Right from the Start (2 page)

Living hand to mouth, his mother had always called it, and she
would know since she’d reared three boys with no help from a deadbeat dad.
Robbing Peter to pay Paul. That was another way to phrase what boiled down to
plain not having enough money.

“Any possibility of squeezing another event into the calendar?”
he asked. “Something big enough to tie us over until the McKay money gets here?
That’ll carry us through to the apple festival in September. Everything will be
in place by then.”

“I don’t see what else our parents can do,” she admitted. “The
schedule is crammed already, and you know how labor intensive the festival is.
There aren’t enough hours in the day. Not without sacrificing all our time at
home with the kids, and they’re the whole point of everything we’re doing. I
don’t know how we accomplish what we do already. It’s not as if we get nights
and weekends off.”

That much was true. Sam’s learning wasn’t confined to a
classroom during a normal school day. He didn’t get to come home, do homework
then spend the rest of his night being a kid. No, the learning was an ongoing
process that took up every waking second of every minute of every day, and Will
was Sam’s teacher when he wasn’t in school.

Even the simplest things, such as getting Sam to brush his
teeth, required an action plan and consistent reinforcement. It had taken months
for him to brush after breakfast without a meltdown that made it impossible to
get out the door. Now Sam brushed before bed, too. The ultimate goal was to
brush after each meal. Then they could move on to learning the next skill.

Slow progress, perhaps, but progress nonetheless.

Will was grateful for every move in a positive direction. And
grateful that he only had Sam to worry about, and work. He wasn’t the norm. Most
parents juggled marriages and siblings in addition to their jobs and kid’s
special needs. As a parent with less on his plate than most, he’d felt obligated
to help Angel House get on solid financial footing.

“What did the accountant say? Can’t he pinpoint where the
problem is?” That’s exactly what Will’s financial officer did for his
contracting company, and those projections were hugely instrumental in
sidestepping trouble.

“It’s the economy, plain and simple,” Deanne said somberly.
“We’re devoting more time to fund-raising for a lot less money. That’s never a
winning combination.”

Will sighed. No arguing that. Even his company felt the pinch.
New construction was down, and with so many people struggling to pay mortgages,
renovations were a luxury many couldn’t afford.

Or maybe Will had been so involved trying to solve Angel
House’s problems that he hadn’t been focusing enough on his business. That was
also a possibility.

“Whatever happens, Will, you should be at peace. You’ve gone
above and beyond to help us qualify for this grant. Even if we can’t apply with
the Ramsey Foundation, you’ll find some way to raise awareness about autism. I
know you will, and we have no way of determining what good might come from
that.”

“Not after all this work.” He’d won a seat on the city council
to make this miracle happen—one more job he didn’t have time for. “I’m not going
to let a few months take away our chances. That’s really all it amounts to. The
deadline for the annual walk-through isn’t until August thirty-one—”

“August
thirtieth
, remember? The
thirty-first falls on a Saturday.”

Great. Not even the calendar was on board with the plan. “One
day isn’t going to matter. If we can’t keep operating here until next summer,
then we have no choice but to move up the timetable and make this year’s
deadline.”

Deanne sank back in her chair and stared at him. “Is that even
possible?”

Not without a
real
miracle because
the manufactured kind didn’t seem to be cutting it.

But what was Will supposed to do—let Angel House close its
doors? Sam needed more help than the government offered with all their special
services, and the insurance company fought him every step of the way on
additional therapies. But without the extra help, Sam wouldn’t be accepted into
a regular school. He’d be labeled “intensive needs” and sent to an exceptional
center that still didn’t have the services he needed.

Angel House filled that gap. It provided the extra training
necessary to help Sam become higher functioning so he could get by with the
level of special services the school system provided and continue to progress in
the least restrictive classroom environment.

That’s what Will wanted for Sam. He wasn’t going to accept
anything less. Period.

“We’ve got everything else in place, Deanne. All we need is a
permanent location that fits specs for the grant. We’ve found that, too. We just
need to move in.”

She frowned. “You’re talking about extensive renovations on a
building that covers nearly an entire city block.”

“Did I mention I own a construction company?”

Of course, he couldn’t start the renovations until he had a
partner to share the space and offset the private status of Angel House, thereby
fulfilling the last requirement for tenancy.

“Tell me about this agency. Give me something to work with
here.” Stretching his legs in front of him, Will rubbed his temples. A tension
headache on the way. What was new?

Deanne must have recognized the symptoms or was getting a
headache of her own because she shoved away from the desk and stood. “You want
coffee? I need a cup.”

“Please.” Maybe caffeine would constrict the blood vessels and
cut off the throbbing before it worsened.

She headed off to the nearby staff room then returned with two
foam cups.

“Here you go.” She handed him one. “Judge Parrish sits on the
board for the Young Leaders Camp Initiative. I presented to the board this week
about developing more opportunities for our lower-functioning kids.” She took a
tentative sip as she sat. “After the meeting we talked about our potential
involvement in Family Foundations, and Judge Parrish mentioned a divorce
mediator who has an independent agency based here in Hendersonville.”

“What’s the name?”

“Positive Partings.”

“Why does that sound familiar?”

Deanne shrugged. “Maybe you read about it? Apparently the owner
has been active lobbying for divorce reform.”

“Maybe.” Not that he read much anymore. Not unless an issue
involved the City of Hendersonville. For those issues he stayed tuned to the
local radio station whenever he was in his truck and pored through council
briefings in any spare moment. There weren’t many of those.

“The agency fits the criteria for both Family Foundations and
the Ramsey Foundation?” he asked. That was critical, and so far they hadn’t had
much luck.

“Looks like Positive Partings might be the answer to our
prayers. Judge Parrish spoke highly of the owner and said they’d worked together
with the family court. I did some research. The agency opened two years ago and
serves a huge network of professionals from all over the state.”

“Does it need more space?”

“Possibly. The owner teaches divorcing parent classes for the
court. Apparently that’s a part of all the lobbying she does—she’s trying to
standardize the system of court-ordered education.”

“Those classes need reform. I attended one with some guy who
managed to make four hours feel like two lifetimes of completely wasted
time.”

Deanne chuckled. “Yeah, well, it was probably good for you to
sit down and relax for a change.”

“Right back at you. But the coffee wasn’t too bad if memory
serves. Not as good as this, of course.” He took another swig of brew that could
have rusted a galvanized nail.

“It was good a few hours ago.” She thoughtfully swirled the
dregs in the bottom of her own cup. “Besides, I never argue with free. Smile and
be grateful.”

The coffee was a donation from the café on Main Street and
demonstrated exactly the sort of community spirit and generosity that made
Hendersonville special. A city small enough so people didn’t get lost in the
crowd, yet infused with new blood because of tourism and some-timers who kept
vacation homes in the mountains. This sort of community was largely responsible
for bringing Angel House into existence and keeping it going.

Until December, anyway.

“So Positive Partings might need more classrooms,” he said.
“And you think the owner might be interested in a historic building the city’s
willing to cut her a break on rent for?”

Once
he
renovated it, of
course.

“That’s what Judge Parrish said. She thinks a location close to
the courthouse would be attractive. And no question Main Street would be visible
for folks who come to those classes. We’ve got a lot to offer. The low-rent
lease. The location. Positive Partings would be crazy not to at least consider a
move.”

“Is the owner from around here?” Why else would anyone set up
shop in Hendersonville? He could think of a lot of places in North Carolina with
better access to the state capital.

“Hendersonville born and bred, according to the website.”
Deanne reached for her laptop. “Take a look for yourself. You won’t believe the
list of professionals the agency serves. Would be great exposure for Angel
House.”

Will tossed his cup in the trash before heading to Deanne’s
side of the desk. He half sat on the edge and waited while she called up the
site. “Can’t get much more public service than family court.”

“I know, right.”

Given the demographic it served, Angel House would have been a
shoo-in to benefit from the Family Foundations Project, which targeted five
areas of focus for revitalization of Hendersonville. There was only one problem
with Angel House: its affiliation with a Roman Catholic Church.

Will hadn’t been involved with Angel House back then, but he
knew the story well. Deanne had been looking for help after her daughter’s
autism diagnosis. Ten years ago there hadn’t been an Angel House to help a
parent maneuver the minefield of information and misinformation.

But she’d refused to settle for the meager services the
government offered, which simply weren’t enough to affect any progress in her
daughter’s treatment. She also refused to accept that she couldn’t help her
child.

So she traveled around the country to investigate every program
that dealt with autism then approached her pastor to put her knowledge to use
for her daughter and other families experiencing similar difficulties.

Angel House had started as a ministry in some unused classrooms
of the parish school. And through the generosity of caring parishioners and the
dedicated involvement of parents and professionals, Angel House flourished.

The church gifted the center with the house and land it
occupied now. Deanne had reached out into the community to fund the renovations.
The center had outgrown the old house, and there was no expanding. They needed
to level the old structure and start from scratch and, given the costs involved,
that simply wasn’t possible as a ministry of one church.

No, for Angel House to grow and serve more kids, it needed to
grow into a real not-for-profit organization. That’s when Will had conceived of
letting the City of Hendersonville provide a new location through Family
Foundations.

The church affiliation was the problem.

While Angel House served kids based on need, it was still
perceived as a religious organization. If there was any better way to trigger a
firestorm of controversy about how the city allocated funds, Will couldn’t think
of one.

No one wanted to hear that Will’s company would fund the
building renovations, or that Angel House supported itself through donations,
fund-raising and private grants that came from all over the community, and the
nation, too—
if
they could secure the all-important
Ramsey Foundation grant. But applying for that grant meant they needed a
permanent location in an area that served its community.

The chicken and egg.

In order to make this work, Will had to couple Angel House with
another organization with a strong public service affiliation in the new
location to bridge the distance between the city’s private and public
sectors.

Positive Partings?

“Here you go.” Deanne tilted the laptop his way then stopped.
She placed her hand over his. “Seriously, Will. Before we go one step further,
do you really think it’s possible to get all that work done? I know what
renovating this place was like and we didn’t knock down walls.”

She met his gaze with the quiet desperation and determination
of a mother who took every breath to clear obstacles out of her daughter’s way
and give her a chance to learn. There was no time for fear in the journey, no
room for doubts, only the grinding day-to-day, minute-by-minute, steps along the
path.

And lots of hard-won triumphs to light the way.

Deanne had helped Will see those, too, to accept that, while
his journey as a parent differed from what he’d expected, the differences
brought unique joys, and so much love.

She devoted her life to helping her daughter and to paving a
smoother way for others until the medical community and insurance companies and
the local, state and federal governments caught up with their services.

“I won’t lie, Deanne. Even if this agency proves to be the
right one, and we can convince the owner to sign on fast, we’ll be making a
leap. The building has to be updated before I can bring it up to specs for Angel
House. And I won’t even know what I have to do until I get inside and start
taking things apart. But how can we not at least try when we’re this close?”

All the uncertainty melted from Deanne’s expression. She
understood shooting for the stars. She knew what it meant to hope against
hope.

And she went for it every time and taught others to take those
insane leaps of faith, to believe in miracles because there was always hope.