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She nods. “Yeah.”
“You never did that girlie stuff before, just that the once for prom.”
“Sure didn’t, but York insists we treat ourselves once in a while.”
“She and you got close,” I state.
“Yeah, she’s a good friend.” She leans forward as we turn down the road toward the women’s center. “Pull into the back. I’ll go in the front and let you in the back door.”
“You hiding me, Whit?” I joke.
“No need to get them nervous or riled up.”
“You saying I still got it?”
Sliding out of the car she replies, “Pfft, I never said you had it to begin with.”
As Whit heads in, I look around and see way too many issues that need to be addressed, like the fact that the lighting back here sucks. I don’t like the idea of Whit walking out here and some angry ex going after her.
Leaning forward, I also notice there’s no light on the camera above the door. Does the damn thing even work?
It feels like forever before the back door opens, and Whit waves me in.
Inside, she leads me through a small corridor and points toward an office. “That’s where I do meds once a week. Make sure everyone has everything they need and put each persons in their weekly pill organizers. We tell them it’s to make it easier for them, but it’s also a safety measure. People can be at their lowest of lows when they’re going through such a difficult time. The computers are in here.” She flips on a light to a small room with a couple of desks and computers. “I looked at the physical logbook when I came in, and no unusual people have signed in, so grab a chair and get comfy.”
I pull over a wheeled chair that looks extremely uncomfortable, and lo and behold, it is. “What’s it take to fund this place?”
“More than the state is willing to cough up,” she says as she taps away at the keyboard. “The building was donated by the town. Back in the ’50s, it was a school. It would have caved in eventually. Aiken Construction donated the materials and labor to fix the roof. We got a few grants to cover windows and entries, and security cameras were covered too. The furniture and clothes for those who come in with nothing are all donated. Hygiene products and food can typically be bought with fundraiser money. We do four fundraisers a year. Bianca was on the board until she got sick.”
“She never said anything.”
“I’m not surprised. Are you?”
I can almost hear Mom saying, “Don’t brag about the good deeds you do here on earth. Reap your rewards in heaven.”
“Was she always religious?” Whit asks as the program opens up with four squares, showing the buildings entries.
“We went to church every Sunday. All three of us when Dad wasn’t deployed. But I wouldn’t say she was religious. She just believed in the power of faith and doing good things. I think when Dad was killed in action she leaned into it more.” I nod to the screens. “Tell me more about this place. What else does it take to run it?”
“Not much more to tell. Donations help pay utilities and some of the staff. The Sewards have been generous. It was implied they’d be even more so once we were married.” She all but cringes when she says that last bit. “York and I have discussed some ideas, like increasing the fundraising efforts and looking for more grants.”
“Been thinking more and more about starting a charity in my parents’ name. Mom and I talked about a charity to help families of soldiers killed in duty, and when Mom was sick, I realized if I didn’t have you all, I—” I stop, not wanting to get too deep. “My point is, she was clearly also passionate about this place, and so are you; I want to help.”
She pauses what she’s doing and looks at me. “You’re being serious?”
“With money, of course. And when my name gets out there some more, my old jerseys will be worth a hell of a lot more to a place like this than a storage box. What else am I gonna do with them?”
She smiles.
“In both the minor and major’s we’ve done so many fundraisers. People pay thousands of dollars for a seat and a few hours with their favorite team. They also love knowing their money is going to do some good. It’s also a tax write-off. Most would rather donate to a good cause than pay more taxes.”
The way she’s looking at me right now makes me feel so damn good that I can’t even describe it, but I know that’s how I want Whitley to look at me every time she glances in my direction.
She clears her throat while she stands, cheeks pinkening. “You want some coffee?”
“You asking me on a date?” I ask like I’m joking—I’m not.
“No, I’m asking if you want some coffee.” She rolls her eyes as she makes her way to the coffeepot.
