John F Kennedy Library Foundation Novels & Stories

I am speaking about it now because the Dominic Reed Foundation, which carries his name and which I established in his memory, has reached a point in its work where the work itself deserves to be named fully — including the reason it exists. Elijah read that sentence three times. He thought about the phrase lost my brother. He thought about how inadequate those words were for what had happened, and also how perfect they were — the simplicity of them, the way they refused to perform grief or demand sympathy, the way they stated a fact and moved on. Alexander could have said died or passed away or any of the other euphemisms people used to soften the edges of death. He'd chosen lost, which was

"When I heard about his passing, I was devastated. I knew I had to do something to honor his memory, which is why I started this foundation." Kaida and Aric listened intently as John explained the purpose of the foundation and how it was dedicated to promoting cultural exchange and understanding between Japan and the rest of the world. "We've organized a number of events and programs over the years, but we're always looking for new ways to expand our reach," John said. "When I heard about your work, Kaida, I knew we had to meet. I think there's a lot we can do together to further our shared mission." Kaida and Aric were thrilled at the prospect of collaborating with John and the foundation.

I asked, feeling the heat of the scotch kicking in. She smiled. “You assumed I was accompanying someone—what if it was the other way round?” “Ahh, right you are. That was presumptuous of me,” I smiled back. “My late husband was a patron of the Kennedy Foundation, so I thought it would only seem right to continue his work. Howard Bauwer, you might have known him,” she purred. “Yes, I remember him. My condolences for his tragic passing,” I offered. “Thank you. Howard was big on supporting the arts. I want to preserve his memory, and this is the only way I know how,” she said while gesturing to the art pieces on display all around us.

It was in this spirit of remembrance and gratitude that he decided to establish a foundation in their memory: “The Hope Foundation.” The vision for the foundation was clear: to empower individuals and communities through educational opportunities and resources while advocating for social change. Alex envisioned a platform that would not only honor his parents’ values but also facilitate the kind of impact they had dedicated their lives to achieving. He began to outline the foundation’s mission, focusing on three core pillars: education, community empowerment, and social justice.

Elena said, though there was more curiosity than anger in her voice. “I know. I’m sorry. I should have asked you before the invitations went out.” He turned in his seat to face her properly, something nervous and hopeful moving across his features in a combination she’d rarely seen from him. “I’ve been working on this for three weeks, with Conrad, with your legal team, with mine. A joint philanthropic foundation — Reyes Holdings and Cole Enterprises, structured independently of either company’s board, funding maternal healthcare access and family court reform.

I brought my library science background the research skills, the organizational systems, the ability to find information and make it useful. Together, we built something. The Reed-Thorne Foundation would have two main branches. The first focused on children from traumatic backgrounds—foster care support, adoption assistance, mental health resources, educational opportunities. The second focused on fertility access for survivors of abuse grants for treatments, legal support for those whose reproductive choices had been compromised, advocacy for policy changes. We named it after both of us. After our families. After the past that had shaped us and the future we wanted to build. Ella learned to

The air in the New York Public Library press room was charged, not with the schadenfreude of scandal, but with the excitement of genuine mystery. The invitation itself had been cryptic, with only the image of a stylized ship's wheel merged with a drafting compass and the words: The Roberts-Jones Foundation: A New Horizon. No one knew what to expect. A mea culpa? A retirement statement? A final attempt at rescuing a reputation?

Then I walked away. The Vivienne Hale Foundation was about twenty minutes from the cemetery, a modest cream building with glass windows, a mural of children holding books and stars painted on one side. It had been her dream, not mine. A literacy initiative for underprivileged kids. I had funded it after she died, named it after her because it was the only way I could keep her name alive in a way that felt good. Inside, I greeted the staff, kind people, all of them and handed off a donation check in an envelope I had prepared ahead of time. One of the boys, little Daniel, ran up to me with his gap-toothed smile and hugged my leg before disappearing again into the reading room.