. “This moment totally calls for light sabers.”

“You should’ve updated me on the donation situation
before
I all but told Marinell you had a bedroom waiting for her,” Morgan said.

She couldn’t think about that now. Tonight was about a solution.

It was times like these Lucy wished she could pick up the phone and call her mother. Lucy had been eighteen when she’d died, leaving a gaping hole in her heart. Sometimes she even let herself wonder what her life would be like if her father was still alive. Lucy had never even met him. She only had two photos of him, but she imagined he would’ve loved her. Provided them with a happy home. If he were alive right now, he’d probably invite her over for grilled steaks and give her loving advice over the smoke from his Weber grill.

“Let me pray for you—in case you don’t make it back alive.” Chuck threw an arm around her as he cleared his throat and found his youth-pastor voice. “Lord, we ask that you protect Lucy as she speaks with the board members. We ask for you to change their minds. And if that’s not possible, we pray that you’d open a door for the home that only you can open. Oh, and that Lucy would stay calm. And not get arrested. Amen.”

Lucy lifted her head. “I promise if I need any backup, I’ll call.”

“Go get ’em, girl.” With his Big Mac body, Chuck wrapped all three of them in a group hug. “And may the force be with you.”

Lucy’s hands shook as she smoothed them over her little black dress, a taffeta number with beaded straps she’d found at a new resale shop near the mall. The classic A-line had a slenderizing effect and didn’t seem to scream, “I’m allergic to working out!”

Okay, Lucy. Get your game face on. There is work to be done. A girls’ home to save. Board members to harass. Lord, I seriously need some help here
.

As she looked around the ballroom at the crème de la crème of South Carolina, she struggled to draw a deep breath. She was a cubic zirconium in a sea of diamonds.

Lucy wove through the crush of people, her mind spinning with thoughts of her girls, her money woes, and the latest
Star Wars
novel that patiently waited for her on her bedside table.

“Lucy Wiltshire.”

She turned at the nasally voice.

Ugh, not now. She didn’t have time for this. “Hey, Bianca.”

Bianca Drummond sashayed toward Lucy, her designer dress sparkling under the ballroom lights. A staple at all Charleston society events, Bianca could trace her wealthy family back to the Mayflower. And she made sure everyone knew it.

“How are you?” Her mouth moved into a pout as she flicked her long platinum hair away from her perfectly rounded chest. “I heard through the grapevine that donations are considerably smaller this year. I sure hate that. I know your little nonprof will be just devastated. I wanted to deliver my donation to you personally.”

“Oh. Well. Thank you. We appreciate the help.”

“I don’t want to help.” Bianca handed over a folded check. “That’s to cover some packing expenses. Your home is sitting on land that’s prime for a new parking garage. My daddy’s on the city council, of course, and it’s just a matter of time before that building is dozed to the ground.” She pursed her pouty pink lips. “You hadn’t heard?”

Some sorority girls just never grew up. “I have an extended lease-to-own contract, so I’m pretty sure you misunderstood.”

Bianca laughed. “What the city wants, the city gets. Especially when a tenant’s future is so unstable. The building’s owners have been very cooperative with the council.” Her head bounced up as she caught a glimpse of someone across the room. “Must go chat with the mayor’s son. Make sure you send me a receipt.” With a look that dismissed Lucy from her black heels to the top of her blonde head, Bianca walked away.

A wave of panic threatened to knock Lucy off her heels. Like she needed more bad news. So now not only did she have to find a couple hundred thousand, but if snotty Bianca’s information was correct, she’d be finding a new location soon as well.

How much worse could this possibly get?

Alex Sinclair glanced at his TAG Heur watch, though it was a wasted effort. This year he couldn’t make an appearance and leave. Because he didn’t just represent Sinclair Hotels. Tonight he was a man asking for the votes of the First Congressional District of South Carolina. The room buzzed like a hive, filled with dignitaries and connections he desperately needed. The election was in less than three months. He felt the pressure of time slipping away from him like a noose around his neck.

“I saw your ad on TV last night.” Mayor Blackwell rested his hand on Alex’s shoulder. “Great work. But too bad about that article in last week’s
Gazette
.”

“My team is working hard to find the leak. I’m not sure how our information is getting out.” The paper had revealed the records of private donations from very powerful people. Influential citizens who had preferred to keep their party affiliations neutral. Citizens who were now very unhappy with Alex’s camp. Another devastating blow to what was turning out to be a lackluster campaign.

When Congressman Patton had died unexpectedly of a heart attack, no one had expected Alex to throw in his hat for the rushed special election. A blown knee had forced Alex to retire from football at thirty-two. And while the campaign was proving harder than any championship game, it was one fight he wouldn’t limp away from.

His father joined them. “My son’s the best thing on the ticket. With his ideas for health care, reducing state spending, and cutting taxes for middle and lower classes, the good folks of South Carolina would be crazy not to vote for him.”

Alex gave a reluctant laugh. “I’m thinking of firing my campaign managers and hiring my parents.”

Though the media was having a field day with his life at the moment, Alex wasn’t about to give up. It was a foreign feeling—this losing. He was a conqueror. Just like on the field, he should be able to size up his opponent, zero in on his weakness, and go for the kill. But it wasn’t working. Each day held another setback. Just last week
People
magazine had run a scathing exposé on every alleged bitter girlfriend Alex had ever had. Their group photo had taken two whole pages. Only part of it had been true—the rest lies and toxic slams on his character. Yet, to sue a handful of women wouldn’t get him any points with the voters either. Today’s
Gazette
had a full-page spread on allegations that Alex had bet against his own team in his last Super Bowl. How could he prove to the voters that he wasn’t the same man they thought he was? He had once reveled in his reputation of being the lady’s man, the party-going celebrity athlete. His antics on the field and off had earned him the nickname the Playboy. But things had changed. He had changed. Losing a brother could do that to a guy.

He felt powerless to stop his descent in the voter approval ratings. He had won the primary, but the general election was a whole other matter. The August eighth election was approaching fast, and his numbers were in the basement. Desperation was not a familiar emotion, and he needed a solution. Quick. He’d even found himself praying again, something he’d returned to the day his brother had disappeared.

Looking up from his conversation with the mayor and three local businessmen, Alex saw a woman glaring his way. If looks could kill, he’d be shot, stuffed, and hanging over her mantel.