Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 77220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
I wanted a love like that. And for a brief moment, I thought I had it. But in a blink of an eye it had all fallen apart.
I looked around the apartment. Once he had walked these rooms barefoot and shirtless. An image flashed into my head. Him, leaning against the kitchen doorway, biting into an apple as he watched me make a cup of bitter tea for him. I shook my head to dislodge the bright image of him and frowned. It had taken me a long time to wipe away every trace of him in my space and this paint job was to be the final task. There was to be not even a reminder of the soft blues he had helped me put on the walls so long ago. Or the things our paint-splattered bodies did on the canvass covered floors afterwards.
My eyes darkened. Why was I having all these flashbacks and memories suddenly? It was not any special season. My birthday was weeks away. His was in the fall. We had met in winter. So why all these memories in the middle of March? Why all the thoughts of that devil Max Blackstone who not only shattered my soul, but also ruined me for any other man?
I wiped my hands on a piece of rag, put the brushes to soak, and jumped into the shower. I was exhausted, so after a quick meal of grilled chicken, mashed potatoes and a can of green beans, I slipped into bed.
Tomorrow is Monday and I could lose myself at work again. Max was gone. He was rotting in some prison and never coming back. The last memory I had before sleep claimed me was Max whispering, “You’re the only woman for me, Savannah.”
He lied.
Then I fell asleep.
Mondays always moved fast. There was so much to do. Finally, the day was over and my fundraising team and I gathered in the old computer lab for our weekly meeting.
“How is the donation sheet from the PTA coming, Monica?” I asked.
“Mrs. Gibbs is to get back to me tomorrow when she has heard from all the parents. Not much has changed, she said. We still only have the offer of a projector and a couple thousand dollars in pledges.”
My heart fell at the news. “What about the bake sales we’ve been having so far, Lisa?”
She tried to look bright, but didn’t succeed. “The profit isn’t much, but it is a profit nevertheless.”
“Can I get a report on income and expenditure to date on that, please?”
She nodded. “Sure. I’ll let you have it before the end of the week.”
I turned to another colleague. “Any improvement with the cookie drive, Lance?”
“Slow. You can’t blame anyone. Times are hard and people are holding on to their pennies.”
I looked around the room. “It’s going to take more than a few pennies to reach our goals. The ‘Spring Fair’ seems to be our only hope. And much as I hate to put all my eggs into one basket, we have to pull out all the stops there. How many commitments do we have, Stacey?”
“We’re still getting rides from ‘Wild Rides’. They’ve agreed to loan us the equipment for free. All they ask is for us to feed their staff.”
“Awesome! What about food?”
“Captain’s Bakery will provide a thousand buns and rolls for burgers and hot dogs. Sammy’s is also on board to donate the meat we need for those. We’ve also got a promise of condiments and napkins from SuperMart.”
Already I could feel the positivity snake around the room. I grinned at my team. “Sounds good.”
“And you know the parents are all on board with helping to supervise for the day. I’m working on a roster of the various stations and the help we will need in each area.”
“If only all this volunteering could be converted to cash. We would have our computers in no time. But it does take cash to care,” I smiled ruefully. “But for what it’s worth, we will be grateful for whatever we’re able to get done.”
“We will be. Savannah, I wanted to run an idea by you. It’s not something we’ve discussed before, but, what about alumni?” Stacey looked at me with raised eyebrows.
“Alumni?” I tilted my head inquiringly.
“Yes. We have been so busy focusing on who we have presently – parents and students. What about those who were here before? You know, those people who are not parents with children in this school, but have made it in life and can write off a big donation as a tax deduction.”
I nodded thoughtfully. “You’re on to something there, Stacey. I don’t think we ever thought about them. Especially being a middle school. People are usually more loyal to their high schools or colleges, but we could give it a shot.”
Stacey smiled triumphantly. “I thought you would agree so I went ahead and got a list of names and contacts for every graduate in the last ten to twenty years. We have quite a few heavy hitters on this list too. I’m sure just one check can cover any shortfall we have.”