Page 59 of Passion’s Song

“Really?” Damien said, nearly choking on the hot coffee he’d just sipped. Langley McGowan, the managing partner, was the only one of the foursome Damien had yet to meet.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about the project you want to do south of the industrial canal. In fact, I’ve had a team researching the area over the past few weeks. I think you may have something here—”

The door opened and Langley McGowan, with his distinguished beard and thick eyebrows, walked in.

Berger made introductions, and within minutes they were all settled and getting down to business.

“We’ve looked at the plans you sent, and honestly, I’m impressed and a little surprised that no one has thought of it sooner,” Berger said. “That area has been ripe for a comeback for years. But, for some reason, it’s been forgotten.”

“I understand that you’re a native of the Ninth Ward,” McGowan said.

“Yes,” Damien answered. “I grew up there.”

Wait? Was that pride he heard in his own voice?

Yes, it was.

Suddenly, Damien felt like a poseur. He hadn’t earned the right to take any pride in what the neighborhood had become. He’d purposely stayed away while others put in the hard work to make the Ninth Ward better.

He was going to change that. These past weeks with April had showed him just how much there was left to do, and how much of an impact he could make if he just stepped up and did some good in his old neighborhood.

“We think what you’ve come up with is great,” Berger said. “But after studying the landscape, my team has come up with something bigger and better.”

The man pressed a button and two panels on the left wall began to separate. Behind them, a projection screen appeared.

If this was the kind of setup Berger had in his office, Damien was happy he never got the chance to see the conference room. He’d probably choke on his envy.

Berger tapped a couple of keys on the laptop that had been sitting on the table, and a map of the Ninth Ward appeared. The streets that bordered the neighborhood were highlighted yellow and a smaller area was shaded in red.

“This is the location you’ve proposed for Alexander Quarters,” Berger said. “However, after delving deeper, we’ve discovered that this area would be more advantageous.” Another map was superimposed onto the first. “It is more heavily traveled, with easy access to the river and to the Bywater and Faubourg Marigny neighborhoods. We ran a couple of initial numbers with our developer and discovered that erecting a residential and retail center in this area will attract more than twice the amount of foot traffic, especially with the expansion of the Rampart streetcar line.”

As Damien studied the map, a sickening feeling settled in his gut.

“That area isn’t one hundred percent available,” he said. “There are already occupants there. The church, for instance.”

And A Fresh Start.

A cagey smile drew across Langley McGowan’s face.

“I’ve have it on good authority that Saint Katherine’s will soon merge with another parish. The archdiocese has discussed it for a number of years. They’ve decided it’s the best move for the church.”

Dammit. Damien couldn’t skirt around the issue any longer.

“There’s a community program that uses the building adjacent to the church,” Damien said. “I actually volunteer there. Their summer program is vital to the community.”

McGowan waved his hand as if it was an annoying fly instead of an essential part of so many kids’ lives.

“We’ll figure something out when it comes to the community program,” he said. “We’ll buy them a new building to hold their summer program, if that’s necessary.”

The offer made Damien feel marginally better, but he also knew it wouldn’t be as easy as just relocating A Fresh Start to another facility.

Those kids had worked hard to start up their café and the community garden. Just picking up and moving them somewhere else wouldn’t solve the problem. They would have to say goodbye to all the blood, sweat and tears they’d put into that place.

He thought about what April’s reaction to this news would be and the sick feeling in his stomach grew.

“Our data people have been running the numbers. Because so many people never returned following Hurricane Katrina, there is an impressive amount of space available.”

The enthusiasm in the other man’s voice scaled along Damien’s nerves like nails down a chalkboard. How could he be excited that so many people hadn’t been able to return after being forced out of their homes by Katrina’s floodwaters?