Losing Hope (24 page)

“What are you doing here?” My head jerked back.

“I should be asking
you
the same thing,” she retorted. “I told you, I'm not trying to lose my job because of something you did.”

“I haven't done anything except try to find out the truth about a little girl named Hope.”

Sheena narrowed her eyes. “Sienna, are you still trying to figure out that crazy Hope Diamond story you heard from your client?”

“Look, Sheena, can you please just tell me why you are here? And where is Ava?”

Sheena sighed and looked back over her shoulder. “Out here,” she directed and stepped out onto the porch with me, closing the door behind her. “You know my old connection at DSS, Roland, the one you called earlier this week?”

I nodded, remembering the man with the attitude who, Sheena had warned me, knew everything and everybody.

“Well, he called me a couple of hours ago, saying that he'd heard that Ava might be in a boatload of trouble, and that I better jump ship while I can. That's all he told me, but you know me. I can't just sit on that type of info, so I called her, and she sounded so hysterical when she answered the phone, I drove right down here. She's been on the phone the whole time I've been here, though. I don't know who she's talking to, and I can't hear a word of what she's saying. You think you can find anything out?”

I'd been nodding, trying to follow along, still not sure that I saw a connection between Dayonna's story and Ava's agency. “Let me go talk to her.”

“Okay. I'm going to go for now, but call me the moment you figure out what's going on.” Sheena left as I walked into the warm comfort of Ava Diggs's living room

Well, usually it was warm comfort. In addition to being a phenomenal social servant, Ava also had a keen decorator's eye. The hues and arrangements she'd created for her foyer and living room let you know that the rest of the house was worth exploring. And I do mean exploring. Ava had one of those kinds of houses that you wanted to browse, recognizing that each piece of artwork, each afghan throw, dish, or charm had been carefully chosen and artfully placed. At the moment, everything was as neat and perfect as usual.

But a quiet chill had filled the room. Aside from the heat being off and the night being cool, the warm, inviting spirit that made Ava's home a sanctuary seemed to be missing.

I found her sitting in the kitchen, staring at a weathered white cupboard. When I sat down next to her at the small table she kept near a window, she barely moved her head. We sat there in silence for a few long moments.

“That cupboard,” she finally began, “I found it at a yard sale years ago.”

“It's nice.”

“Oh, it wasn't always.” She let out a slight chuckle. “When I first saw it, it was an ugly shade of brown. The doors and shelves were crooked. The hinges were barely hanging on.”

“I know you are good at restoring things. I remember the desk you fixed up for the office.”

“That old thing was a mess too, but this cupboard was the most difficult project I undertook. The people who sold it to me let me have it for three dollars. They would have probably given it to me for free, that's how bad a shape it was in. But I took it and worked on it for about five weekends. I sanded it down, painted it, put on new hardware, and now it's one of my favorite possessions.”

“It's beautiful, Ava.”

“That's what Holding Hands has been like for me. The work I do. My entire career. I started working on it with nothing, with clients and foster children who were broken, scuffed, neglected, and abused. And I put hours of labor into it,
into them.
” She looked straight at me. “And I have watched many families and lives become whole and beautiful because I was willing to see their beauty and worth before anyone else did and invest in what was needed to make them shine. That's what I've done, Sienna.”

“Yes.”

“But now I've invested in the wrong thing, I think. I knew it was too good to be true.” She looked away.

There were two charts sitting on the table in front of her. Silver utensils sat on either side of the short stack of paperwork and a green vinyl place mat sat underneath, altogether making the charts look like plates for serving. I thought it fitting. Ava lived, breathed, and was sustained by the work she did. Her job was her calling. Without her work, she would not be a fulfilled woman.

That was when I knew everything would somehow turn out all right.

But just as Jesus's sacrifice caused unbearable pain on some level, there would be hurt or suffering involved somewhere, somehow in the current circumstances.

I felt it but did not know where the ax would finally fall.

“Tell me what you know, Ava.”

She turned to face me again. “You were right. About the Monroes. Something does not add up about them. I've been searching their charts all day. Reading through each line, trying to figure out what I missed. I don't usually miss anything, Sienna.”

“I know.”

“They are definitely hiding something.”

“You mean like a child?” My heart skipped a beat.
Hope.

“No. I don't mean like that. I guess a better way to say it is that they're covering up something. You know, Sienna, I really do not know what is going on.” She tapped on the charts absentmindedly. I noticed for the first time that in addition to the Monroes', Tremont's chart was in the pile.

“You did not change his chart over to microfiche.” I nodded.

“No, that boy was such a mess, I kept his file in the bottom of my drawer. I used to check it from time to time when I had an especially difficult case to remind myself of how not to handle things. I got a lot of on-the-job training from trying to deal with him. I'm glad God got a hold of his life, because truly divine intervention was his only hope.”

“What kind of problems did he create?”

“Oh, honey, he was into drugs back in the day. Selling them, not using them. Drugs, and everything else that comes with that world.”

“What was his relationship like with the Monroes?”

“That's what I'm trying to figure out now.”

“You know they're all gone now. Dayonna too.”

She frowned. “Can't say that I'm surprised. I feel like I missed something with them. I should have known something was up when I got the first installment.”

“Installment?” I raised an eyebrow.

Ava let out a huge sigh. “Remember when I first told you that I wanted you to work on Dayonna's case? And I said that I needed it to work?”

“Oh, yes.” I chuckled. “I remember. You seemed pretty intent on stressing that the arrangement between the Monroes and Dayonna needed to work, even when I told you I didn't think it could, given the girl's extensive placement history.”

“You asked me then why it was so important that the placement work. I downplayed your question, but there was a reason. A true, legitimate reason. A noble one, a just one, I might add.”

I watched my mentor blink back tears as she continued.

“Like I told you, times are different now than when I first founded Holding Hands almost thirty years ago. Back then it was more acceptable to help the most vulnerable. People and corporations were always willing to give out donations that assisted those in need. With the recent economic downturn and the shift toward viewing the poor as somehow evil or lazy and solely responsible for their own fates, funds for social programs for people who need it the most have dried up. Budgets have been slashed. Policies have been changed. So many nonprofits and community agencies have had to close their doors.

“Holding Hands has not been exempt from the times, Sienna. If you knew how close to the edge our budget runs each month, you'd be amazed that nobody's pay check has bounced. It's only been the grace of God that has kept us afloat. God's grace and the generosity of his people.”

She slid an envelope toward me. It was addressed to her, and the return label had the logo and address of Second Zion Tabernacle.

“Open it, Sienna.”

I lifted up the flap and pulled out the contents, a single piece of paper. A check. In the amount of five thousand dollars. It was made out to Holding Hands Agency. The payer was listed as Second Chance Ministry.

“What is this?”

“I've been getting grant money every month from this particular ministry. Mostly a thousand or two, if that much. For years. However, when I found out from DSS that Dayonna's case was coming to us a couple of weeks ago, the grant suddenly increased. I even received a letter from Second Chance stating that if we could keep Dayonna successfully with the Monroes, the monthly grant would increase to ten thousand dollars. Ten thousand dollars is a lot of money, Sienna, and with a guaranteed grant coming in every month in that amount, it would go a long way in helping to keep things afloat.”

I guess it made sense, but there were still too many questions unanswered. I did not even know where to begin, but I remembered Sheena had come over in a panic, afraid that her job was coming to an end.

“Tremont and Second Zion are the leading news story tonight. What does this mean for you?”

“That's what I've been trying to figure out. There was a letter in my mailbox when I came home from the office today. Ever since you started saying that something did not seem right about the Monroes, I could no longer ignore that I've had the same feeling, as well. I started trying to figure out what the connection was between Second Zion and Dayonna and the grant I get from Second Chance every month. That's why I was studying their chart earlier today.”

“So is Second Chance not related to Second Zion? The check came in an envelope with the church's letterhead.” My brain hurt trying to piece this all together.

“Second Chance is a ministry of Second Zion. It's the official name of the alcohol and substance abuse ministry that—”

“Horace Monroe is the chairperson of.” We said it together. I remembered that the chart had been open to that page when I found it in the chart room back at the office earlier that day. I could only imagine how Ava must have felt when she realized that Mr. Monroe was somehow paying her to keep Dayonna in his house.

“Do you think the church knows that the ministry Horace oversees has been giving out money to you every month?”

“No, I don't think so. I spoke to someone in the administrative office today and asked if they gave out grants through the substance abuse ministry, and the secretary to whom I spoke had no idea what I was talking about.”

“So this is Horace's doing. Where's he getting all this money from?” I wondered aloud.

“I have no idea. Sienna, this was in my mailbox when I got home from the office this evening.” She passed me a sheet of paper. It was purple and lined, but the handwriting on it was different from the one that was on the notes Dayonna had left in my car earlier in the week.

Someone who'd had access to Dayonna's things had written this note and left it.

“Sienna, I cannot pretend to even know what this means, but I need you to find out. I can't handle it anymore. You are on field duty tomorrow. Find out what is going on. I can't handle it anymore.”

Tremont was supposed to call me. I was supposed to call Sheena. I wanted to call Leon. Roman called me instead.

“It's four o'clock in the morning.”

Not the way I normally greeted my son on the phone, especially considering the way the weekend had gone, but I was half asleep and didn't know where I was or who I was when I answered my cell phone.

“Mom, I'm sorry.”

“Oh, Roman . . .” My voice was hoarse as I struggled to sit up in my bed. “You don't have to apologize. You know that you can call me anytime, day or night, for any reason.”

“No, Mom, that's not why I'm apologizing. I mean, I'm sorry for waking you, but I really just wanted to say that I'm sorry about last evening. And for how I've been for the past few days.”

I did not want to say the wrong thing in my sleepy state, so I focused on just listening to him and trying to wake up.

“I'm sorry, Mom,” he repeated again. “I feel real bad about how I've been acting. And . . . and how I jumped on Officer Leon like that. It was wrong. He's only been trying to help me. I just . . . don't understand why . . . my father isn't here for me . . . or for you.”

I blinked back tears. “I'm sorry too, Roman.”

“We're going to be okay, Mom.”

I had to smile. “Yes, we will. And listen, not that it is any of your business, but I have no desire to be in any relationships until I figure out what happened to your father. I'm a married woman until I know otherwise.”

“Well, it looks like Officer Sanderson feels the same way. I don't know why I got so upset with him when it's obvious he doesn't want to be anywhere near you.”

The truth of Roman's words stung. I kept the smile on my face only to keep fresh tears from falling.

Who would have thought I'd have the hots for ole Leon?
Ew
. I felt like I was sixteen again.

“And another thing, Mom,” Roman continued. “I thought you said you were done trying to figure out what happened to Dad.”

“Yeah, I know I said that, but there is one more thing I can do, I think.” I added Tomeeka Antoinette Ryans to my mental checklist of people to call tomorrow. Perhaps she could help me get in touch with Luca before next Friday's scheduled class.

I wanted answers.

Now.

By any means necessary.

It was going to be a busy Monday. I needed to finish getting my sleep to get started.

“Good, Mom,” Roman was saying. “I'm glad you're going to keep looking. I think I'm done with Dad for now. But I'm glad you're not losing hope.”

I pondered his last words before realizing I was taking too long to respond.

“No. I'm not.”