My hand drops at the sharp tone. My heart stops beating.
“I have to say this here,” she continues, “and quickly.”
I nod, keeping my mouth shut to give her time to say her piece. But I know what’s coming. I read between the lines of her message. I can tell from the look on her face and the way she won’t come inside.
“It was only supposed to be a week. We made that deal, and then we both broke it. And I tricked myself into thinking we could somehow make this work, despite all the giant red flags warning me against us. Warning us both. It’s not your fault, because I know you have a job to do, but your actions over the past two days showed me why we can’t do this. They showed us both why we will never work. I can’t rely on you when I need you. You can’t jump to my aid whenever something goes wrong. And I need someone who can. I deserve someone who can.”
My head pounds. I sway against the door frame as my limbs turn to jelly and I can’t breathe. I can’t speak. I can’t think. I just feel. My entire body cracks in two for the woman standing in front of me. I feel the way I let her down when she needed me, and I hear her trying to justify it as though it’s okay.
“It’s my fault.” The words fall out of my mouth on a mumble, and I almost expect her to tell me I’m wrong, but she doesn’t. Instead, she folds her arms across her chest and nods. It is my fault.
My knees buckle under the weight of dread. I drop my hands to my thighs, barely holding myself up. I’m prepared to beg.
“Get up.” She takes a step back. “Get up. Don’t beg me for something I can’t give you. For the first time in my life, I’m the one walking away. I’m choosing me. You need to let me have this.”
“I’m so sorry.”
I push myself to stand upright. As soon as my face is level with hers, Madison turns in place, pausing for only a moment before walking away. I watch as she leaves down the street. I watch and I feel my heart fall after her.
OLIVER
Pulling into the car park of the community centre, I notice that nothing has changed. The veggie patch walls are still pushed to a tilt under the strain of overgrown grass and dirt. The swing still creeks in the playground.
A sliver of disappointment claws its way up my back. Rolling my shoulders, I force it down. Between organising the cheque and the funds clearing through the banks, they’ve only had the money I’ve donated for a couple of weeks. Transferring such a large sum is, I’ve learned, not a simple process.
It would be unfair of me to expect them to have made immediate changes. But as I walk toward the entrance, I notice that they have added at least one thing. A wooden plaque has been fixed above the door.
Fraser Community House
So much for confidentiality. I’m grateful, at least, that the surname is common. Kind of. I hope.
“Oliver!” Mateo greets me with a hug. In navy suit pants and a flamingo pink shirt, he somehow looks more fabulous than the first time we met.
With my arms pinned at my sides, my back stiffens. Mateo bounces in the embrace.
“Mateo.” His name is deep in my throat, a greeting, but firm enough to warn him of my discomfort.
“Sorry, it’s just been a wonderful few weeks.” He leans back in and adds with a whisper, “All thanks to you.”
“You asked me to come see you?”
He nods, stepping towards his office. I follow him inside, taking a seat on the small stool on this side of the desk.
“We need a new board member.” His voice holds an airy feel. Tone rising, as though he expects a response to a question he still hasn’t asked.
“We can’t make any decisions regarding the money until we have a complete board. We have plans, projects, proposals. So much is in place, but the chairman is adamant. Even though they have been trying to get someone on board for months, he won’t budge. Until they find someone suitable, all the donation can do is look pretty in the bank account.”
I consider what he is telling me and wonder why I didn’t find out about it sooner. Would it have swayed my decision if I had known the money couldn’t be immediately spent? There’s a possibility. But I also know that this is exactly the kind of place I wanted the money to go.
“What kind of qualifications does a board member need? Is it a paid position?”
“It pays. No amount to write home about, but enough to get you by.” He shrugs. “As for qualifications, they care more about the changes someone wants to make in the community than their degree. Although a doctorate doesn’t hurt.”
Point made. And his urgent request for a meeting this morning is starting to make more sense.
I can’t believe I’m considering this, but the thought of returning to the university makes my shoulders shake. The shudder rushes down my body, depositing cement in my stomach.
This could be the answer to everything. I just don’t know if it’s too late.
