Tansy laughed. “Don’t worry. There are plenty more in the fridge. We have a very generous benefactor who prefers to remain anonymous, but he makes sure we have everything we need.”
“One person was so generous, they donated all this?” Dawn’s eyes widened as she glanced around at the expansive kitchen and dining room.
“Not all of it. We received a grant to build the center, but most of the programs are kept going by one family.” Tansy leaned in, giving her a sly smile. “You would certainly have heard of a few of them. A couple musicians and actors. A famous chef…”
Dawn knew exactly the family Tansy was talking about. They might be in Hollywood now, but they grew up right here in Dorchester.
Tansy had a dynamic presence and seemed like she could run a ship like this easily. It couldn’t be an easy job though.
“In my experience, people are just looking out for themselves and usually breaking the law to do it or struggling not to,” Dawn said.
“And yet you’re here. Ready and willing to make a change. Maybe the benefactor was also like you, ready and willing to make changes. You don’t have to remain poor even if growing up in lousy circumstances.”
“True.” Dawn sighed. “Do you really feel like you’re making a difference in the lives of these kids?”
“Let me ask you something instead,” Tansy countered. “If you’d had a place like this when you were a kid, do you think it would have made a difference?”
Dawn thought about what she’d seen in the lounge area. It was early on a Saturday morning, and yet there were kids of different ages hanging out, chatting, doing their homework. They looked happy and relaxed. She was a latchkey kid. Came home from school to an empty house, locking the door behind her. That was how her mother and grandmother kept her safe when she was young and they both had to work.
When she’d peeked into the lounge, her eyes had landed on a lone girl sitting by herself with her feet tucked up under her on an overstuffed chair. The girl was immersed in a book, but she looked…sad. Dawn understood all too well what that felt like. “I think it would have,” she said softly.
“Some of these kids come here for food, and others are here for a different kind of nourishment.”
Dawn cleared her throat, nodding her understanding.
Tansy laid her hand over Dawn’s. “I know how special you are.”
Dawn’s brows lifted in question.
“You can sense things in other people.”
“How did you know? Did Lynda mention it?”
Tansy nodded. “She told me because she knows you can help us.”
“How can I help? I didn’t study social work. I’m not a counselor.”
Tansy waved away her question. “Honey, we already have plenty of those here. We need more people like you. People who can relate to the kids—and spot trouble before it happens.”
“I’m just worried I’ll make mistakes and maybe make things worse. What if I say the wrong thing when I’m talking to them?”
“You won’t. If your heart is in the right place, they’ll know it. Trust me on that one. Are you ready to get started?”
Dawn blew out a breath and nodded. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
“Good. Are you done with your churro?”
Dawn popped the last bit of churro into her mouth. “Mmm. I’ll bet a professional bakery couldn’t make better.”
“Another one of our benefactors owns a successful bakery. Sometimes he helps out, just for fun.”
“Wow! So you know all the benefactors well?”
“Honey, that one I do. I married him.”
Chapter 8
