Rosa was at home caring for Lupe. They’d decided to stop all invasive treatments for Lupe’s cancer and were working with insurance to come up with a plan for palliative care and, eventually, hospice. It was heartbreaking, yet comforting, to know that Rosa and Lupe could share a long, loving goodbye. Rosa told me they’d been spending time looking at photos, watching movies they both loved, and eating their favorite foods. I was sure there was a lot of pain and sadness mixed into their days, but it was very much in line with Rosa's character that she didn’t dwell on it.
Rosa deserved to be at home as much as she wanted to be, and I was determined to cover her operational duties at the Center to make that happen. Longtime employees like Chuck were willing to step up as well. I’d already promised Rosa that she had me for as long as she needed me. When she’d wrapped her arms around me and said, “Gracias a Dios por ti,” I felt prouder than the day I’d secured fifteen million in funding for JBC.
While Deck worked on the bathroom repairs, I met with Ana, the fundraiser, and Quincy, the accountant. We’d scheduled the meeting for two hours before the kids arrived, so Marisol joined us.
Quincy and Ana both worked three days per week, overlapping only on Thursdays, though Quincy usually worked remotely. He did freelance accounting for nonprofits to supplement his retirement income after a long career as the CFO of a local restaurant chain. His shiny bald head gleamed like a friendly beacon, and he had the best laugh, the kind ofheh-heh-hehdeepfrom his belly that made everyone around him join in, even if nothing was funny.
Today was the first time I’d met him in person, and I was immediately charmed. Not to mention reassured by his uncanny ability to drill down on numbers, and his honesty in assessing the Center’s difficult financial situation. I already admired Ana’s capabilities as a fundraiser, and, of course, Marisol’s expertise in running programs that donors wanted to support. Even with a small leadership team, I sensed the potential for success.
“I’m so glad to be in the building,” Quincy said, wandering around the atrium and offering compliments for every piece of artwork on the walls. “Rosa lets me work from home since I’m an old man and it’s a hell of a commute from my neck of the woods, but I do love being here. I’m happy to come in more often if you think it would help.”
“That’s a generous offer,” I said, considering it. “Why don’t we keep having you come in on Thursdays, so at least there’s one day where we all work together physically in the same space. It may help us move quicker.”
I appreciated Quincy’s willingness to be flexible. He already did a lot for the Center, charging well below the prevailing wage for his accounting work. I also suspected he did more than he billed for. But I wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. During his corporate career, he’d been on the board of directors for the Center because he genuinely loved Rosa and believed in the mission.
As I became familiar with the Center’s finances, I met dozens of donors and board members who offered to step up and contribute more to keep the place running. We just didn’t have enough of those people to solve the problem of long-term sustainability. If I was going to do more than merely provide Rosa with a stopgap for the next few years, we needed to have the funds to establish a meaningful endowment, allowingthe Center to operate off its interest, and also mount a capital campaign, which would serve the dual purpose of getting new funders engaged while providing the means to deal with the maintenance backlog and ongoing repairs.
Ana often reminded me that it was significantly easier to get donors to fund new building wings and fancy program initiatives than to provide general funding to keep the lights on and pay the staff. We needed a balance.
“I can also come in more often, if it would help,” Ana said. “Happy to do it.”
“I may take you up on that, especially closer to the Gala for Kids,” I replied, thinking of the event scheduled for early December, only two months away. “We have it budgeted to do half a million, but I think we need at least eight hundred thousand to make up for the fundraising that didn’t happen over the summer.”
“Sure, just a cool eight hundred, when the most we’ve ever done is six,” Ana chuffed. “You don’t ask for much.”
Despite her good-natured chuckle, I knew she understood my shoot-for-the-stars attitude. She was ten years older than me and had also attended the Center as a child. She took the part-time job as a fundraiser after going through a divorce four years ago. Her two kids came to the Center even though she could afford to enroll them in a place much closer to their home. When I’d asked her why she picked them up and brought them every day, she’d looked at me like I was nuts.
“Cori, I don’t care how fancy thelearning centers”—she used air quotes—“are by my house. If you had kids, wouldn’t you want them to have Rosa and the Center in their lives?”
My respect for her, already high, had cemented.
“I know eight hundred is a stretch,” I conceded. “But we have to try. If the event fails, we’re looking at immediate cuts to athletic programs, the arts, and music, as well as significantincreases in camp fees. I came here to help the Center. I don’t want to have to gut it.”
Quincy examined one of the bulletin boards outside an art room. He pointed at a smaller canvas pinned in the corner. “Whichever kid did this one, they’ve got genuine talent.”
Marisol smiled. “That’s one of Reign’s. We rarely get them off the couch, but when we do, it’s usually to the art room.”
Ana looked up. “Maybe we can ask them to do something for the gala. It might be nice to have the invitations and posters featuring kid art.”
“Love that idea,” I said.
“Speaking of artwork—” Quincy adopted the expression I’d come to recognize as the one he wore before delivering bad news. “I think we need to look at the website. Online donations are down over sixty percent compared to last year, and while technology is certainly not my forte, I’m wondering if it isn’t because our online presence hasn’t been updated in a while.”
Dejected, I sighed. I hadn’t realized the year-over-year numbers were that bad, but the Center’s desperate need for a refresh of its website and social media pages was something I’d identified on my first day. I’d hoped the updates could wait until we took care of more immediate fires, but based on Quincy’s numbers, they were part of the inferno.
“I have some former work acquaintances who might do that type of work for a reasonable rate, or possibly even free. Sorry I haven’t gotten to it yet,” I said.
“Cori, it’s okay,” Ana reassured me, taking a sip of her tea. “We know you’re still getting acclimated. You’ve done a lot in a short amount of time.”
“If you know anyone with that expertise, it might be nice if they could get the kids here involved,” Marisol added. “Instead of having someone just design a website or get us set up on Instagram or whatever, we could have a few older teens learnthose skills. There’s some of that in school, but it’s hit or miss on how good the instruction is, let alone whether they have the opportunity to apply what they’ve learned.”
“That’s a fantastic idea,” I said, wheels turning.
Two months ago, my life had been completely compartmentalized. Now, not only was I reintegrating myself into my old neighborhood, but I was also contemplating inviting coworkers from JBC into that world. I could easily envision Jason or Brad writing a check at the gala, but it was murkier to imagine them teaching coding and graphic design to fifteen-year-olds who swore like sailors and had souls older than Methuselah.
But who knew? Rosa always said to have a growth mindset about kids. Maybe I should extend the same courtesy to adults. It wasn’t my former coworkers’ fault that they’d never had to go back-to-school shopping in a church’s charity bin or put water in a shampoo bottle to make it last longer.
“The kids will be here soon,” I announced, clapping my hands together. “Let’s change the subject to something more fun and talk about how awesome the teen dance will be tomorrow night.”
