CHAPTER 98: The Fourth

POV: Selene Castellano

His name was Kevin Walsh.

Not the same Kevin Walsh who had written four pages after the symposium. This was a different person with the same name.

This Kevin Walsh ran a youth housing program on the west side and he had the quality of someone who had been let down by enough people that letting down had become his default assumption.

He arrived at nine and sat across from Selene.

He didn't take coffee when she offered.

“I’ve been thinking all night about yesterday’s call,” he said. 

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Selene said.

“I’m thinking I’ve heard the honest foundation speech before,” he said. “Not from you but from people exactly like you.” He looked at the table. “They come in with the right language, the right frameworks. They talk about dignity and infrastructure and closing gaps.” He looked up. “And then the money gets tight or the board gets nervous and the community partners are the first thing that gets cut,”

Selene said nothing.

“You want me to tell you we’re different,” she said eventually.

“I want you to show me you’re different,” he said. “The speech I’ve already heard.”

“What would show you?”

He looked at her directly. “What happens when the money gets tight.”

“I don’t know yet,” she said. “We haven’t been in that position.”

He blinked.

“That’s not the answer I expected,” he said.

“It’s the honest one.” She put her hands flat on the table. “What I can tell you is that when Patricia Walsh came to us yesterday believing we’d promised something we hadn’t, we didn’t send a lawyer. We called six organizations in one afternoon and told them the truth.” She paused. “That’s not a speech. That’s what happened yesterday.”

Kevin looked at her.

“I know about the calls,” he said. “I heard from two of the four.”

“And?”

He was quiet for a moment.

“Patricia said you asked her to make the calls with you,” he said. “Not for you but with you.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because they trusted her,” Selene said. “And she’d been the one who communicated what we hadn’t said clearly enough. It wasn’t her fault but she was part of fixing it.”

Kevin picked up the coffee he’d refused earlier.

Selene didn’t say anything about that.

“The youth housing program,” he said. “We have forty two young people currently. Average stay seven months. We’re at capacity and have been for eight months.”

“What do you need?”

“A case manager. One full time case manager would let us take twelve more young people.”

“That’s operational staffing,” Selene said. “Which we told you we don’t fund yet.”

“I know.”

“Yet,” Selene said.

He looked at her.

“The Lorraine Pierce Infrastructure Fund,” she said. “It launches in January. Operational staffing is in the scope. I can’t promise you’ll qualify because we have an independent review process and I’m not overriding it.” She paused. “But apply in January with everything you just told me.”

Kevin looked at the table.

Then at her.

“Forty two young people,” he said. “Some of them have been on the street since they were fifteen.”

“I know.”

“A case manager isn’t a speech,” he said. “It’s a person who shows up every day.”

“I know that too.”

He was quiet for a long moment.

Then he put the coffee cup down and stood up.

“January,” he said.

“January,” she agreed.

And he left.

Amara was in the doorway.

She’d been there for the last five minutes.

“You heard,” Selene said.

“Some of it.” Amara came in and sat down. “You told him you don’t know what happens when the money gets tight.”

“It’s true.”

“Most people in your position would have said something more reassuring.”

“He had heard reassurance before.” Selene looked at the door Kevin had walked through. “What he needed was the truth.”

Amara was quiet for a moment.

“The independent review process,” she said. “For the infrastructure fund.”

“Yes.”

“You’re not overriding it.”

“No.”

“Even though he clearly qualifies.”

“Especially because he clearly qualifies.” Selene looked at her. “The process has to mean something. The first time we bypass it because the case is obvious is the first time it stops meaning something.”

Amara looked at her for a long moment and said nothing which meant she agreed.

Maya arrived at eleven with lunch nobody had ordered.

She set it on the desk and looked at both of them.

“You both look like you’ve been in a war,” she said.

“We have been,” Amara said.

“Who won.”

“Nobody won,” Selene said. “We were honest and it was hard and we have a January application to look forward to.”

Maya handed her a container.

“Eat,” she said. “You both went through something real yesterday and today and you’re both sitting here like it was just a Tuesday.”

“It was a Tuesday,” Amara said.

“It was a Tuesday where you handled something that breaks most organizations.” Maya sat on the edge of the desk. 

Selene looked at her sister.

Then at the container in her hands.

She was hungry and hadn’t noticed until now.

She opened the container and ate.

Amara did the same.

Walking home at six Selene called Avalon.

“Kevin Walsh came in,” she said.

“How did it go.”

“He took the coffee the second time.”

“That’s a yes?” Avalon said.

“That’s a yes.”

She heard him exhale.

“Good,” he said.

“He has forty two young people,” she said. “Some of them have been on the street since they were fifteen.”

“I know. You told me about his program after the symposium.”

“I know I did.” She turned a corner while watching the evening light do the October thing. “I just keep thinking about forty two.”

“I know,” he said quietly.

They were both quiet for a moment.

“Come home,” he said. “I made something.”

“You cooked again.”

“I’m committed to the process.”

“Is it edible.”

“Come home and find out.”

She smiled.

“Alright, I’ll be home in ten minutes,” she said.