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Lily nodded. “You and I disagree on this fake date idea, but in the end I just want you to be happy. I want you to be Rosie again.”
Rose wanted the same thing. She wanted to get rid of this bitterness, anger and jealousy, and move on with her life. But how could she do that? What was the first step back to herself?
* * *
Donovan didn’t want to have this conversation again. However, it seemed that Cecil Lowell, the newest member of the Hope Homeless Shelter’s board of directors and the most junior member of the five-person legal subcommittee, didn’t have anything better to do.
“We already voted on this motion last week.” Donovan regarded the young banker. He drew a deep breath to hold on to his patience. The conference room in the shelter’s offices smelled as old and musty as the rest of the building.
The subcommittee had voted during its previous meeting, and presented their decision and reasoning to the entire board of directors. Now with the board’s support, they were preparing to move forward with their challenge to allowing a pawnshop to move into Hope Homeless Shelter’s neighborhood. Why did Cecil want to revisit that near-unanimous decision? Was it because he had been the only nay vote?
Donovan sat at the head of the honey-wood conference table. The other four subcommittee members—two women and two men—were on either side of the small, rectangular table. Cecil was on his immediate right.
“I know.” The flush on Cecil’s round cheeks almost matched his curly red hair. “But I’ve thought of some other things that we need to consider.”
“Like what?” Kim Lee, seated across from Cecil, had served on the board longer than Donovan. The retired university professor glanced at her silver watch. It was the only sign of her impatience.
“The reason we need a lawyer pro bono is because the shelter’s low on dollars.” Cecil glanced around the table as he spoke.
“That’s one of the reasons.” Salma Vargas propped her elbow on the table and balanced her pointed chin in the palm of her hand. The certified public accountant eyed Cecil with vague curiosity.
Cecil continued as though Salma hadn’t spoken. “If the city allows Public Pawn to open in our neighborhood, the owners could be persuaded to become regular donors. They could increase our fund-raising base.”
“You said you had something new to add,” Kim said, crossing her arms over her dark green blouse. “You said basically the same thing last week.”
Cecil shook his head. “I hadn’t suggested how we could use the extra money.”
“Your new proposal is that we ask the pawnshop owners to make regular contributions to the homeless shelters. Is that correct?” Medgar Lawrence’s brown eyes focused on Cecil seated beside him.
“Exactly.” Cecil seemed excited that someone understood his plan.
“I don’t think supporting homeless shelters is Public Pawn’s primary mission.” A few more creases lined Medgar’s dark, weathered brow as his frown deepened.
“We could at least ask them. There’s no harm in asking.” Cecil leaned forward on his seat.
“Medgar is right.” Donovan nodded his understanding of Medgar’s point. “Cecil, these are two separate issues. If Public Pawn’s owners wanted to support the shelter, they would already be donors. The other issue is that this committee has already voted to oppose the pawnshop locating here.”
Cecil glanced between Donovan and Medgar. “You don’t understand—”
“No, Cecil, you’re the one who’s confused.” Donovan turned to the younger man. “The subcommittee voted on this matter last Wednesday and presented our position to the board, who approved our decision. Now we’re moving forward.”
“All right.” Cecil threw up his hands. “I thought you’d want to hear different ideas.”
“We heard different ideas last Wednesday.” Donovan spoke slowly and clearly. “Now it’s time to act.”
“I agree. What’s our next step?”
Donovan inclined his head toward the accountant, acknowledging her support. “We need to find a lawyer who’ll take the case pro bono. I can’t stress that enough. The shelter doesn’t have the money for legal representation.”
Kim glanced around the table. “But we need someone who’s experienced with filing statements with the city.”
“I’ve already checked with a couple.” Medgar shook his head. “Neither one was interested. They said it was too many hours not to get paid. And a lot of those hours are spent following up with the city.”
“Can we offer some nominal fee?” Salma asked. “Maybe we could at least get a deep discount.”
Donovan looked around the table. “If it comes to that, we’ll see if someone will take the case for a modest fee.”
“A very modest fee.” Medgar held Donovan’s gaze. “If we sneeze in the wrong direction, our budget will end up in the red.”
