AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I hadn’t planned on doing that today. Delivering the check is my mission, but she’s right. I need to talk to Tristan about what happened, both his actions and mine.
“We’ll see if he’s available, but I have the check for the director. I thought you’d like to see the good work that the gala is going to do.” I pull the envelope from my jacket’s inner pocket and hand it to Autumn.
Slowly, she takes it with a question in her eyes. “I don’t need to see it. I’m sure the House is doing right by the orphanage.”
“You’d be surprised what they can come up with, but I want you to see.” I don’t explain, but she opens the flap of the envelope and peeks at the check.
“Sweet Baby Yoda... that’s a lot of zeroes.”
“It’s a start,” I agree as I park.
Inside, we’re ushered toMadameBrittanie’s office. She’s an excellent director—good-hearted, cares about the children, and often works miracles with a paltry budget, so I trust that she will be a good steward of these funds.
“MonsieurCorbin, what a pleasant surprise!” she exclaims, standing to shake my hand.
“Lovely to see you as well. May I introduceMademoiselleAutumn Fisher?” Autumn shakes Brittanie’s hand too, and we sit.
“The fundraising gala was quite the success. I hope you enjoyed it as well?” I ask.
Brittanie’s eyes widen as she gushes. “It was amazing. I couldn’t stop looking at everything, or eating everything.” She laughs, patting her flat belly.
“I’m glad. We raised a bit of funds for the orphanage, and as a representative of House Corbin, it’s my honor to deliver this to you.”
I hand the envelope over, and when Brittanie opens it, the check slips from her fingers, falling to the table as she starts weeping.“MonsieurCorbin... I...mon Dieu,I...”
“Will take it to the bank today,” I finish for her, taking out a pocket square and handing it to her. “But before that, make me two promises. One, that you’ll renovate the playground for the children, and maybe put in some fitness equipment for the older ones?”
“Of course, of course!” she says, wiping her eyes. “Anything else you’d like me to do with the money?”
“I trust you. Take care of the children, take care of your staff... the way you always have. Just with a bit more funds.”
She nods enthusiastically, sniffing as she goes over to the old, beat up safe in the corner and opens it, placing the check inside. That done, she smiles. “You are a blessing from God, Simon Corbin. Genuinely one of his angels. I cannot... thank you.”
The praise is unwarranted. I’m only doing my part, something we should all do.
I feel Autumn’s eyes on me, and when I look to her, I can see that she is proud of me. That does mean something to me. I want her to see me as more than one of the rich, apathetic assholes who were at the gala. Sure, they gave money, as did I, but there are more important ways to give too. Supporting our fellow humans should be an automatic priority for everyone.
To that end...
“MadameBrittanie, is Tristan on campus, by chance? Or is he at school today?” I ask.
She frowns, her eyes troubled. “He is supposed to be at school. Which likely means he’s out on the basketball court.”
“Ah, I see. Would you mind if I went out to visit with him?”
“Of course not!”
Autumn stands to accompany me, but I shake my head. “I think Tristan and I need to handle this, just the two of us.”
She quirks her brow, questioning my intentions, but when she sees nothing other than honesty in my gaze, she agrees. “Okay. Is there something I could do to help, then?” she asks Brittanie.
I think Brittanie is feeling like she’s won the lottery today—first, with the check, and now, with Autumn offering on-the-spot help. “Yes, actually! Could you read a book to our pre-school group? They’re little, and the teachers there don’t get much down time. Even a few minutes would be precious for them, and I’m sure the students would be thrilled by a new face.”
“I’d love to,” Autumn replies, sounding like storytime with little ones is the best idea she’s ever heard.
As they wander down the hall to a classroom, I head for the basketball court. And a hard conversation.
Walking up, I see Tristan laid out on the cracked, peeling paint concrete of the court. His feet are propped up on a ball, and he’s smoking a cigarette, blowing the smoke into the air. I imagine from his vantage, it looks like clouds in the sky. He doesn’t move as I approach, not until I squat down and say, “Hey, man.”
