Where Dreams Begin (2 page)

Lost Angel had not turned out to be what she’d expected at all, but her first visit had been oddly exhilarating, and she felt she owed it to herself to give it a second try. After all, a volunteer position wasn’t like a real job, and if she didn’t feel as though she were making a valuable contribution, she could always quit. There was only one problem with that strategy, however: she’d never quit on anything.

Luke Starns took several deep breaths before reviewing Catherine Brooks’ application, but when he discovered that the word widow appeared under marital status, he cursed and laid the form aside. He preferred face-to-face meetings with prospective volunteers to assessing people’s abilities from the dry facts they supplied on the Lost Angel application, but he certainly wished he’d seen Mrs. Brooks’ form before they had met. Until the last moments of their interview, she’d projected such a touching vulnerability that he’d seen no reason to encourage her interest, and when he had, it had merely been for spite.

Now that he knew she’d lost her husband, he wished he’d engaged her in a real conversation and then gently nudged her toward another worthwhile charity. He had seen her fall for Tina Stassy’s plea for money for cat food, and the other kids frequenting Lost Angel would also recognize her as a soft touch. Regardless of how generous her nature might be, however, she couldn’t support them all.

“Nor should she,” he murmured aloud.

Disgusted with himself for not behaving more professionally, he left his office to conduct the afternoon session where he could offer little more than a sympathetic ear and a sandwich to kids who needed far more in the way of structure and assistance than Lost Angel could provide.

As he arranged chairs in the cavernous room that had been the church’s sanctuary, he took little note of the once-sacred surroundings. For him, it was merely a room where the good they did, like the ruby light streaming through the stained glass windows, would vanish with the coming night.

Dave Curtis, the center’s maintenance man, joined Luke in time to set up the last of the chairs. “Sorry, boss. I should have had everything ready, but it took longer to clean out the trap under the kitchen sink than I’d expected and I’d wanted to change my shirt.” He pulled his light brown hair into place with a quick yank on the elastic band holding his ponytail.

“Don’t apologize. There’s more work than any of us can do.” Luke stepped back and shoved his hands into his hip pockets. “From now on, I’ll let the kids arrange the chairs. It’ll give them more of a sense that this is their group rather than mine.”

“Sounds good to me. You want to get a pizza later?”

Luke hesitated a long moment, then shook his head. “No, I need to get out of here. Maybe tomorrow night.”

“Sure, whenever. I’m going to give the sprinklers another try. I need to clean out all the heads before I can judge whether or not the pipes are still good, but I’d sure like to be able to water what’s left of the grass.”

“Yeah, give it a try,” Luke encouraged. He admired Dave’s initiative, and summoning what was left of his own, he welcomed the first of the kids to arrive. It was Tina Stassy, and while it was likely he was having more success reaching her cat, as long as she kept coming back, all three of them had a chance to survive.

Chapter Two

Catherine flung the red dress toward the bed where the soft, sand-washed silk fell in a bright burst of color, then pooled out over the plush ivory comforter in a spreading stain. Next, she peeled a pale, peach chiffon gown from its padded hanger and sent it flying toward the high brass bed.

“Give me a hand here, Joyce,” she called to her friend. “All these party clothes have to go.”

Joyce pushed her frizzled blonde curls out of her eyes and took a tentative step toward the roomy walk-in closet. “You’ll regret this for sure,” she warned. “You’ve such pretty clothes, and they’ll cost a fortune to replace.”

“I’ve not worn a one of these dresses since Sam’s death, and even if I did receive an invitation to a formal affair, I wouldn’t accept. Seeing them hanging in the closet just makes me incredibly sad.”

Reluctantly turning toward the bed, Joyce reached for the red silk dress and folded it over her arm. “I wish we wore the same size,” she remarked wistfully. “I’ve always envied you your height and willowy figure.”

After a moment of silent debate, Catherine threw a cranberry knit coatdress on the bed. The crystal buttons caught the morning light pouring in the windows and sent a riot of shimmering rainbows dancing across the ceiling. “I thought you enjoyed being petite.”

Joyce laid the red dress aside and folded the cranberry. “It’s definitely an advantage where men are concerned, and there are always plenty of clothes on the sale racks in small sizes.” Her carefully penciled brows formed a mere hint of a frown. “But how long can a woman rely on merely being cute?”

Joyce was thirty-seven and had gone through a bitter divorce three years prior. Catherine understood how serious her question truly was and gave it the consideration it deserved. “Cute lasts forever,” she assured her confidently. “I’ve met women in their eighties who were as cute as they could be.”

“I hope you’re right, but I’m afraid a woman is really much better off being tall. Christie Brinkley was on
Entertainment Tonight
last week. She still looks so damn good, but like you, she has the height to be elegant.”

Catherine glanced down at her oversized purple T-shirt and worn jeans. “Somehow I’ve never thought of myself as being particularly elegant.”

Joyce followed the direction of Catherine’s gaze and laughed with her. “Not today, perhaps, but in any of these fabulous dresses, you most certainly are. I remember the last time you wore the chiffon.” Joyce’s words caught in her throat. “You and Sam were such a handsome couple.”

The compliment caught Catherine off guard, and a painful rush of sorrow flooded her eyes and brought a dizzying weakness to her knees. Betrayed by the force of her seemingly inexhaustible grief, she sank down on the side of the bed and recalled that last party at the club in such shimmering detail, she could almost taste the frosty key lime pie served for dessert.

“I’m sorry.” Joyce gave Catherine’s shoulders a quick hug. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

Catherine responded with a poignant sigh. “Please don’t be afraid to mention Sam. I may cry each time you do, but I don’t want him to be forgotten.”

“Oh, Cathy, no one will ever forget Sam. All his friends loved him. Come on, let’s take a break and have some iced tea, or something stronger, if you’d like.”

Catherine brushed away her tears with trembling fingertips and laid aside a black velvet skirt as she rose. “I think it’s a damn good thing I don’t drink, or I wouldn’t have been sober a single day this past year.”

Still struggling to regain her composure, Catherine led the way through her charming Cape Cod-style home. It was too large for her now, but it contained far too many precious memories to sell.

The kitchen faced the east and opened out onto a redwood deck. On long summer nights, she and Sam had enjoyed the concerts staged at the nearby Rose Bowl from the lazy comfort of their own backyard. He had loved the Rolling Stones and been elated to hear Mick Jagger whip the paying crowd into a frenzy with “Satisfaction”.

The bittersweet memory brought a shaky smile, and, cheered, Catherine poured two glasses of iced tea and added sprigs of fresh mint from her garden. She and Joyce carried them out to the glass-topped table on the deck and settled into the thickly cushioned chairs. She took a long sip of tea, then held the cool glass to her cheek.

“We can finish packing up the clothes later, but for now, there’s something I’d like to run by you.”

Joyce immediately sat forward. She smoothed her white slacks and tapped her pink-tipped nails against the side of her glass. “I’m no expert on anything except decorating, but I’ll do my very best to help.”

Catherine gazed out over the lush green lawn. Every spring, the flower beds needed attention, and she was embarrassed to have overlooked them until now. She made a mental note to buy pansies and snapdragons for some much-needed color. Unfortunately, her life was equally pale, and brightening it would not be nearly as easy as replanting the flowers.

“I’m not ready to look for a full-time job,” she finally confided, “but I do want to get out more and try some volunteer work.”

“Well,
alleluia
! It’s about time.” Joyce paused to again fluff her curls from her eyes. “The Huntington Library has a terrific program for docents. It’s close, and so is the Norton Simon Museum. Or what about the Los Angeles Zoo? Wouldn’t that be fun? I bet they let their volunteers hold the baby gorillas.”

Catherine nodded to acknowledge the wealth of attractive possibilities nearby, but she’d already made her choice. She watched Smoky, her pampered gray tomcat, leave the shady spot beneath the camellias and welcomed him into her lap. He responded with a noisy purr, curled up and, utterly content, closed his bottle-green eyes for a nap. Catherine stroked his fur lightly as she described her plans.

“There was an article in the
Times
a few months ago about Lost Angel, an organization in Hollywood that serves runaway and homeless teens. It was such a moving story, and—”

Joyce rattled the table with her fist. “Oh no. You can’t be serious. It’s located in a terrible neighborhood, and you might get mugged, or worse.”

Catherine wasn’t altogether surprised by the hostility of Joyce’s reaction, but she had a ready defense. “Just bear with me a moment. Before Sam and I were married, I taught high school English. The pressures of his law practice made our lives so hectic that there just never seemed to be a good time to get back into education, but schools have changed in the last ten years. What I need is some practical experience with today’s teens. If it’s good, then I’ll apply for a teaching position for the fall.”

Joyce shook her head in disbelief. “Sam left you well-provided for, so why you’d want to work is beyond me, but even with metal detectors at the entrances, teachers are still dodging bullets nowadays. Why take that kind of risk?”

“You’re citing the extreme. Most schools have secure campuses, but it’s not security that concerns me. Kids have become so sophisticated, and I don’t want to walk into a classroom in September and not be able to connect with them.”

Joyce responded with a derisive snort. “Oh, you’ll connect, all right. You’re a gorgeous woman. The boys will be hot for you, and the girls will envy your sense of style.”

Catherine quickly discounted Joyce’s cynical opinion. “Perhaps, but it’s not the same as having a real impact on their lives. By volunteering at Lost Angel, I hope to gain some worthwhile insights, while at the same time, I might actually be doing some good.”

Joyce slumped back in her chair. “God help us, but you’re actually going ahead with this, aren’t you?”

Catherine turned that question aside with an easy shrug. “It’s time. I’ll always miss Sam, but I need to build a life on my own now.”

“What would Sam say about Lost Angel?”

My darling Sam, Catherine mused silently. At night, she lay awake sharing her day with him and still felt his loving presence. “Sam was quite liberal in his politics, and he always encouraged me to do whatever I wished. He’d not oppose me on this.”

“Won’t you at least consider other options?” Joyce pressed. “Your tennis is even better than mine, and with a little practice, we could win the ladies’ doubles title at the club this summer.”

When Catherine brushed aside that suggestion, Joyce quickly posed another. “What about volunteering in the literacy program at the public library? Or donating time at the charity thrift shop where you plan to drop off your clothes? You once mentioned how you hoped to someday have a daughter. How about becoming involved with the Girl Scouts? Don’t they run camps in the summer?”

Catherine projected the same relaxed tranquility as the tomcat in her lap. “Girl Scouts have families who love them. What about the kids who have no one? Who’s going to care about them?”

“I don’t see why it has to be you,” Joyce countered. “Don’t get me wrong, Lost Angel does a tremendous amount of good. I just don’t see why you have to become involved with it. Maybe what you really need isn’t kids to teach, but a new man to love.”

Stung by that unwanted advice, Catherine stubbornly refused to give in to tears and instead tickled Smoky’s ears. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.”

“All right, I apologize if it was thoughtless, or a bit premature, but one of the benefits of decorating office buildings is that I meet plenty of attractive men. Professional men,” she emphasized. “You’re only thirty-two, Cathy. You can’t want to spend the rest of your life alone.”

Catherine took a long drink of tea before offering a hushed reply. “I’d expected to spend the rest of my life with Sam. There are days when just accepting the terrible fact that he’s gone is almost more than I can bear. The prospect of falling in love again is beyond imagining. Now let’s finish boxing up my clothes, and don’t let me forget to include the shoes I’ll never wear again, either.” She set Smoky aside, rose and shoved her chair into the table.

“I’m sorry if I didn’t say what you’d hoped to hear,” Joyce offered, “but I trust you to do what’s best.”

Catherine nodded, but she didn’t really trust herself to do anything right without Sam.

Monday morning, Catherine sorted through her newly reorganized wardrobe, but nothing she owned seemed appropriate for Lost Angel. She’d thought her cinnamon suit would be perfect for an initial interview but now feared she’d been overdressed.

She reached for a chambray shirtwaist with a colorful beaded belt, but it was an outfit Sam had urged her to buy, and she pulled back. He’d loved to take her shopping, and at moments like this when she couldn’t make up her mind, he’d always teased her about having more outfits than Malibu Barbie, then reached into her closet and yanked out the perfect choice. Whenever she went out, she still took the time to look her best, but oh, how she missed his pretty compliments.