Total pages in book: 187
Estimated words: 174623 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 873(@200wpm)___ 698(@250wpm)___ 582(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 174623 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 873(@200wpm)___ 698(@250wpm)___ 582(@300wpm)
"And if it doesn't, we'll reevaluate," I assure her again.
Her hand drops from her nose, and she looks at me. "You say that like you're not terrified of every single variable."
I open my mouth to deny it, but the look on her face tells me not to bother. She's been in the business too long not to notice when someone is lying or deflecting.
"I'm terrified of most variables," I confess. "But rain feels like one of the least terrifying things that could happen tomorrow."
She laughs, and the sound eases some of the tension sitting tight in my chest.
"Fair enough," she says. "The fundraiser has grown bigger than we expected when we first came up with the idea."
"That's good, right?"
"It's wonderful," she says, but the word comes out with exhaustion wrapped around it. "It's also a logistical nightmare."
I lean back in my chair.
"Tell me what it is. Not the stressed-out version that makes you regret setting it into motion in the first place. I want to know about the version you would've told me before you started worrying about the possibility of rain."
She smiles, but this one is different. Softer. Prouder.
"We're calling it the Walk for Hope," she says. "There will be a short walk around the park first thing, but it's less about fitness and more about visibility. After that, it turns into a community day. Organizations will have booths. Families can walk around and find resources without feeling like they're sitting in an office asking for help, and it's not just focused on families in need. We have organizations from every aspect of the community. The library will be there to share its summer reading program. There will be organizations there to let people know about summer sports programs. Although it started with Anchor House properties in mind, we didn't want abusers to think that this event is only for people who need that sort of help."
I nod, understanding that reasoning more than I wish I did. If anyone suspected this event was an avenue of assistance for abuse survivors to escape, no one would show up, and there could be repercussions for those wanting to attend.
"People don't always know what exists in the community until they're desperate," she continues. "And by then, filling out paperwork or making calls or trying to figure out who does what feels impossible."
"Especially with kids."
"Exactly," she says. "So we give the kids something to do. We keep it light. We make it fun. While they're getting their faces painted or making bracelets or planting a cup of marigolds to take home, their parents can talk to someone from the food bank, legal aid, the health department, the clothing closet, whoever they need."
"But also information on community involvement and what's available to everyone," I add. "That's smart."
"It's necessary," she says. "A lot of outreach events feel heavy. This one can't be like that. I don't want people walking into the park and thinking, here are all the terrible things that can happen to you. I want them thinking, here are all the people willing to help if something does."
The words settle inside of me, and for a second, I can't speak around them.
I think of my old life. Charity galas with champagne towers and silent auction paddles. Women dripping in diamonds, men making sure everyone noticed the checks they wrote. My parents attended events like that because everyone in our circle did. It was expected of us to appear helpful, but in the end, it was always just one more event to be seen at.
My parents would've bought a painting from a survivor if it made them look generous, as if they were contributing somehow.
They never would've hung it on the wall.
They never would've told someone about the woman who made it, or the shelter it benefited, or the children who needed somewhere safe to sleep. They wouldn't have given a second thought to a little boy like Dean, who has night terrors because of the abuse he witnessed. They would've used it as a tax write-off and never thought of it again.
"You okay?" Victoria asks.
I blink, pulling myself from the memory. "Yeah. Sorry. I just... I remember fundraisers from before."
"Before?"
"My old life," I clarify. "They weren't like this."
"No," she says, as if she understands more than I'm saying. "This one is about connection. The money matters, of course. All the proceeds will get divided between the crisis organizations participating, but Cerberus would never let any of us fail if the numbers came in low."
"Then why put yourself through all this?" I ask, forcing my eyes back to hers when I get the sudden urge to once again look out the window to see if Nyx is still standing outside.
"Because if people donate to an organization, they tend to care more about it," she says. "Even if it's five dollars. Even if it's buying a purple ribbon from a table or dropping change in a jar. They leave with a piece of ownership in the mission."