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At first, I think he's talking to me, but I quickly realized Graham is speaking to Ryder. I was prepared to give him shit about not paying attention when I'm bearing my soul. Now, I have to change my reaction.
“No. How's she doing? you know, after everything?”
“How is it that you haven't seen her, and you live here? I see her everywhere.”
Ryder shrugs his shoulders.
“I guess it's because we run in different circles. I ran into our once and we hugged. We did a quick check-in with each other because she was headed to a meeting or something. That was like three or four months ago. I haven't seen her since. That was the one and only time I ran into her.”
“Doesn't have that homing beacon that you too seemed to have,” Trent adds.
“Homing beacon?” I ask.
Graham snorts then puts his best to his mouth.
“You mean that six sense the two of them have with each other. that shit used to freak me out.”
“Oh yeah. Right. it was like you guys or really one another like magnets. It was weird. Does that still happen?”
Graham is nodding his head well before I can offer up an answer.
“Yeah. Man. yeah it still does.” shake my head then remember what Ryder initially asked. “What did you mean earlier when you asked about how she was doing? What everything?”
Ryder looks like Graham with confusion written all over his face. When he looks at me, there's a question written there.
“What are you talking about, Man? You know about what happened to the Hampton house right?”
Graham is shaking his head and trying to get Ryder’s attention.
“No. what ... what happened to the Hampton house?”
“The house is gone. There was a fire there about a year ago. No, it's been about a year and a half now. The house burned to the ground. Blaze was inside. Chad is really gnarly scar on her back and part of our arm. I hooked her up with this sick tattoo artist up in Atlanta and she got it covered.”
“Whoa. I had no idea.”
I look at Graham and he pushed his hands in the air in mock surrender.
“Don't look at me like that, man. I couldn't tell you anything about that when I learned about it. You've been going through your own shit. Remember?”
He's right. I have been. Now I feel guilty about not being there for her when she was going through what had to be a hard time and a big loss for her.
A piano signals for everyone's attention so that effectively ends the conversation. Hope as a spotlight on her and says words that I don't hear. My mind is still with Brooklyn and a loss she suffered. I don't know yet if anyone was hurt but I know what that house meant to her. She loved growing up there.
Any further reactions need to wait because I hear my name being called.
“That's my cue. It's showtime.”
It doesn’t take me long to speak to what the foundation means to me and my family. I share an anecdote or two about how it came about, mentioning my niece and the surgery that started it all.
Macey, Hope’s daughter, is the reason we came up with the idea for Hope House. We wanted to create an all-in-one resource and healthcare facility. Those who come to Hope House are usually at their wit’s end and need some guidance. Or they don’t have the time or know-how to get the care their family member needs. We provide all of it. When Macey was diagnosed with diabetes, none of knew. By the time we received it, she was seriously hurt. It led to her needing to have a portion of her arm amputated. The research and after care was the worst of it. All of us spent so much wasted time looking up anything from the best treatments to mental health concerns to quality foods. It was a stressful time. After having a conversation about it all, Hope House came was born.
I exit the area that is the center of the dedicated auction site. Hope kisses my cheek and I whisper congratulations to her. What most don’t know about Hope is she’s a licensed psychologist with big ideas. She also has a business degree. I listen as people commend us for a great event. Some even mention looking forward to winning some of the prizes.
A reporter steps forward and tries to snap a few photos. I purposely avert my attention elsewhere. The usual question is asked of Hope, and she expertly avoids it. The follow up question comes, and it causes a smile to play at my lips. I move away from the group and to an actual corner, a quiet corner. I snag a drink from a passing tray and have a seat as I ponder the answers to those questions.
The first question is always about the nature of our relationship. It’s our business, not that of the public’s. The next question is about the name. They ask if having such a facility named after one person feels like a lot of pressure. Hope and I always laugh when she’s asked that question or something similar to it. It isn’t named after Hope. That being her name was just a coincidence. Very few in her close family call her “Hope”.
Like my family, they call her by her middle name and that one only. The name of our facility is called Hope because that’s what we want to offer people. It’s also a nod to Brooklynn. I used to call her “my hope”. I don’t think anyone else knows that.
