head shot up, his eyes suddenly hooded. “Ma’am, I’m taking care of that,” he said in a low voice. “You all get on with your tour now.”
“See you at the next activity change,” Sam told his partner as he shut the door. Before Ana could speak again, he marched on to another room.
“Hey, Lulu,” he said, leaning through the open door. “What are we up to this afternoon?”
Ana peered around his shoulder. A woman with light brown skin perched on a green plastic chair that sagged precariously under her weight. Eight children sat cross-legged at her feet on the concrete floor. “We’re reading Peter and the Wolf, ” she announced, holding up a large book. “Then we’ll listen to the music.”
“You kids be good for Lulu,” Sam said, stepping away from the room.
“Hey, did you see that child’s face—back in the other room?” Ana demanded, hurrying to keep pace with him. “The little girl named Brandy? Someone had slapped her.”
“Listen, Miss Burns.” He swung on her. “I appreciate your interest in Haven and our children. If you want to write an article about lead paint, I can’t stop you. But I have nothing more to say.”
Ana pursed her lips as she followed him to another room. She knew she had not imagined that bruise on Brandy’s face. And the way Terell Roberts had been holding the child unsettled her. Vulnerable children hidden away with grown men inside small rooms did not paint a pretty picture in her mind.
Her heart hammering, Ana paused at the third in the line of classrooms. A young man sat with a group of older children at a round table littered with hammers, nails, blocks of wood screwdrivers and various lengths of wire. Spotting Sam, he shrugged and threw up his hands.
“Same bunch,” he said. “Granny didn’t send hers over at activity change, so I kept these I already had. It’s no big deal, sir.”
“That’s a great attitude, Abdul, but everybody gets a turn at crocheting, just like everybody gets a turn at tools.” Sam gave a thumbs-up. “Let me check on Granny for you.”
“Thanks, sir.”
Sam walked to the last room and poked his head through the open doorway. “Well, hello there, Granny. Looks like your crew is busy.”
An elderly woman with snowy curls and a black velvet pillbox hat peered at him through oversize glasses. “What’s that you say, Mr. Hawke?” she asked loudly.
“I said you look busy here.” He raised his voice. “Nice work!”
Ana studied the center’s director as he stepped into the room and crouched down with the children. On first analysis, Sam Hawke seemed like a decent enough man. She appreciated the stringent rules and the emphasis on respect at the center. The volunteers clearly enjoyed their work, and most of the kids who dropped in appeared happy.
But her introduction to Terell Roberts still bothered her. What had been going on in that small room? Sam Hawke’s presence in such a place also raised questions. What had motivated an educated male in the prime of his life to take on the job of managing a run-down inner-city operation constantly threatened with closing? If the man enjoyed sports, he ought to be coaching a team, or working at a country club somewhere. It didn’t make sense.
What kind of future could Sam Hawke or Terell Roberts have here at Haven? If the recreation center had a large budget and generous donors, the lead paint might not be a problem. But Carl had called Haven a shoestring operation, and the place obviously didn’t generate enough financial support to pay two adults a decent salary. Sam and Terell would be living hand to mouth…unless they were using the building as a front to make money another way.
Ana’s blood raced at the possibility that she might uncover a real story at Haven. Oblivious to her thoughts, Sam hunkered down on the floor and picked up a length of pale blue yarn and a crochet hook. A girl—about ten, Ana guessed—leaned against his shoulder as she tried to show him how to loop the yarn onto the hook. He gritted his teeth, the muscles in his jaw rippling as he thumbed the delicate yarn.
Why this fascination with children? Prickles of alarm shot through Ana like thin, sharp needles at the memory of the way Terell’s hand had rested on little Brandy’s leg. The unhappiness in the girl’s blue eyes was palpable. She had kissed him, but had he slapped her only moments before?
“Tenisha, you’ve got me beat on this one,” Sam said, handing her the crochet hook and a tangle of yarn.
“Aw, you can do it, Uncle Sam.” She looked up at him. “You just have to try.”
“Tell you what, young lady. You play some basketball with me this afternoon—”
“No, I—”
“Now, don’t interrupt, Tenisha.” He held up a big index finger. “Remember the rules? Here’s a proposal for you. Try basketball this afternoon, and tomorrow I’ll come back and let you and Granny help me get started on crochet.”
“But I can’t play basketball, Uncle Sam. I can’t run hardly at all, y’know.”
“Well, how would I know that? I haven’t seen you ever try.”
She gazed down in her lap for a moment, her face glum.
“Do we have a deal?” he asked.
“Okay,” she said in a tiny voice.
“Great.” He gave her a solid pat on the back, and she brightened. Then he raised his voice to the other adult in the room. “Now, Granny, it’s time for activity change. These kids need to go try the tools.”
“What you talkin’ ’bout, boy?” The elderly woman squinted at him over the top of her glasses. “Fry the rules?”
“Tools!” he shouted, then muttered, “We’ve got to get you a hearing aid, Granny.”
As the youngsters scampered to their feet, Ana watched Tenisha lose her balance and stumble into a boy’s path. He barked in anger and gave her a shove. At that, Sam reached down and lifted the boy off his feet.
“Ladies first, Gerald,” he said as he held the youth high, giving Tenisha time to pick her way toward the door. Her unsteady gait revealed cerebral palsy, Ana surmised. So why had Sam Hawke urged the girl to attempt a sport that would only cause further embarrassment? Again, she felt the twinge of alarm and distrust.
Waiting for the group to file toward the toolroom, Ana noticed a figure seated in a shadowy corner at the end of the row of doors. She took a couple of steps closer and discerned a pair of skinny legs emerging from a green skirt. The girl wore the requisite white T-shirt and a pair of pink plastic sandals. Her hair, pulled back into a long braid, gleamed like black silk. She blinked at Ana, her large brown eyes wide.
“Hi.” Ana tried giving a little wave. She’d never been much good with children.
The girl looked away.
Well, that’s that.
Turning back, Ana nibbled a fingernail as she waited for Sam to complete the activity change. If Haven was as positive a place as it proclaimed, an article on the center’s activities might make a good feature for the Everyday section.
