Authors: Catherine Palmer
“Jim, hey!” she called, striding toward him.
He swung around, and she noted that his face was pale and oddly gaunt. Unlike his usual affable demeanor, the man appeared stiff, as though he had been stricken with a sudden bout of illness. He gaped at Ana as though he didn’t recognize her.
“Jim? It’s Ana Burns.” She paused before him, fears of a heart attack or stroke racing through her mind. “Are you feeling all right? You’re white as a sheet.”
He swallowed and stared, as if listening to words in a foreign language. “Ana? Oh, hello.”
“Hello, yourself.” She smiled at him. “I guess you’re here to talk to Sam, too.”
He rotated, his focus swiveling to the far corner of the room. “That girl…” he muttered.
Ana followed his eyes. “Her name is Flora. She’s sad-looking, isn’t she? I’ve tried to talk to her, but she won’t communicate much. She speaks Spanish.”
Flora was huddled into the corner, her green skirt pulled to her knees, her legs tucked carefully to one side. But today the child’s brown eyes studied only the wall. Forehead against the peeling paint, she stared vacantly.
A pang turning Ana’s heart, she forced herself to look away. This is why I’ve come, she thought. For Flora and Raydell. For Granny and Tenisha. Maybe even for the two gang members sitting out there in the sun—too proud and angry to take off their do-rags and play some basketball.
“She breaks my heart,” Ana said, focusing on Jim. “The way she sits—it’s like she’s shell-shocked.”
“What’s the last name?” Jim asked.
“Flora’s?” That was an odd question. Ana studied him more closely, her concerns about his health growing again. “I have no idea. Listen, Jim, would you like to sit down? They’ve got an old bench in the office—”
“No.” He shook his head. “I need to go.”
“Uh-oh, here comes Uncle Sam,” she said, spotting the tall man leaving the office and heading toward them. “He’ll be eager to talk to you, I’m sure. He may throw me out on my ear.”
As Sam approached, Ana tried to fortify herself. Too bad if he didn’t want to talk to her. She would talk to him instead.
“Ana?” As he recognized her, Sam’s brow furrowed. “What are you doing here? I thought I told you not to come back to Haven.”
“I realize you need to talk to Jim, and I’m sorry to interrupt, but I have a quick question for you.”
“Jim, good morning.” Sam turned to his other visitor, ignoring Ana. “I didn’t realize you were coming by today. Welcome. You’ve brought the pledge check, I guess?”
Jim glanced at Ana. “Actually, I came here to discuss the lead paint article.”
“What about it?” she asked.
“Maybe we should step into the office,” Sam said. “It’s clear for the moment.”
As she and Jim followed him across the floor, Ana noted that the older man seemed better. Maybe the heat outside had gotten to him, and now he’d had a chance to cool down. It was easy to see why a bevy of churchwomen usually fluttered around Jim like butterflies drawn to a solitary red rose. A handsome man, he was trim and fit, with silver at the temples of a full head of hair. He rarely wore ties, preferring polo shirts in the summer and turtlenecks with geometric patterns in cooler weather.
They entered the front office and took seats on the old vinyl booth and a couple of splintered chairs. Jim let out a deep breath. “Well, I see you didn’t give much heed to the concerns Sam and I expressed about the article, Ana.”
“I’m on assignment,” she reminded him. “The press has a responsibility to keep the public informed.”
“Surely you have enough information by now,” Jim said. “I’m not surprised Sam is reluctant to continue meeting with you. Your presence here is a distraction from his work, and we’ve both made it clear we don’t want Haven’s problems to receive exposure in the newspaper.”
“But I’ve decided to go with a more anecdotal slant to the series.” Ana was slightly taken aback at the man’s strong defense of Sam. “I want to show what Haven means to the children, and how if the lead paint problem shut it down—”
“Nothing’s shutting us down,” Sam cut in.
“—children like that little girl, Flora, for example,” Ana continued, “would have no place to go. She comes here every day, and even though she doesn’t participate in the activities, she’s clearly getting something out of being at Haven. I want to interview her.”
“No,” Jim said firmly. “Absolutely not. It’s a big mistake. In fact, I think the whole idea of putting the children at Haven in the article at all is just plain wrong. I must tell you, Ana, you caught me off guard yesterday. I had expected the meeting with Sam, but when you arrived, too, I was unprepared.”
“She’s the type who just shows up,” Sam said.
“I’ve found that setting appointments rarely works,” Ana explained. “One interview can run too long and throw off the next. Besides, I prefer to catch people by surprise. I find they’re often more open and honest when they haven’t had time to think about what they want to say.”
“That’s exactly the problem,” Jim said. “Now that I’ve had time to think about it, I’ve decided I don’t want to be included in your article after all.”
“Why not?” She fought the rising panic in her chest. “You’re a great source, Jim. Support of the center from a well-respected member of the community will speak volumes.”
“But my name will naturally be associated with the adoption service, and I simply cannot allow the organization to receive publicity. It’s against policy.”
“I don’t understand. You’re helping children.”
“Ana, I mentioned the Bible verse that talks about doing good deeds in silence. That’s why so many donors prefer to remain anonymous. Including me.”
“But you’re not anonymous. Your name is on Sam’s list.”
“What list?” He turned to Sam.
“My donor list.” Sam was glaring at Ana. “It’s not for public use.”
“Yet you showed it to a reporter?”
“That was obviously a mistake. I’m sorry, Jim. I had no idea she was going to cause this much trouble.”
“I’m not causing trouble,” Ana protested. “I’m gathering information for my series. And if I don’t have a variety of interesting quotes—including some from donors—then my articles will suffer. In the long run, Haven will be the worse for it.”
Sam crossed his arms over his chest. “Your series is not going to make or break Haven, Ana. And I won’t mince words with you, either, Jim. If I’d known bringing a reporter with me yesterday would be a problem for you, I never would have done it. Time is running out for us, and I need your donation. Can I still count on you?”
“This is difficult.” Jim shook his head. “Money is tight, and I can’t afford to give it away unless my own requirements are met. I’ve got a group of three children—siblings, actually—waiting in El Salvador, plus two boys in Costa Rica. It takes a lot of cash to cut through the bureaucratic red tape in foreign countries, and I can’t always find good homes right away. Many times, I end up fronting the costs out of my own pocket. I’m sure you understand.”
“Jim, are you telling me that you won’t honor your pledge if your name appears in the newspaper?” Sam asked.
“I’m sorry,” Jim said. “I really can’t allow the publicity.”
“You’re costing Haven five thousand dollars, lady.” Sam faced Ana, his jaw tight. “That means you’re endangering the welfare of all my kids. You’d better promise to keep Jim’s name out of the paper, understand?”
“Or what?”
“Or nothing.” His blue eyes snapped. “You want to do some good with your article? This is how—leave Jim Slater out.”
“Fine. I’ll agree to omit Jim’s name when you promise to let me interview—”
“No, no, no.” He jabbed a finger at her. “No deals, Ana. You agree to this, and that’s it. Promise me now.”
She focused on Jim, then on Sam again. “All right. You win. I won’t include any mention of Jim or the adoption agency.”
“Thank you, Ana,” Jim said. “Haven does great work, and I’m sure you wouldn’t want to threaten that. You certainly shouldn’t draw attention to individual children in your article. It could appear as though you were holding them up for public exhibition as the outcasts of our society.”
“That’s right,” Sam spoke up. “I cringe when I see articles about women’s clubs donating school supplies or corporations throwing Christmas parties for inner-city children. It’s humiliating enough for parents to have to use programs like that to provide for their kids. Then to see their names and faces plastered across the newspaper is downright degrading.”
“Think about it, Ana,” Jim said. “Leave Haven alone.”
For some reason, his words sounded less like a plea than a threat, Ana mused. Was Jim warning her? Did Sam’s argument have validity, or was it a ploy to get rid of her?
“I’ll call you in a few days and touch base,” Jim was telling Sam as he stood to leave. “Don’t lose heart, young man. You’re doing important work, and I’m sure God will bless you for it.”
As Sam accompanied the older man to the recreation center’s door, Ana flipped open her reporter’s notebook. She might as well use the moment alone to write a description of the director’s lair. As much as she had to admire Sam for his lionlike dedication to the center, Ana couldn’t make herself like the man. He was single-minded. Driven. Totally one-track.
“Still stalking that story,” Sam said as he stepped back into the office. “Don’t you ever think about anything else? You’re like a bloodhound on a convict’s trail.”
She rolled her eyes. “
You’re
the one who never wavers from his agenda. Did you even hear what Jim was saying? He’s got bunches of needy children waiting for good homes, and very little money coming in.”
“Of course I heard him.” Sam moved around the desk, flipped open a file and traced down the names on a list inside it. “Haven has needy children, too. They’re my priority. In order to keep this place open for our kids, we’ve got to have money, plain and simple. Jim Slater has money—more than he lets on, if you want the truth. I appreciate your agreeing not to use him as a source. Now, if you’ll recall our last conversation, I have nothing more to say.”
Ana went cold inside. His words had exactly the opposite effect from what he intended. Instead of backing down, she flexed her claws and readied herself for battle. No matter what it took, she intended to investigate Haven’s secrets. She would uncover the truth about Terell Roberts. She would find out why toddlers clung to him, who had slapped that blond-haired girl, where Flora had come from and why she hid in the shadows.
That meant talking to the children.
Ana cleared her throat. “Sam, may I have permission to interview some of the kids here? My article won’t be complete if I don’t include several perspectives.”
“You talked to me and Terell.” Sam didn’t look up. “That’s two.”
“Why won’t you let me interview the children? Sam, are you hiding something?”
His blue eyes narrowed as they focused on her. “No. Are you?”
“Of course not.” She leaned toward him. “Listen, you and Terell are college-educated, military-trained, young, healthy. Men like you don’t give up their future in order to rehab a run-down building in the inner city just because they’re Christians. Hard to believe you’re both that noble. You’ve got some other motive, and I want to know what it is.”
“What’s your motive, Miss Nosy? You’re not coming here day after day, bothering me and everyone else just to please your editor. There are plenty of other contaminated buildings in St. Louis. Why Haven all the time? And don’t tell me you’re trying to be a do-gooder and help me get donations. Reporters aren’t known for being noble, either.”
“I never said I was noble.”
“Neither did I. I’m just trying to do what needs to be done. And if you’d go bother somebody else, I could get it done a lot faster.”
She crossed her arms, glaring at him in frustration. “All right,” she said finally. “You win again. I do have a purpose beyond completing my assignment, earning my salary and keeping my job—although those are worthy goals, you have to admit. I’m aiming for the peak, Sam. One day I plan to write a story that will win a Pulitzer. Who knows? Maybe this is it.”
“Your life’s goal is to win an award?” He laughed. “How shallow can you get?”
“It’s not shallow to want to do your best. In Texas, I earned a top writing honor. My newspaper expects the same quality here, and I intend to deliver. I want to write good stories. Great stories. I want to be the best.”
The blue eyes deepened. “Why?”
“Because. That’s who I am.”
“Sorry, Ana, but I’m not going to be able to cater to your little fantasies. You’ll have to be perfect somewhere else.”
She thrust her pen in his direction. “You won’t give me access to your people because you’re hiding something, Sam Hawke. I haven’t been a journalist this many years without learning a few things. I told you my hidden agenda. What’s yours?”
“Helping kids. That’s all there is to it. No big secret.”
“I don’t believe you.”
His face hardened. “Miss Burns, I need to make some phone calls. Would you mind stepping out of my office?”
“I thought so.” She flipped her notebook shut. “Good day, Mr. Hawke.”
Fury boiled up inside Ana as she stormed out of the front office. Why had she even mentioned the award? He had made it sound so paltry. Like a cheap trinket. Like a sin.