to live.”
“I’ll live on the street if I have to. I did it before. But I can’t go back there, and you can’t make me go.”
“Yes, I can, Dione. By law you’re still a minor. I should have had you placed in foster care instead of sending you there.”
Dione looked at her defiantly. “You can’t send me anywhere I don’t want to go. Nobody can. I’m eighteen.” Her eyes filled and she felt her throat constrict. “Today’s my birthday.”
It was Betsy who cared for Niyah while Dione returned to finish high school, and worked part-time at the local supermarket three days per week after giving birth to her baby girl. And Betsy always made sure that when Dione dragged herself home after her long days at school and then at work, there was a meal for her to eat.
Humph, that building. It was an old, raggedy building that was hotter than Hades in the summer and could rival the Arctic in the winter, located smack in the middle of the notorious East New York section of Brooklyn, one of the most dangerous areas of the borough. But it was inexpensive. The only thing she could afford. The check she received from Public Assistance for her and Niyah and the small salary she earned at the supermarket just about made ends meet.
One thing she was always grateful for, Ms. Betsy was real careful about choosing her six tenants, so Dione always felt safe, and Betsy seemed to have taken an instant liking to her and Niyah. She always went out of her way to make sure that they had enough to eat and extra blankets during the bitter winter nights.
When Dione graduated from high school, it was Betsy who sat in the audience cheering for her, with Niyah squirming on her lap.
Dione promised herself that if—no, when—she made a success of her life she would get Ms. Betsy out of that building and take care of her the same way she had taken care of her and Niyah. And Dione had kept her promise. She smiled as she walked toward the main office. Yes she had.
When Dione entered the office, Brenda was busy pulling files that were scheduled for the monthly review.
This was one of the aspects of the job that was a mixture of triumph and disappointment. When the girls’ progress files were brought before the staff for review, Dione always believed that the results, whatever they may be, were a direct reflection on the staff and the program, and ultimately on her.
If the girls were unable to achieve the goals set out for them, Dione felt the staff should have done more, she should have done more. The comprehensive program that she’d developed for the residents relied on all of the pieces working together: continuing education, finding employment, attending on-site housing preparation classes that taught budgeting, cooking, housekeeping and parenting skills.
In the five years since the house had been opened, thirty young women and their children had come through the doors and lived under that roof. Most of them took the opportunity, love and support that was give them and multiplied it when they went out on their own. But there were those who were beyond saving. The ones who’d come to her too late, too damaged by life. The ones who kept her awake on so many nights.
She pushed the thoughts aside as she crossed the rectangular room. “What time is the case review meeting scheduled for?”
Brenda looked briefly over her shoulder. “Four-thirty.”
Dione nodded. “What about the house meeting?”
“I’ll draft up the notice and have it under everyone’s door. The proposal is on your desk downstairs.”
“Thanks.” She turned to leave, then stopped. “Bren?”
“Hmm?”
“Do you really think this documentary is the way to go?” She folded her arms and leaned against the door frame.
Brenda laid down the file and faced Dione. “We’ve pretty much run out of options. The proposal sounds good and if marketed properly could get us the financing we need. That’s what we have to focus on.” She waited a beat, looking at Dione’s faraway expression. “What’s really bothering you, Dee? I don’t think it’s just the girls.”
Dione straightened. “Why would you think that? Of course that’s all there is. I don’t want them exploited.”
Brenda looked at Dione for a long moment. “If you say so.” She turned back to the file cabinet.
“I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”
“Sure,” Brenda mumbled.
Dione returned to her basement office, leaving the door partially open. Even though Brenda and Ms. Betsy had insisted that she close her door while she was working, Dione never wanted any of the girls to feel that she was inaccessible. Her steadfast policy interrupted many a thought process, but she stood by it.
She turned on the small lavender and white clock radio that was given to her as a gift from one of the former residents the previous Christmas. As the sultry sounds of Regina Bell overcame the static and filled the room, she thought about the question Brenda asked.
How could she tell Brenda that yes, she was right, the girls’ privacy wasn’t all that she was concerned with. She was concerned with her own privacy and what the probing of this documentary may uncover, that the lie she’d woven for the past eighteen years would become unraveled.
That’s what she didn’t want to risk, hurting Niyah with the truth. But at what cost?
She blew out a breath and opened the folder that contained the proposal. G.L. Productions stared back at her in thick, black capital letters. A tiny jolt shot through her. She wasn’t sure why. Blinking, she turned the page and began reviewing what G.L. Productions had proposed to do in order to fulfill the requirements of the granting agency.
According to what Mr. Lawrence wrote, his intention was to get personal interviews with some of the residents and ask them all about their backgrounds and how they found themselves at Chances Are. She wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “That’s out.”
She continued to read, becoming more agitated by the minute. She was right when her first thought told her to scrap the whole documentary idea. Not only did they want to interview all of the girls, but the staff as well. They also wanted to take footage of the activities in the house. And with the girls’ permission, get interviews from any family members. She couldn’t see that happening.
Closing the folder, Dione leaned back in her chair and rubbed her eyes with the tips of her index fingers. She’d only given the proposal a cursory glance when it had come in two months earlier and dismissed it as something she had no intention of participating in. But after a careful review, she had even more doubts than before. Only now, the dire situation at Chances had escalated.
Well, she conceded, if she was going to go through with it, as she was feeling compelled to do, she’d have to outline her own set of requirements. But she’d let the girls decide at the house meeting.
Chapter 2
Garrett Lawrence sat in the tight editing suite of his production studio, facing three television monitors, the video player and recording decks, putting together the final touches on an instructional video for a collection agency. The piece was well done, all of the important points were highlighted with animated graphics over
