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I’m lost in the beauty of this place, still unsure exactly what this place is, when Jasmine returns from another room.
“I’m so sorry about that. I’m the only one inside right now, so I need to man the phones,” she says with another friendly smile.
“Oh, it was no problem,” I reply, stepping closer. “These are for you.” Extending my hand, I finally hand over the desktop arrangement of white lilies and pink roses.
“These are splendid! And two of my favorite flowers combined. Thank you so much.” Reaching for the envelope, she quickly removes it from the holder and rips it open.
This is the part where I would leave, but something is drawing me to this place. While Jasmine reads the card, I glance around at a grouping of four paintings. Each one depicts a different season along the coastal shores. Falling snow along the sandy dunes, spring flowers in full bloom, a blazing sun over sandcastles, and fall leaves blowing out to sea; each one drawn with great detail and love.
“Those were completed earlier this spring by four students in high school who come to our program after school each day.”
“Program? What kind of program is this?” I ask, turning my full attention to the woman behind me.
“It’s a safe haven for children who come from less than ideal circumstances. If a single mother is in need of someone to watch her young children after school, but she can’t afford to pay a sitter, she can bring them here. If a child needs help with homework but isn’t able to use a tutor for whatever reason, they can come here. We offer a place for children to come hang out in a safe social setting, completely supervised.”
“So, you help kids who are less fortunate?” I ask, completely in awe with the idea of this place.
“Yes. We have a young man who is a freshman in high school whose father struggles to keep food on the table. He comes here after school, studies and completes his homework, and even helps the younger kids with their studies. We feed him a nutritious meal before sending him home for the night.” I’m completely transfixed on her words.
“Another young girl’s mother and father were killed in a boating accident last summer. She now lives with her grandparents. She’s withdrawn and doesn’t speak much. She’s been seeing a therapist since it happened, and everyone thought that subjecting her to a social setting with other kids might help. The little girl has been smiling lately and even says a few words every now and again,” she says.
“This place is amazing. You help children.”
“We do. At least, we try our best. Addie’s Place was named after a little girl I knew once. She was a beautiful child with long, raven black hair and dark brown eyes that looked almost midnight. Her mother was an amazing woman who helped me once upon a time. When I needed it, she was there, and her daughter was as well. Every step of the way, I could count on both Laurie and her daughter Addie to keep me safe and provide me with friendship and love. That’s what this place represents.”
I don’t even realize that a tear slipped from my eye until I feel it hit my hand. “You were one of these kids,” I state.
“Yes. And I grew and thrived because of their help. Now it’s my turn to give back and help those kids who need a little extra guidance or those parents who need a bit of assistance.”
“And they don’t pay you? How do you keep this place going?”
“Well, the home was donated by Laurie and her husband, Dr. Keith Whitmore. They continue to pay the property taxes and the electric and gas bills each month. And we seek donations, which help cover two small salaries, as well as food and the remaining utilities. We’ve also secured several grants over the last few years, which aid in different areas such as supplies and building maintenance.”
My mouth is hanging open as I gaze around once more. “You truly have a beautiful place, and your cause is amazing.”
“Well, I think so too. My assistant’s husband was relocated for his job and they are moving away next week. This beautiful arrangement is from them. I have yet to fill her position. I keep hoping that if I don’t fill it, she won’t leave,” she adds with a laugh.
“You’re looking for an assistant?” I ask, something that feels like hope mixed with excitement bubbling to the surface.
“Yes,” she confirms and gives me a long look. Suddenly, her face lights up. “Wait. You’re not looking for a new job, are you?”
“Maybe,” I whisper.
“But you have a job at the flower shop.”
“It’s my sister’s place,” I inform her. “She just gave me a job until I found what I want to do with my life.”
Lines form between her brows. “What is it you want to do with your life?”
“I don’t know.” That particular confession has always been difficult, at least it has in the last year. Before, I knew what I wanted. I had lists to prove it. Now? I’m still trying to figure that out.
“The pay is barely above minimum wage,” she says, hope filling her eyes.
I glance around, taking in the handmade paintings and the toys and the life that’s breathed into this place. Within these walls, I feel something bigger, something great. Something important. And I want to do my part, even if it’s just a tiny piece of the monstrous puzzle of life.
“If you’re offering, I’ll take it.”
***
