Pamela Morsi

More Than Words

Daffodils in Spring

More Than Words
Bestselling authors & Real-life heroines

Each and every one of us has the ability to effect change—to make our world a better place. The key is to begin in our own backyards, look at needs within our communities and then decide to do something about them. The dedicated women selected as this year’s recipients of Harlequin’s More Than Words award have changed lives, one good deed at a time. To celebrate their accomplishments, bestselling authors have written stories inspired by these real-life heroines. In this book, Pamela Morsi honors the work of Karen Thomson, Founder of Literature for All of Us.

We hope More Than Words inspires you to get in touch with the real-life heroine living inside of you.

Thank you for your interest in the Harlequin More Than Words program

Dear Reader,

For many years Harlequin Books has been a leader in supporting and promoting causes that are of concern to women and celebrating ordinary women who make extraordinary differences in the lives of others. Through Harlequin More Than Words, we annually honor women for their compassionate dedication to those that need it most, and donate $10,000 to their chosen causes.

We are proud to highlight our current Harlequin More Than Words award recipients by telling you about them and, with the help of some of the biggest names in women’s fiction, creating wonderfully entertaining and moving fictional short stories based on these women and their causes. Within the following pages you will find a heartwarming story written by Pamela Morsi—one of our two free e-books available at www.HarlequinMoreThanWords.com. Be sure to look for Meryl Sawyer’s Worth the Risk, our second story also available free on-line. Three additional stories written by Carly Phillips, Donna Hill and Jill Shalvis can be found on the bookshelf of your favorite bookstore in More Than Words, Volume 7. All five of these stories are beautiful tributes to the Harlequin More Than Words award recipients who inspired them, and we hope they will touch your heart and inspire the real-life heroine in you.

Thank you for your support; all proceeds from the sale of More Than Words, Volume 7 will be returned to the Harlequin More Than Words program so we can assist more causes of concern to women. And you can help even more by learning about and getting involved with the charities highlighted by Harlequin More Than Words. Together we can make a difference!

Sincerely,

Donna Hayes

Publisher and CEO

Harlequin Enterprises Ltd.

Literature for All of Us
Karen Thomson

When Karen Thomson opens a book, she is certain of one thing: by turning a page, she is opening herself up to laughter, tragedy, beauty and a profound and deep understanding of how other people think, feel and exist.

She is opening herself up to the world and all of its potential.

Karen is the founder and executive director of Literature for All of Us, a charitable organization that reaches out to between 500 and 600 disadvantaged teens in the Chicago area each year with thought-provoking book groups. Most groups are made up of teen girls struggling with everything including domestic violence, poverty, teen pregnancy and faltering grades.

Karen is convinced that by giving teens a safe place to explore the world and speak their mind about a book they’ve read, they will gain confidence—and with confidence comes change.

“I can’t tell you what it feels like to look in on a group and see everybody’s head buried in a book, because I know what the alternative is,” she says, sounding perpetually energized and excited. “So this is really good.”

Falling in love with her girls

Karen’s own path to the present has been paved with fabulous books, thoughtful discussions and two epiphanies.

The first happened while having dinner with friends back in 1979 and musing over whether she would go back to work after staying home with the kids for eight years. Finally, one friend turned to her and asked point-blank what Karen really wanted. She thought for a moment, then answered, “If I could do anything, I want to be a book group leader for women. And you know what? I’m going to do it.”

For the next sixteen years, Karen, who has a B.A. in English Literature from Wheaton College and a Master of Arts in Teaching English from Northwestern University, introduced hundreds of female readers to Virginia Woolf, Kate Chopin and Judy Chicago as her book group business grew by word of mouth. She hosted groups in colleges, retirement homes and in Barnes & Noble bookstores. She ran women’s retreats (“We talked intensely about our mothers in the woods,” she says) and would have kept chugging along if it hadn’t been for a friend who suggested she branch out to disadvantaged teens. Karen wasn’t so sure. She had taught school for a short while before having her own kids and wondered if it would be the right fit.

It was.

Karen volunteered to lead a book group for teen mothers at the Illinois Department of Human Services. That first week she walked into the room with some trepidation and a stack of Maya Angelou poetry under her arm. Only one problem: The fifteen girls whizzed through the three poems she’d prepared—and still had over an hour of time to fill. The solution? Have the teens write their own poetry.

“I noticed when they read their poems, their body language changed significantly,” Karen says now. “They were proud of themselves.”

Word got out about the transforming and fun book group and by the next week attendance doubled.

“I fell in love with these girls by the second week,” she says. “I just realized that they enjoyed the group so much and it was exactly what they needed. They were reading and writing. They were creating. It was about them.”

For ten weeks the young women read two books and opened up about their lives. They read parts of the books aloud to keep everyone on the same page and also to increase their reading skills. The teens wrote short pieces about their children’s hair and other personal topics and kept a strict “no putdown” policy about each other’s reading or writing. As their confidence grew, their disciplinary referrals dropped at school.

That’s when epiphany number two hit.

“I thought, Oh my God. This is the rest of my life,” says Karen. “I saw it unroll before me.”

She launched Literature for All of Us in 1997 with a mandate to grow a community of readers, poets and critical thinkers.

More to be done

Today, Literature for All of Us has facilitated more than 200 book groups, reaching more than 5,800 young people. It employs five book group leaders, a collection of fabulous young women who see the world as Karen does and keep her mission alive. While Karen fundraises and designs the programs, they head out to Chicago schools to run groups for teen girls and boys. Twenty percent of all book group members are boys now, a program that started after many girls said they wanted their partners and boyfriends to start reading, too.

Members keep the books they read so they can build their own libraries, but just as often they pass them around to friends and family. The organization is also committed to teaching the magic of the written word to young children. Its Children’s Literature for Parenting program introduces parents to relevant and award-winning kids books they can read at home.

Karen remembers one young mother she invited to a fundraising event who agreed to talk about the charity.

“I have a son and I never read to him,” the sixteen-year-old told the silent audience. Then she turned to Karen. “But I did what you said and I put him on my lap, with my arms around him, and I read him this book. And guess what? He was good and quiet. I fell in love with him. And I read to him all the time now.”

Years later, that story still reminds Karen that books have power far greater than any one sentence on a page. They transform the soul and encourage readers to embrace the world so they can make a difference, too.

And while she admits that fundraising is always tough, finding the time to take the organization to the next level and tend to her personal life is even more of a challenge some days.

“I’m a reader so I need lots of time to read and write,” she says with a laugh. “But I don’t feel that we’ve fulfilled our whole mission yet. There’s more to be done.”

PAMELA MORSI

Daffodils in Spring

Pamela Morsi is a bestselling, award-winning novelist who finds humor in everyday life and honor in ordinary people. She lives in San Antonio, Texas, with her husband and daughter.

To readers: young, old and everything in-between. May there always be a good story in your future.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Letter to Reader

Chapter One

Calla stepped off the bus on Canasta Street and made a quick stop at the Korean grocery before walking the three blocks to her home. Typically this time of year she made the walk all bundled up and with her head down against the wind. But this fall was gorgeous in Chicago and the city was, for a brief time at least, a place of bright sunshine and vivid autumn colors. Only the slightest nip in the air foretold of the cold winter to come.

She’d lived on Canasta Street for sixteen years. She and her husband, Mark, had moved into their house when their son was still just a toddler. Now, Nathan was in his last year of high school and had just completed his early action application to attend Northwestern, his first choice for college, next year. Calla smiled to herself. She couldn’t help but be proud. She just wished that Mark had lived to see it.

As she approached her block, all the tiredness of the long workday seemed to lift. There was something about a home surrounded by neighbors and friends that just buoyed a person. Every step she took along the well-worn sidewalk was as familiar to her as the back of her hand.

From his porch, old Mr. Whitten waved to her. Next door to him, the Carnaby children, along with their cousins, friends and assorted other stragglers, were noisy and exuberant as they played in their front yard. Two houses past them, Mrs. Gamble sat on her steps, her daughter Eunice at her side.

“You’re home early,” the older woman called out.

Calla just smiled. She was home at exactly the same time she was home every day.

“Did you buy something at the store?” Mrs. Gamble asked.

“Just milk,” Calla answered. “And a half dozen apples. You know Mr. Ohng’s produce is hard to resist.”

“Come and sit a spell with us,” the older woman said. “We haven’t had a good visit with you in ages.”

“Oh, I’d better get home and see what Nathan is up to.”

“He’s sure up to nothing at home,” Eunice said with just a hint of superiority in her voice. “He’s across the street in 2B with Gerty’s wild grandniece.”

Calla kept her expression deliberately blank. Eunice undoubtedly wanted to get a rise from her, but she wasn’t about to give the woman the satisfaction.

“Oh, come up and sit,” Mrs. Gamble pleaded. “That way you can see him when he leaves.”

Calla wouldn’t have walked across the street to talk with Eunice. But Mrs. Gamble was a genuinely sweet older lady who was trapped all day with the bitter unhappiness of her daughter.

So she opened the gate on the Gambles’ chain-link fence and made her way to the porch. Setting her little bag of groceries beside her, Calla tucked the hem of her skirt behind her knees and seated herself on the fourth step, just slightly below Mrs. Gamble and directly across from Eunice.

“How was your job today?” Mrs. Gamble asked.

Calla shrugged. “Fine,” she answered. She knew the woman was eager for details. Calla had been a nurse in Dr. Walker’s ear, nose and throat practice for over a decade. Mrs. Gamble loved stories about diseases. Especially ones where the patient had to overcome great odds to recover.

There’d been no such dramatic cases today. With the coming of fall, the office had been full of allergy sufferers fighting off sinus infections. Calla was not sure how entertaining the stories would be when all the characters were blowing into tissues.

“It’s been pretty routine at the office the last few days,” Calla told her.

“Well, there’s nothing routine about the goings-on around here,” Eunice piped in. “That girl has got her hooks in Nathan and no good is going to come of it.”

Calla couldn’t stop herself from casting a nervous glance in the direction of the apartment building across the street. Gerty Cleveland had lived there for twenty years at least. She was about Mrs. Gamble’s age and had a large family scattered across the city. Less than a month ago, Jazleen—or Jazzy, as Nathan called her—had come to live with her. Calla didn’t know the whole story, but there were plenty of rumors swirling about.

The girl’s mother was on drugs. Or maybe she was in jail. Jazleen herself had been in trouble. Or maybe she just was trouble. Gerty was Jazleen’s last chance. Or maybe she was the only chance the teenager had ever had.

Calla had heard what everyone was saying. But what resounded with her louder than all the neighborhood whispering were the words of her son, Nathan.

“She’s okay, Mom,” he assured her. “She’s a good person.”

Calla trusted her son, but she worried, too. Young men could often be blinded by a pretty face or a good figure. Jazleen was no great beauty, but she had sweet features and the requisite number of teenage curves.

“Once you get to know her,” Nathan said, “you’ll like her.”

That was slow going so far. Jazleen had been in their house many times. She was mostly silent and slightly sullen. Those were hardly traits to win the heart.

“I don’t think we should jump to conclusions about the girl,” Calla told Eunice. “Nathan says she’s nice.”

Eunice sucked her teeth. “Yes, well, I’m sure that’s what the boy would tell his mother.”

Calla was very tempted to remind Eunice that since she obviously didn’t know one thing about mothers and sons, it might be best if she just kept her opinions to herself.

She was saved from making any comment by the now familiar tap of shiny shoes coming down the sidewalk.

“It’s him!” Eunice breathed, barely above a whisper.

Calla didn’t need to ask who she meant. Every woman on Canasta Street, single, divorced, married or widowed, like Calla herself, knew the only man who would attract such attention.

Deliberately Calla kept her gaze on Mrs. Gamble. She flatly refused to turn and look, though she could see the man perfectly in her imagination. Landry Sinclair had moved into the house next door to her just weeks ago. He was polite and friendly, but so far no one had really gotten to know him.

What Calla and the other women did know was that he was tall and trim, with a strong jaw, a handsome smile and thick, arched brows. He went to work every morning and returned every evening dressed in impeccably tailored suits. And, so far, there had been no visitors at his place. No wife or girlfriend, not even a one-night-stand. He seemed unattached, which provoked much speculation.

“That is the finest looking man I’ve ever seen in my life,” Eunice stated in a hushed whisper. “And I think he’s just about my age. Don’t you think he’s probably my age?”

Calla nodded. “More or less,” she agreed. Though she thought the years certainly held up better on him than on Eunice.

“Have you noticed his accent?” Eunice asked.

Of course Calla had noticed. She noticed everything about him.

“I think he’s from the South,” Eunice said.

“No, he’s not from the South,” Calla replied, shaking her head. “I have relatives from South Carolina and Georgia. He doesn’t talk like the South at all.”

“Well, he’s not from here,” Eunice insisted.

Calla shrugged agreement. The man clearly was not a local. But he was almost as mysterious as he was good-looking. He wasn’t secretive. He answered any question he was asked. But the men on the street seemed satisfied to exchange pleasantries and opinions on sports teams. The women were all too curious but didn’t trust themselves to stick to casual questions. So the basic information of where he was from and where he worked remained unknown, as well as the most critical fact to some—whether there was a woman someplace waiting for him.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Sinclair!” Mrs. Gamble called out as he passed by the gate.

Calla turned to look at him then, as if she’d been unaware of his approach. The man was dressed attractively in a single-breasted brown suit with narrow beige pinstripes. He looked businesslike, successful. She smiled in a way she hoped would appear to be polite disinterest.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Gamble, ladies.” He doffed his fedora, revealing dark hair that was just beginning to thin on the top. “It’s a beautiful afternoon to sit out and enjoy the weather.”

“It surely is,” Mrs. Gamble agreed. “Why don’t you come and join us?”

Calla heard Eunice draw a sharp, shocked breath. She couldn’t tell if Landry Sinclair had heard it or not.

“I wish that I could,” he answered, smiling broadly. “I sure wish I could.”

He did not give a reason why he couldn’t, but for an instant Calla’s glance met his. His eyes were deep brown with a sparkle that was as much intelligence as humor. Calla found him completely irresistible.

Which was precisely the reason she had never spoken to him.

That was the last thing in the world she needed, to get all goofy and lovestruck over some man. She’d had her man. They’d had a good marriage and raised a wonderful son. Romantic for her was over and done now. She was a grown-up, sensible woman, not some silly teenager.

It was after six when Nathan got home.

“It’s about time you showed up,” Calla said. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

“Yeah, I smelled your cooking all the way across the street and came running,” her son teased.

He hurried to the bathroom to wash up as she set the table. Two plates, two forks, two knives, two spoons. It had been just the two of them now for almost five years. But two was an excellent number. She and Nathan were a team and they shared the same goal. Getting him through high school and into a good college. That goal had often seemed so far off that Calla had thought it would never happen. Now their dream was nearing realization. And it was as if all those years of reaching for it had gone by in a flash.

Nathan hurried to the table and took a seat. “Give me a pork chop before I bite into the table leg,” he threatened.

Calla chuckled lightly as she seated herself and passed him the platter of meat. Everyone said that Nathan was just like her. But when she looked at him, she saw so much of her late husband. Nathan was lean and lanky. He had a bubbly humor that charmed everyone he met. But he also had a streak of kindheartedness that was as wide as Lake Michigan. Calla was absolutely certain he hadn’t gotten that from her. And she worried where it might lead him.

“I guess you’ve been over at Mrs. Cleveland’s place,” Calla said with deliberate casualness. “Visiting her niece. That’s very nice, of course, but you mustn’t neglect your other friends.”

Nathan eyed his mother with open amusement. “My other friends understand completely why I want to spend time with Jazleen.”

Her son was grinning. Calla didn’t like that much.

“She’s pretty lonely,” he continued. “It’s bad enough to be going through a lot of stuff, but then to spend all your time alone—that just makes it worse.”

“Isn’t she making friends at school?”

Nathan hesitated slightly. “She’s sort of blown school off.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“She pretty much ignored it the last couple of years, and when she showed up this year to enroll, they transferred her to the alternative high school. That ticked her off. She said if she couldn’t take classes with me, then there was no point going.”

Calla raised an eyebrow. “That doesn’t make any sense at all.”

Nathan shrugged. “She was so far behind, she wasn’t going to be able to keep up in my classes anyway,” he said. “But it is kind of worthless to sit around all day watching TV, just waiting for me to get home.”

Calla agreed with that. She was not happy, however, that the girl was planning her life, living her life around Nathan.

“What does Mrs. Cleveland say about her dropping out of school?”

“I don’t think she knows, Mom.”

“What do you mean? She must know.”

Nathan shook his head. “Her job is way across town. She leaves to catch her train before seven in the morning and she doesn’t get home until after five. She and Jazzy hardly say two words to each other. I seriously doubt they’ve talked this out together.”

Calla’s dinner was suddenly tasteless. “You know I’ll have to tell her.”

Her son nodded. “Yeah, I know. Jazzy really needs…she really needs something, someone…I don’t know. Mom, she’s clever and smart and doesn’t have a lazy bone in her body. But she’s just…you know…drifting without any direction.”

Calla nodded. There were a lot of young people like that.

“I try to talk to her about college and the future and all the things that I’m working for,” Nathan said. “I might as well be telling fairy tales. She doesn’t see how any of it could ever apply to her.”

“Well, it probably won’t,” Calla said. “If she can’t stick it out in high school, then she’ll never get a chance at college.”

“But she could stick it out, Mom,” Nathan said. “I know she could.”

Calla wasn’t so sure.

Saturday morning dawned sunny with a bright blue sky. Seated at the breakfast table in her robe, Calla lingered over her coffee. It was just laziness, she assured herself, and had nothing to do with the view outside her window. Her kitchen looked directly into Landry Sinclair’s backyard, and the man himself was out there, clad in faded jeans and a sweatshirt that clung damply to his muscular torso. His sweat was well earned as he attacked the ground with a shovel and a hoe. He looked very different without his tailored suits. She’d always thought of him as tidy and professional. Not the kind of man to get his hands dirty.

He was certainly getting dirty this morning. And he looked really good doing it. Calla watched him as he worked, allowing herself the secret pleasure of lusting after a man who wasn’t hers. She thought she’d left all that nonsense in the past. But somehow, from the moment Landry Sinclair moved into the neighborhood, she’d felt differently.

And she didn’t like it one bit. Every woman on the block had already staked a claim. Calla hated to follow along with the crowd. And she despised the kind of mooning over men that a lot of women her age engaged in. It was one thing to be boy crazy at fourteen. It was downright undignified to be that way at forty.

Still, she could hardly take her eyes from the vision of Landry Sinclair sweating over a garden hoe.

A knock sounded at the front door. She glanced at the clock. It was barely nine. She couldn’t imagine who would be visiting so early. She went to peer through the peephole. The familiar figure standing on the porch was visible only in profile. Her long, thin legs and round backside were encased in tight jeans. Her skimpy jacket showed off her curves but wouldn’t provide any protection if the weather turned colder. And her long dark hair was a flawless mix of braids and curls.

Her expression, however, even from the side, appeared wary and secretive.

Calla opened the door.

“Good morning, Jazleen.”

The girl’s suspicion toughened into something that looked like hostility.

“Where’s Nathan?” she demanded with no other greeting.

“He’s sleeping,” Calla answered. “It’s Saturday morning. That’s what he does on Saturday mornings.”

“We’re going…someplace,” Jazleen hedged. “He’s supposed to be ready.”

“He probably overslept. Come in and I’ll wake him up.”

“I’m okay on the porch,” Jazleen said, her chin slightly in the air.

“Come in,” Calla insisted, knowing the girl’s hesitation to enter the house was because of her. Jazleen had been inside with Nathan many times.

Hesitantly she followed Calla. “I’ll go wake him,” Jazleen said.

“No!” Calla answered firmly. “You wait here, pour yourself a cup of coffee. I’ll wake my son.”

As she went up the stairs, Calla glanced back towards the girl. She stood in the doorway of the kitchen, her arms wrapped around her as if she were cold or protecting herself.

At the top of the stairs, Calla turned right and knocked on her son’s door.

“Nathan? Nathan!”

An unintelligible rumbling was the only reply. Calla opened the door and peered into the shadows for an instant before crossing the darkened room and pulling up the shades. A wide shaft of sunlight revealed her son completely cocooned in a tangle of blankets.

He groaned.

“Better get up,” Calla told him. “You’ve got company downstairs.”

“Huh?” he asked, without bothering to poke his head out of the covers.

“Jazleen is here,” she said. “Apparently you were going someplace together this morning.”

Nathan moaned again and rolled over, flipping back the blankets to reveal his face and T-shirt clad torso.

“Oh yeah,” he said. “I told her I would take her to Oak Street Beach. I couldn’t believe she’d lived here all her life and never been.”

Calla nodded.

With a sigh of determination, Nathan rolled out of bed. “Let me get a quick shower,” he told his mother. “Tell her I’ll be downstairs in fifteen minutes.”

Calla left him to get ready and returned to the kitchen. Jazleen was still standing in the middle of the floor.

“Nathan says fifteen minutes,” Calla told her. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

“No,” Jazleen answered too quickly.

“Are you sure?” Calla asked. “I’m going to have another cup.”

Jazleen hesitated. “I don’t mind,” she said, finally.

It wasn’t exactly “yes, please,” but Calla decided it was the best excuse for manners that the girl could muster.

“Sit down,” she told her as she set the cup on the table. “There’s milk and sugar.”

Jazleen reluctantly seated herself. Calla took the chair opposite her. The girl continued to eye her warily. The silence lengthened between them. Calla was racking her brain for a neutral subject and was just about to comment on the weather when Jazleen spoke.

“That man next door has got a shovel,” she said. “I think he’s burying something.”

Calla glanced in the direction of the window. She couldn’t see Landry Sinclair at this angle, but she could still perfectly recall the sight of the man.

“He’s digging a garden,” Calla said.

Jazleen’s brow furrowed and she snorted in disbelief. “This time of year? Not likely. He’s burying something.”

So much for neutral conversation, Calla thought.

“Nathan said you two are headed for an outing to Oak Street Beach.”

Jazleen didn’t answer. She eyed Calla suspiciously and then sipped her coffee as if that gave her permission not to comment. Her eyes were widely set and a rich dark brown. She was wearing a bit too much make-up, but a cleft in her chin made her look vulnerable.

“We used to go to Oak Street Beach a lot when Nathan was a little boy,” Calla told her. “Lots of fresh air and room to run around. On a crisp fall day it’s absolutely the best. He would sit and just look at the boats on the water.”

She paused, but again Jazleen said nothing.

“I’m sure that’s what he wants to share with you,” Calla continued. “Even if it does mean giving up a sleepy Saturday morning.”

Calla was frustrated when the girl made no attempt to keep up her side of the conversation. She decided maybe questions and answers would be easier.

“Nathan says you watch a lot of TV?”

“Some.”

“Have you seen anything good lately?”

She shook her head.

“I like those dancing shows,” Calla told her. “But more often I prefer reading.”

Jazleen sipped her coffee.

“Do you like to read?”

The girl shrugged.

“When I was your age, that was what I loved best.”

Jazleen raised a brow. It wasn’t exactly an eye roll, but Calla was fairly sure it had the same meaning.

“Do you know how to read?” Calla asked.

“Of course I do!” Jazleen snapped. “I’m not stupid.”

“I didn’t think that you were,” Calla said. “But a lot of very smart people don’t read, or don’t read very well.”

“I can read fine, thank you.”

“Okay, good.” Calla hesitated. “Nathan said you’ve dropped out of school.”

“Maybe. I haven’t decided.”

“What does your aunt think about it?”

“I’d guess she’d think that it’s none of her business,” Jazleen declared. “And it’s sure none of yours.”

The young girl’s expression was angry. Calla was not feeling very friendly herself.

“If you’re seeing my son, then I make it my business,” she answered.

“What? You trying to turn him into some mama’s boy?”

“Every male on this earth is a mama’s boy,” Calla said. “He may love her or he may hate her, but there is nobody else in the world who can talk to a man the way his mama does.”

Jazleen’s jaw set tightly with anger.

“Nathan and I are very close,” Calla told the girl quietly. “If you stay tight with him, you’re going to have to deal with me. So maybe you should think about getting used to it.”

After the teenagers left, Calla didn’t even attempt to get back to lazy day musing. Saturdays were busy days with chores she put off all week, but she couldn’t help thinking about Nathan and Jazleen. So it wasn’t surprising that just after lunchtime, she headed across the street to have a chat with Gerty Cleveland.

The woman took her time getting to the door. The tiny apartment was crowded with furniture, but it was neat as a pin except for the area around the recliner that sported TV trays on either side loaded with food, drink, tissues, assorted junk and the remote control. As soon as Calla walked inside, Gerty returned to the chair and popped it into the raised position.

“I try to keep my feet up every minute that I’m home,” she explained to Calla. “As it is, I’ll be lucky to get five more years of work out of them.”

It seemed to Calla it was probably already time for Gerty to stop working. Steel-gray hair covered her head, her hands shook and she didn’t hear all that well.

“I wanted to talk to you about Jazleen.”

“Say what?”

“I wanted to talk to you about Jazleen,” she repeated a bit louder.

“Jazleen? She’s a sweet girl,” Gerty said. “I was real reluctant to take her. Her mama’s no good. And my sister, her own grandma, gone to Jesus twenty years ago. She was living with my daughter, Val, for a month or two. But there was some kind of trouble with Val’s man. So there was no one else and here she is. But she keeps the place tidied up, and when I get home from work, she’s always got some kind of dinner for me. That’s been nice, real nice.”

“Did you know she’s thinking of dropping out of school?”

“No, I didn’t pay no attention to that. Guess if she’s not going to school, she should get a job. That’s what I did. I left school and got myself a job.”

“Things were different back then,” Calla told her. “Nowadays it’s tough to find a job if you don’t finish high school.”

The old woman nodded absently. “That’s likely true.”

“You shouldn’t let her drop out,” Calla said.

“I hope she won’t,” Gerty said. “But truth to tell, as long as she don’t get into no trouble, I’m tempted to just let her be.”

Calla shook her head to disagree, but her neighbor forestalled her.

“You don’t know the life that girl has lived,” Gerty said. “She’s had troubles like you and me have never seen. That doesn’t happen to people and leave them unmarked. If she can find some happiness on her own, then I’m all for letting her have it.”

Calla continued talking with Gerty for a half hour or more, but it was clear that the old woman had no plans for Jazleen’s future and was only vaguely interested in the young woman’s present.

“But you must be worried.”

“The girl will be all right,” Gerty assured her. “She’ll find her way. I don’t have the time or the energy to make sure she does this, that or the other. She’s nearly grown, so she’s on her own. Besides, she has that boy of yours to make do for her.”

“What?”

“It was real smart of her to latch on to him,” Gerty said. “He’s got a lot of gumption and he’s not afraid of hard work. He’ll be like his daddy, a good family man. Jazleen is lucky in that.”

“Nathan is off to college next year,” Calla explained.

The older woman eyed her skeptically. “That’s what you’re hoping,” she said. “But he seems mighty sweet on her.”

Calla shook her head. “No, it’s just a passing thing. It’s not serious between them.”

Gerty Cleveland didn’t believe a word of that.

Calla left the woman’s apartment and went straight to the supermarket to do her weekly shopping. The day had gotten significantly colder, but she found the chilly wind invigorated her.

It was too bad about Jazleen, she thought to herself. The girl might be stuck-up and rude, but she was still a girl. And someone Nathan seemed to think was special. But if she was pinning her hopes on snagging Calla’s son, she was doomed to be disappointed. Jazleen would end up like a thousand other girls. Working at a menial job as she struggled to raise kids she could hardly support.

Calla decided it would be her goal to make sure that none of those kids were on the way before she could get Nathan safely off to college.

By the time she’d made it home from the store and put the groceries away, she was tired. The house was cozy and warm. She settled herself on the couch with a book but hadn’t read more than a half-dozen pages when her eyelids began to get heavy. She set her book open upside down on her chest and lay back on a throw pillow to catch a quick twenty winks. The glare from the reading lamp seemed to permeate her eyelids, so she switched it off and drifted into a comfortable nap.

Voices from the kitchen awakened her sometime later.

“Let me fix you something to warm you up.”

“Just wrap me in your arms—that gets me about as warm as I need.”

Nathan chuckled, a low masculine sound.

The ensuing silence spoke for itself. They both seemed a little breathless when the conversation resumed.

“What do you want to do?” Nathan asked.

“Uh…let’s just sit together and talk,” Jazleen replied.

He chuckled. “You haven’t had enough talk from me already? I’ve been at it for hours.”

“I love to hear you talk,” she said.

“It’s crazy how we never run out of things to say.”

“Yeah, strange,” she agreed. “But in a good way.”

“That is, until I start talking about school, and then you just say nothing at all.”

Jazleen hesitated. “It’s a part of your life that I can’t share.”

“Of course you can,” Nathan said. “We can share the fun of my senior year and graduation and me going off to college.”

“I want to be happy for you,” Jazleen said. “But the truth is, I don’t want you to go off to college. If you go away, I won’t have anybody.”

“It’s not like it’s forever. And if I get into Northwestern, it’s not that far away.”

She made a huff of disagreement. “You might as well be going to the moon. If you really care about me like you say, you won’t take one step off Canasta Street.”

Calla couldn’t keep listening. It was wrong to eavesdrop on Nathan, even by accident. She knew she wasn’t supposed to hear any of what they’d said.

She reached up and turned the light back on. But instead of reading, she set her book on the coffee table and got up and left the room. She didn’t speak to them or acknowledge that she’d heard them talking. But they knew.

It had been easy to walk away from the conversation. Less so to get it out of her head. And along with it came other voices.

“She’s got your Nathan wrapped around her little finger.”

“He’s mighty sweet on that girl.”

In the following weeks at work, Calla worried about it. Evenings at home, it colored her enthusiasm. College was what she and Nathan had worked for, waited for. Her son was going to graduate with honors. There was so much going on and Calla wanted to be celebrating. But she was worrying instead.

Chapter Two

Mid-October brought a blast of cold weather and two tickets for All- Academics Night. The local schools got together for one special evening to honor their top seniors. Nathan would be receiving a special citizenship award as well as his certificate as a National Merit Scholar.

“Two tickets?” Calla held them up in question.

“I’ve invited Jazzy,” he told her. “Could you bring her with you? I’m afraid she won’t show up if I just hand her a ticket and ask her to be there.”

Calla selfishly didn’t want to share this night with anyone. But if Nathan wanted the girl to go, Calla determined that she would.

She was less certain when Jazleen answered the door. Calla had on a conservatively cut wool suit in a chic coral color set off by a felt cloche hat with a matching ribbon.

Jazleen, on the other hand, was dressed in tight jeans, a low-cut blouse and a hoodie.

It was on the tip of Calla’s tongue to suggest the girl find something else to wear, but she managed to keep the words from flying out of her mouth. She knew enough about teens to understand that criticizing hair or clothes was an open declaration of war.

The evening together could not have been called particularly congenial. Jazleen spoke when she was spoken to. And after three or four attempts at casual conversation, Calla decided that polite silence was probably better for the two of them anyway.

The auditorium was crowded with happy, optimistic families. The upbeat mood seemed to affect Jazleen adversely. Her jaw was set tightly with annoyance. Anyone who glanced in her direction was treated with suspicion.

What a charming girl! Calla thought sarcastically. Where was the smartness and sweetness that Nathan saw in her?

“Hey look, it’s your neighbor,” Jazleen said.

Calla glanced up to see Landry Sinclair coming up the aisle. He was dressed immaculately in a dark blue suit and blue-and-gold striped tie, a matching handkerchief peeking out of his breast pocket.

Jazleen snorted. “He looks like he’s decked out for the prom.”

Calla thought he looked just plain gorgeous. The opinion might have been mutual since the man stopped dead in his tracks when he caught sight of her. He stepped purposely in Calla’s direction.

“Mrs. Middleton,” he said. “How lovely you look tonight.”

“Oh…thank you,” Calla answered. She heard the silly breathlessness in her voice and chose words to counter it. “My son is receiving an award. So as a proud mama, I have to fix up enough not to embarrass him.”

“You always look wonderful,” the man told her. “It must be the sense of accomplishment that has you beaming.” His gaze lingered on her just an instant longer than necessary, before he acknowledged Jazleen. “I don’t believe we’ve met, but I’ve seen you in the neighborhood.”

“Uh-huh,” the girl offered lamely. She stared warily at his outstretched hand, then limply accepted the handshake.

“This is Jazleen,” Calla offered as introduction when the teen said nothing.”

The man’s eyebrows went up. “Jazleen Coakley?”

The girl’s jaw dropped. “Uh…yeah. How’d you know my name?”

“I know all my students,” he answered. “Even the ones who don’t show up at school.”

“Your students?” Calla asked.

Landry Sinclair nodded. “I’m school principal at C.A.”

“C.A.?”

“Cavitz Alternative,” he answered. “We’re a small high school, but we have our share of students winning awards.”

Calla was genuinely surprised. “You’re a school principal?”

He nodded.

The seats were filling up fast and someone wanted the one where Landry was standing.

“Perhaps I’ll see you later,” he said.

Calla didn’t have time to answer, but she would have told him no. She had plans to spend the evening with her son. This was a big night for Nathan.

The evening was long as each student was allowed his or her moment in the sun. The teenagers thanked their parents, their teachers, their school counselors, their brothers and sisters and friends.

One young woman caught Calla’s attention because she was from Landry Sinclair’s Cavitz Alternative.

“I want to thank my teachers, who never gave up on me,” she said. “My baby boy, Keeton, whose sweet smile helps me stick to my priorities. And I want to thank my book group. It’s so cool that you came to see me tonight. But then, that’s what you’re good at, being there for me. Sharing your lives and your hearts with me. Without you, I wouldn’t be standing here.”

As the audience politely applauded, a cluster of teenage girls rose to their feet whistling and cheering. Their enthusiasm rejuvenated the crowd.

Calla’s long wait was worth it when it was finally Nathan’s turn.

He looked so tall and so handsome in his suit. And so grown up.

When had that happened? Calla wondered to herself. When had her gangly teenage boy turned into such a young man? She had seen him every day, but now, looking up at him behind the podium, it was as if he were irrevocably changed.

She watched as his eyes scanned the crowd. When their gazes met, Nathan smiled.

“I stand here, happy and grateful for the future I see before me,” he said. “And like my fellow students, I realize I didn’t get here alone. I’ve worked hard. But the journey to this day didn’t begin with me. It began with my mom and dad. Before I could speak my first word, they read to me and dreamed for me and planned for me to have opportunities that they never had. My father didn’t live to see this night. But my mother is here and I dedicate this award to her as I say, ‘Thanks, Mom, I won’t let you down.’”

The crowd applauded as he stepped off the stage. Calla felt such a lift in her heart. She glanced toward Jazleen beside her. The girl was applauding, but what caught Calla’s attention was the evidence of a tear in her eye. Somehow Calla couldn’t imagine this angry, stubborn young woman to have a sentimental side. Then she realized that the emotion on the girl’s face was not pride, but fear.

At the end of the long evening, Nathan caught up with the two of them in the crowded foyer. He was happy, excited. He offered Calla a dutiful kiss on the cheek. Then he whirled Jazleen in the air. Laughing, smiling, the girl was absolutely radiant. She bore no resemblance to the slouching, sullen young woman Calla had spent the evening beside. Nathan’s presence had somehow transformed Jazleen. And when he clasped her in his arms and kissed her, it seemed as natural as if he’d done it a million times.

“Mom, some of the kids are going to make a party of it at Grace Church Coffee House,” he said. “We won’t be late.”

He wasn’t asking permission and it wasn’t at all what Calla had planned. But somehow she found herself smiling.

“Have a good time,” she told them.

The two scampered off like the children they almost were. Calla headed to the door herself.

“Mrs. Middleton!” she heard a low-pitched voice call out behind her. She knew who it was before she turned. She took a deep breath and schooled her expression into casual unconcern.

“Mr. Sinclair,” she said.

He was smiling. “Call me Landry,” he suggested. “I get Mr. Sinclair all day long, and to be completely honest, I get tired of hearing it.”

“All right…Landry,” she agreed. “I’m Calla.”

“I know,” he answered quietly. “The most stately and elegant flower in the entire garden.”

“Oh my goodness,” she said, shaking her head. “That’s a bit over the top, don’t you think?”

“Is it?” he asked. “I apologize. I can only blame it on years of writing bad poetry as an undergraduate.”

He was standing very close. Close enough that Calla felt enveloped in the clean masculine scent of him. It was exhilarating. Almost scarily so.

“May I see you home?”

“Oh no.”

“No? You won’t let me see you home?”

“Oh, I…”

“Please don’t say that it’s out of my way. I live right next door,” he pointed out.

“I just…I just wouldn’t want people to talk.”

He grinned at her. “People always talk,” he said. “Sometimes I feel it’s almost my Christian duty to give them subject matter.”

Calla laughed aloud. She couldn’t help it.

“All right, Landry,” she said. “Why don’t you walk me home.”

Calla felt self-conscious while they were inside the school building and in the lighted area of the lawn in front. But once they reached the anonymity of the sidewalk, she relaxed. She made no attempt, however, to take his arm when he offered it. It was better, she was certain, simply to walk beside him.

His hand brushed casually against her own. The idea that he might take it in his was enough to make her fold her arms across her chest.

“Are you cold?” he asked.

“No, no, I’m fine,” she said. Hastily, she grasped at a neutral subject. “I noticed that you put in a garden.”

He nodded and smiled. “I think it must be all the farming in my blood.”

“You must be from Florida or someplace. Chicago winters are too harsh to grow things.”

“Originally I’m from out west, but I’ve been here in Chicago ten years.”

“Then you must know you can’t grow a winter garden without a hothouse.”

“Actually, I planted bulbs,” he said. “I do it every autumn.”

“What kind of bulbs?”

“They’re a metaphor,” he answered, and then he laughed. “They’re daffodils, but I think of my fall planting as being like my students.”

“In what way?”

“I plant them in the fall, and then all winter long when it’s cold and miserable and every day is a challenge, I remember that just because I can’t see any growth, my flowers are all still making progress, and by the time spring gets here, they will be beautiful. I expect the same to be true of my students.”

Calla smiled at him. “That’s a nice thought.”

“Yes, it is,” he agreed. “And in the day-to-day darkness of many of these young people’s lives, a nice thought is sometimes the only thing there is to hang onto.”

Calla knew that was probably true. There were teenagers in the neighborhood, guys and girls that Nathan had played games with as a child, who now seemed directionless and trapped in a dead-end existence. But Calla didn’t want to talk about that tonight. The air was too crisp and the stars too bright to dwell on the sadness in the world. She changed the subject.

“So is this faith in springtime based on actual farming experience?” she asked. “Somehow it’s hard to picture you in a straw hat, holding a pitchfork with a sprig of hay seed in the corner of your mouth.”

Landry laughed.

“Did you grow up on a farm?” she asked.

“Me? No, I grew up in the high country—Flagstaff, Arizona.”

“Arizona? I’ve never met anyone from there.”

“Now you have,” he answered. “My parents were both professors at Northern Arizona University. My parents, my brother and my sister still live there. But I did spend a lot of summers out at my grandparents’ farm in Arkansas.”

“Aha! So perhaps there is some mud on your boots. What kind of farm was it?”

“A pretty small one,” he answered. “But they did harvest peaches and strawberries and almost every kind of greens you could think of. It was a great experience for a kid. Teaches you a lot of lessons about working hard and having patience and not giving up in the face of failure. Good things to know in life.”

Calla nodded in agreement.

“What brought you to Chicago?” she asked.

Landry sighed dramatically. “The only thing that can ever jolt a man out of his comfortable little world—a beautiful woman.” He chuckled.

“Oh?”

“I followed her here about ten years ago,” he said. “Our romance didn’t last six months, but my infatuation with this city just gets stronger every year.”

On the sidewalk ahead of them, the light from Cal & Cecil’s Café spilled out on the concrete.

“Let me buy you a cup of coffee,” he said. “It will warm you up.”

She shook her head. “It would just keep me awake all night.”

“Decaf?” he suggested. “Or wait, there is nothing in this world more guaranteed to make you sleep than a big slice of Cecil’s lemon meringue pie.”

“I should probably get on home.”

“Why? Your son won’t be there and I doubt very seriously if you’ll get one wink of sleep before he comes in. Coffee and pie, by way of a small celebration.”

Calla was still protesting halfheartedly as he steered her into the small, well-frequented little diner.

They took a narrow booth some distance from the door. Landry ordered a couple of pieces of pie and coffee, decaf for her. The place was warm and cozy and friendly and she had a smart, good-looking man hanging on to her every word. It was hard for any woman not to appreciate that.

“So you know about me,” Landry said. “Arizona boy who sought love in Chi-town and found a career instead. What about you?”

“Me? There’s not that much to tell,” Calla assured him. She spoke briefly about working for Dr. Walker.

“What about your husband?” he asked.

“Mark? He passed away five years ago.”

Landry nodded. “I gathered that from Nathan’s speech. What happened? Was he ill?”

“It was an accident,” she told him. “He was a postman walking on Grand Avenue making his daily delivery. A woman’s car skidded out of control and came flying up on the sidewalk.”

“I’m so sorry.”

Calla nodded as she had a million times before when sympathy was expressed. “He didn’t suffer. The paramedics told me that he died instantly.”

“And you’ve been on your own ever since.”

“Yes,” she admitted. “Making a living and raising a son keep me busy.”

He nodded slowly. “Too busy to make time for a man in your life?”

His question was as direct as his gaze.

“I…uh…” Calla could feel herself blushing.

“Or maybe you’ve just been waiting for the right guy to come along,” he suggested.

She wasn’t sure how she should answer that. He saved her from having to by changing the subject.

“What did you think of All-Academics Night?” he asked.

“It was very long,” she answered. “But I guess that’s the good news. Lots of our young people are doing well.”

He nodded agreement.

“Your son is a good public speaker,” Landry said. “He was one of the most comfortable at the podium.”

Calla nodded. “He’s always been that way. My husband and I used to debate whether he was destined for politics or the preacher’s pulpit.”

“Which do you think?”

“Neither. These days all he talks about is business. I think he wants to be somebody’s CEO before he’s thirty.”

Landry nodded encouragingly. “A smart, determined young guy with a good work ethic,” he said. “We need all we can get of those.”

It was a compliment of sorts and Calla smiled, accepting it as such.

“I noticed the young people from the alternative high school were not too shy in front of the microphone either,” she said.

“It’s a little intimidating for them to come back to a turf where perhaps they didn’t do so well,” he said. “But we talked about it, set it as a challenge. I think they all did well.”

“I was especially impressed by the girl who was inspired by her baby,” Calla said. “And she thanked her book group. That was a surprise.”

Landry nodded. “The book group is a great thing. It really adds a lot to their success both in and out of school.”

“I love to read,” Calla admitted. “I haven’t been in a book club for years. But I always enjoyed it. It’s fun hanging out with people who share your interest.”

“This group is not exactly for young book lovers,” he said. “Although most of the members probably are now. They sure didn’t start out that way.”

“Oh?”

“They’re in a program called Literature for All of Us. It was started by a woman from Evanston,” he said. “She spent a lot of years leading book clubs just like the ones you’re thinking about. And then one day somebody suggested that she share her talents and her experience with at-risk young women. With all the challenges in their lives, reading a book and sitting down to discuss it is just not something that usually comes up.”

“I guess not,” Calla said.

“And it’s more than just sharing stories and eating cookies,” he said. “It gives these young women, sometimes for the first time in their lives, a chance to get outside of their circumstances and approach the world from a new perspective. And to express themselves among their peers on a new level. I’ve been impressed with the outcome.”

“Well, your well-spoken award winner was very impressive.”

“She was, wasn’t she,” he said. “There are groups for boys now, too. It’s a proven idea that really works. And there are side benefits like improved reading skills and better peer-to-peer communication. It’s just a great program. I wish we could get all our students into groups.”

The waiter arrived with their pie and the two of them ate congenially as they talked.

They discussed the weather, the neighborhood, the problems with the transit service. Calla told Landry about her job and its challenges. He related some of the problems in his own work. Eventually they got around to a book discussion themselves. Calla recommended a story she’d just read. Landry mentioned a movie that had just come out on a similar subject.

“I haven’t been to the movies in…I don’t know how long,” she admitted.

“Really? Well, I’ll just have to get you to go with me. I hate eating popcorn alone.”

Chapter Three

Calla wasn’t sure if Landry’s suggestion was the same as asking her on a date. But she’d declined anyway, saying how busy the season had become. And it was true for the next two weeks, at least for Nathan. Senior year was proving to be full of tests and papers and deadlines of all types. And when he added to that parties, get-togethers and a girlfriend, he barely had time to spend with his mom.

Calla had grown accustomed to seeing a smile on her son’s face, and when she noticed it wasn’t there, she had to ask.

“What’s wrong, Nathan?”

He shrugged and shook his head.

She figured it was just a bad mood. But when days went by and the dark cloud only lifted sporadically, she knew she had to say something. She waited up for him, yawning in front of the TV until he returned home from being out with Jazleen.

“Hi, Mom, you’re still up?”

She shrugged. “I can’t sleep a wink anyway until I hear you come in,” she told him, remembering that Landry Sinclair had realized that about her immediately.

“Well, I’m home now,” he said. “So you’d better get some sleep. The morning comes early.”

It was a line she often said to him. But she made no move to go upstairs.

“Son, what’s going on with you?” she asked him.

“Nothing.”

“Something.”

He shook his head. “Really, it’s mostly nothing,” he assured her. “It just feels like something.”

“Are you having trouble at school?”

“Oh no, everything is going great,” he said. “Senior year is the best.”

“Are you getting worried about college? It’s still too early to get an acceptance.”

“No, I’m not worried. I’m excited. It’s almost unbelievable that it’s really happening. I can hardly wait.”

“Then what is it?”

Nathan hesitated. “Okay. But if I tell you, I don’t want you giving me any advice or doing anything about it or butting into things.”

“Is that what I do?”

“Sometimes,” he answered. “When you think you need to. But this is one of those things that I need to deal with on my own.”

“Okay,” she said. “No advice. No meddling.”

“It’s Jazzy,” he said.

Calla’s heart caught in her throat. Please don’t let that girl be pregnant! she prayed silently.

“You know I really like her a lot,” Nathan said. “I like being with her and she’s…she’s special, Mama. I know you don’t like her that much, but she’s special to me.”

Calla nodded, biting her tongue.

“But she’s just not on board with my future,” he continued. “She doesn’t like me to even talk about it. And she’s getting so…clingy or…jealous…or something. She calls me twenty times a day, and if I don’t pick up or call right back at the next class change, she thinks I’m mad at her or I’m with some other girl or I want to break up. I can’t pick up the phone every time she calls. I’m in school or I’m studying and I need to be doing that, not talking or texting.”

He looked to his mother for agreement and got it.

“And when we’re together it’s like Jazzy can’t decide between starting a fight or crawling into my lap.” Nathan sighed heavily. “I’ve told her a million times that I’m crazy about her. That I think she’s the one for me. But…but not now. I’m not ready to be with her now.”

Calla considered thoughtfully. “This is not advice,” she said, prefacing her words. “But I would like to remind you what you were like just a few years ago. Remember when it was so hard to see past the next weekend or even the next day? You’d know for a month that you had a book report, and the day before it was due you’d just be sitting down to work on it.”

Nathan chuckled. “Yeah, I was a kid. Kids are like that.”

“They are,” Calla agreed. “And although I think Jazleen is a very grown-up girl in a lot of ways, she’s not looking five years in the future the way you are. She’s looking at next fall and she sees you leaving her and it scares her.”

“It’s not like I’m going to the moon.” Nathan spoke hastily, as if he’d said as much before.

“It might as well be the moon for her,” Calla said. “Her world has gotten very, very small. It’s shrunk down to little more than her great-aunt, Canasta Street and you. When you leave, that’s a big chunk of her life gone missing.”

“What am I going to do, Mom?” he asked. “I really… I really… I think I… I love her.” He made the confession with predictable hesitation. “I don’t want to lose her. But I don’t want to give up my dreams either.”

“No, of course you can’t give up your dreams,” Calla said. They were her dreams, too. And she wasn’t about to let them go. “You just have to try to understand what she’s going through. And you’ve got to see if you can figure out a way to make her world bigger.”

“How do I do that?”

“Well, she needs friends.”

Nathan shrugged. “I don’t think she wants any,” he said. “I’ve introduced her to all the girls I know from my school. She’s not interested in any of them and seems almost suspicious of most of them.”

“Maybe you could ask one of them to include her in stuff they do,” Calla said. “Once they get to know each other, they might find things in common.”

“I can try,” he said. “But I don’t know. Jazzy never lets people see how sweet and funny she is. If people knew her, they’d like her. But she seems determined that nobody gets to know her.”

Calla felt a wave of sympathy, but it was all for her son. “If you love her, you need to be there for her, son. But nobody can be everything to her.”

“I just wish I could think of something to make it better.”

“I’ll try thinking too,” Calla promised.

Over the next few days, Calla did try to think of something that might improve the situation, though if she was being honest about it, she would have admitted that a lot of her solutions involved Nathan finding another girlfriend. But she tried to keep that sort of wishful thinking at bay. It wasn’t all that unusual for the mother of a young man not to be impressed with his choice of girlfriend. Mark’s mama hadn’t been all that crazy about her. But mamas could be wrong, and Calla was willing to trust Nathan’s judgment over her own.

Friday afternoon, Calla walked from the bus stop down Canasta Street, thinking about the weekend ahead of her. There had been a nice break in the cold weather and everyone on the street seemed to be taking advantage of it.

She should invite Jazleen to have dinner with them on Sunday. She hated to give up her only guaranteed alone time with her son. It was the weekend and the girl would be stuck to him like glue. But the only way that Jazleen would ever feel comfortable with her was if they spent time together.

She interrupted her own musings to wave at old Mr. Whitten as he sat on his porch.

The Carnaby children were all running around like banshees, their coats flapping open in the afternoon sun.

When she saw Mrs. Gamble and Eunice sitting on their porch, she called out to them.

“Afternoon!”

She assumed they would invite her to sit with them for a few minutes on a gorgeous day, but surprisingly they did not. In fact, they both just stared at her as if she’d grown two heads.

Calla was puzzled. At least she was until she reached her own gate. Sitting on her porch steps, dressed in sport slacks, a dark cable-knit sweater and brown suede jacket, was Landry Sinclair. He looked good even dressed down. He had a book in his hands and glanced up from his reading as she approached the gate. His smile was heart-melting.

Oh my God, she thought to herself. No wonder Eunice looked so peeved.

“What are you doing here?” she asked him.

“Waiting for you.”

Warily she entered the yard and walked up the sidewalk.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he answered. “Of course you couldn’t prove that by our neighbors. Every eye on the street has been focused on me since the minute I walked up to your porch. I can’t decide if they think I’m going to rob the place or that I haven’t realized my house is the one next door.”

His grin was absolutely infectious. Calla couldn’t help but smile back at him.

“Would you…would you like to come in?”

“No thanks, I’ve got some things to do over at my place, but I wanted to ask if tonight was good for that movie date we talked about?”

She was thrilled. And mentally berated herself for the feeling. She was no giddy teenager. She should remind him of that right now before he got the wrong idea about where this was going. He might be interesting to talk to, but she wasn’t on the hunt for a new man.

“I’m not a movie person,” she answered. “I haven’t gone to see one in years.”

“Why not?”

The question should have been expected, but wasn’t. Calla was forced to answer without seriously thinking about it.

“Mark, my late husband—he couldn’t sit still that long,” she said. “He needed to be busy all the time. Spending a couple of hours in an uncomfortable chair watching a screen was near torture to him.”

Landry listened and nodded. “That’s why he didn’t go. Why don’t you?”

“I suppose I just got out of the habit,” she answered finally.

“Then let’s get you back in,” he said. “They’re showing the film version of a book I just read and I’m really interested in seeing it.” He told her the title.

“Oh, I loved that book,” Calla said, then hesitated. “Well, I don’t know exactly how I can say I ‘love’ something that was so tragic. But it was certainly a story that stuck with me.”

“Aren’t you interested in seeing how a director would handle it?”

She shrugged. “Well, yes, I am curious. But I can always wait for the DVD.”

Landry shook his head. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

Left with no chance of refusal, Calla agreed. She made her way inside not quite believing the reality of her first date in over twenty years. She couldn’t help smiling.

And that grin stayed on her face all through preparations for an eat-and-run dinner. She left more than enough for Nathan on the stove.

Up in her bedroom, Calla fretted over what exactly to wear. The first thing she put on looked way too dressy. It was fine for church, but people were very casual at the movies. She changed into slacks and a blouse, but she didn’t like the way that looked either. The more clothes she tried on, the more nervous she got. And as she got nervous, she became almost resentful. She was a grown woman. She shouldn’t have to get all dolled up for some silly man. She didn’t want a man. She enjoyed being on her own. Her life was fine, just her and Nathan.

But none of those rationalizations kept her from trying on everything in her closet until she finally chose an outfit. Her hands shook as she hooked the latch on her necklace. Fight or flight reaction was zizzing through her bloodstream and there were butterflies in her stomach as she walked downstairs. She stepped into the living room and inadvertently caught Nathan and Jazleen on the couch in a passionate embrace.

Calla was more startled than shocked, but the noise that escaped her lips did sound scandalized. The young couple guiltily separated. Unsure of what to do, Calla left the room. In the safety of the kitchen, she paced. She could hear their furtive whispering and the distinct sound of nervous giggling.

She tidied up a counter that was already neat, until she heard her son’s voice behind her.

“We were just kissing, Mom.” Nathan’s voice was defensive.

Calla turned and gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “I know,” she said. “I trust you.” Then she lowered her voice to add, “Just remember she’s only seventeen and you have four years of college ahead of you.”

Calla turned away quickly, as if the counter desperately needed her attention. If Nathan was going to roll his eyes or make some other impatient response, she didn’t want to see it. Her son was nearly a grown man. She wanted to treat him with the respect he deserved.

“So are you two staying in tonight?” she asked.

He nodded. “Yeah, we’re going to watch the game.”

Calla idly wondered if Jazleen was also a fan of the NBA or just interested in more snuggling on the couch.

“You look nice. Where are you off to? Is something happening at the church tonight or are you meeting up with the ladies from your office?”

“I’m going to the movies,” Calla said.

Nathan’s eyebrows went up. “The movies? I didn’t think you liked movies.”

“I don’t even know, it’s been so long since I’ve gone.”

“Are you going by yourself?”

“No, with the next-door neighbor.”

“Eunice?” Nathan snorted. “Voluntarily putting up with that woman for hours is not a night out, it’s a path to sainthood.”

“I’m not going with Eunice,” Calla said. She was reluctant to say the words out loud. “I’m going with Landry Sinclair.”

“Who?”

“Landry Sinclair, the guy that lives next door.” Calla gestured toward the window.

Nathan stared at her wide-eyed. “Is this a date?”

Calla stumbled over her reply.

“It is a date,” her son declared, incredulous.

“We’re just two people who enjoy each other’s company and want to see a movie.”

Nathan frowned. “I don’t know if this is a good idea,” he said. “Who is this guy? What does he want from you?”

“He’s our next-door neighbor,” Calla answered. “And it seems as if he wants the pleasure of my company.”

Nathan was shaking his head.

“I like him.” The statement came from Jazleen in the doorway. Jazleen. Her typically sullen expression was now replaced with a more thoughtful one.

“What do you know about him?” Nathan asked her.

Jazleen shrugged. “I saw him at your awards thing. He’s okay. He’s got a good job. He treated your mama with respect. And he didn’t pretend like I was invisible. So if your mama wants to date him, what’s it to you?”

Nathan clearly did not appreciate his girlfriend chiming her two cents into the discussion. But he was saved from having to say so by a knock on the door. Because Jazleen was closest, she took it upon herself to answer.

“Oh hi,” Calla heard Landry say. “Nice to see you again…Jazleen.”

“Well, it’s pretty nice getting a look at you, too,” the girl answered. “You must be the hot date from next door.”

Landry cleared his throat a bit self-consciously and gave a halfhearted chuckle.

Jazleen let him in and ushered him into the kitchen. His dark eyes met Calla’s from across the room and she felt herself blushing like a schoolgirl.

Landry addressed her son as he offered his hand. “Nathan.”

The manners instilled by his mother made it impossible for the teenager to do anything but accept the handshake. Landry then moved to stand beside Calla. He didn’t touch her in any way, but his mere closeness seemed to say, “we are together.”

The few minutes of polite chitchat were stilted. Only Jazleen seemed completely relaxed, as if she were grateful to have the focus on someone else.

When she and Landry finally made their goodbyes and were able to get out of the house, Calla was too relieved to even remember how nervous and jittery she’d been about going on this date.

Landry walked beside her as they talked about the weather. The sunny afternoon had turned into a very chilly evening, but Calla enjoyed the warmth of male-female companionship. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed it.

They took the L, the elevated train, into a downtown neighborhood. The stop was only a few blocks from the movie theater and they got their tickets and were headed inside in plenty of time.

Landry bought a huge bucket of popcorn.

“Two human beings could never actually consume that much,” Calla warned him.

He laughed and nodded in agreement. “The guy told me we get free refills on this one, so who knows.”

In the darkness of the movie theater, they sat close together. As previews played, Landry leaned closer and asked her, “Should we see that one, too?”

“Okay,” she replied.

“It’s a date then,” he said. “What about this one?”

The next trailer was even better than the previous.

“That looks good.”

“Then it’s a date,” he said.

When the final preview came on, he leaned close once more. “Third time is a charm,” he told her. “Why don’t you agree to see this one with me, too.”

“It’s not showing until spring,” she pointed out.

“I’m still going to be on Canasta Street next spring,” he said. “Are you still going to be available?”

Fortunately the movie started and Calla turned her attention to it without answering.

The director had chosen not to deal with all of the abuse horrors that had been in the book. The ones he did address were shocking enough. Like the book, the movie was filled with wrenching emotions, anger and disgust. And yet the ending was somehow hopeful. The film grabbed the audience by the throat and refused to let go. Yet Calla didn’t think the movie was as powerful as the author’s written words had been, and she told Landry so as they filed out.

He took her hand in his own. “Our minds can capture a scene much more completely than the most sophisticated camera,” he agreed. “But at least the movie was mostly true to the spirit of the book.”

Outside the theater the night had a surprise waiting for them. The sky was filled with big, fluffy snowflakes that drifted lazily toward the sidewalk.

Calla fastened the top button of her coat. She wasn’t cold, but when Landry wrapped a protective arm around her, she didn’t pull away.

In the glistening darkness they walked slowly back to the train.

“Would you like to do something else?” he asked her. “We could go to a club and listen to some music. Or we could find a place to do some dancing?”

“I don’t really feel like a lot of noise,” she said.

“Me neither,” he admitted. “I just don’t want to take you home. I enjoy talking to you.”

Calla didn’t answer, but felt much the same.

“How about we stop in here,” he said.

She glanced at the glass-fronted building. “Ice cream? You want to stop for ice cream while it’s snowing?”

He shrugged. “I know we’ll have the place to ourselves. And it fits in perfectly with my evil plan of getting you alone.” He added a melodramatic malevolent chuckle and feigned twirling a nonexistent mustache.

Calla laughed. “You’re a lunatic.”

“Yes, but one who will feed you ice cream.”

She chose pistachio almond and Landry went for Rocky Road. They sat in a table near the window where they could watch the snow come down as they chatted and enjoyed their late-night snack.

“So Nathan didn’t seem all that comfortable with the idea of you dating,” he said.

Calla shrugged. “I think it caught him off guard. And…and things are challenging for him right now.”

“How so?”

“His future is coming at him headlong,” she said. “And breaking away from the old neighborhood is always hard. Added to that, he’s very stuck on his girlfriend and she doesn’t want him going anywhere.”

Landry nodded. “Relationships are tough for everybody. And the younger you are, the more complicated they seem.”

“Yes, I suppose so,” Calla agreed with a sigh. “They have hit a rough patch, and to be quite honest, my first thought was I hoped they would break up. But I can’t bear to see Nathan hurt. He believes there is something special in this girl, something unique and worthwhile. So I’m trying to think that way, too.”

“What’s her story?” Landry asked.

Calla shook her head. “I don’t really know,” she said. “Just lots of rumors. Her mother’s been bad news for a long time. I think Jazleen’s been passed around among her relatives. And then a few months ago she came here to live with her great-aunt. The aunt is nice enough. I think she genuinely cares about the girl. But somehow not enough. I guess her plate of problems was already pretty full when she was forced to take Jazleen. Now I think she’s just waiting for her to turn eighteen so she can turn her out.”

Landry nodded. “There’s a lot of that going on.”

“Jazleen doesn’t have any friends,” Calla said. “She has no one she can count on, except Nathan.”

“All that pressure on a teenage boyfriend—it never works. No one person can be everything to somebody else.”

Calla nodded. “I keep thinking about that young woman from your school, the one with the book group. I wish Jazleen had something like that.”

“Well, she could have if she came back to school.”

“She could?”

“Sure, we’ve got a new group just getting started. I could have a place made for her, but she has to come to school.”

Calla shook her head. “She sure doesn’t seem interested in school.”

“Maybe the book group could spark her interest,” he said.

“What would it be like?”

“Most of the girls are young moms who were out part of last year either having their babies or caring for them. This is their chance to get back into a school setting. A lot of these young women are as isolated as Jazleen is, no friends, not enough family support. They might be able to be there for each other.”

“That would be great,” Calla said. “But nobody can make the girl go back to school if she doesn’t want to.”

Landry nodded. “I guess that’s going to be your job. I’ll get a place for her in the group and you get her there.”

“Me? I’m not the person to tell her what to do.”

“I guess you’ll have to,” Landry told her. “Because nobody else is going to do it. If we want flowers in the spring, we have to get those bulbs in the ground right now.”

Chapter Four

Calla didn’t know exactly how she was going to broach the subject of going back to school and getting involved in the book group. Her first plan involved the easy way out. She’d tell Nathan and he’d tell his girlfriend to go and she would.

Of course, nothing was ever easy.

“She doesn’t like the idea of going to an alternative high school,” Nathan said. “Jazzy says they’re only for misfits and criminals. And she’s not that big on reading. I don’t think she’d be interested in a book club.”

“It’s not really a book club for people who already love reading,” Calla explained. “It’s more a book club for young women who haven’t even thought about reading.”

He shrugged. “Look, I don’t think she’ll go. But you can ask her.”

“I was hoping that you would,” Calla replied.

“Me?” Nathan looked up from his breakfast cereal. “Not a chance.”

“Why not?”

“Things are just not that good between us,” he said. “She’s in this weird place. She wants to be with me every minute. But everything I say or do seems to annoy her. If I suggested it, she’d think I was trying to get rid of her or change her or…or something. I’m just laying low and letting things work out. Isn’t that what you told me to do, Mom?”

It had been what she told him. And he was probably right about her reaction. Calla needed to be the one to convince her. She decided to try the direct approach, and if that didn’t work, she’d play it by ear.

She made arrangements to leave work early the next Monday. She wanted to go by the Cleveland apartment before either Gerty or Nathan had gotten home.

She knocked on the door of 2B. She could hear the sounds of a game show on the television. A shadow momentarily passed across the peephole and then the door opened abruptly. Jazleen’s eyes were wide with fright.

“Is Nathan all right?” she asked.

“Oh yes, yes, Nathan is fine,” Calla answered. “I didn’t come here about Nathan.”

Jazleen sighed with relief, then immediately her expression turned puzzled.

“What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to talk to you about something.”

Jazleen’s gaze became wary. She leaned indolently against the doorjamb.

“What do you want to talk about?”

“May I come in?”

With a reluctant shrug, she invited Calla inside.

The place was neat as a pin, and from the tiny kitchen came the warm and homey smell of pinto beans boiling on the stove.

Jazleen flounced across the room and seated herself cross-legged on the couch. She glanced at Calla and then deliberately turned her attention to the game show, as if she intended to ignore the woman’s presence completely.

Calla, giving herself maternal license, picked up the remote control and silenced the room.

“I was watching that.”

“I want to talk to you about something,” Calla said. “It shouldn’t take long.”

Jazleen’s expression was tight-lipped and defiant. “I’m not your child,” she pointed out. “Don’t think you can boss me around the way you do Nathan. Nobody tells me what to do.”

“I didn’t come here to give any orders,” Calla said as gently as she could manage. “I came to extend an invitation.”

“An invitation?”

“Yes. Do you remember the girl at the All-Academics Night, the one from Cavitz Alternative High School?”

“Uh, yeah, sort of.”

“Remember she had her book group there and they all stood up and cheered for her.”

“Oh yeah, that was totally lame.”

“It was? I thought it was pretty wonderful. All those girls supporting one another.”

“Don’t believe it. You can’t trust a bunch of females. I know that for sure.”

Calla was beginning to think Jazleen didn’t trust anyone—except maybe Nathan. How sad was that?

“There’s a new book group just starting up,” Calla continued, undaunted. “I thought you might be interested in attending.”

“A book group?” Jazleen’s question was incredulous.

“Yes. It would be an hour and a half each week. You have to be attending Cavitz Alternative, but being in the book club would ease you into a new school situation. It would give you a ready-made group to be a part of, and I’m sure you’d make some new friends.”

Calla was smiling. Jazleen was not.

“I don’t want to go to Cavitz Alternative,” she said. “I don’t care anything about some book group. And I don’t need any friends.”

“I think it might be good for you,” Calla said. “Nathan is so busy and I know he talks about what he’s doing a lot. This would give you a chance to talk about what you’re doing.”

“It’s none of your business what we talk about.”

Calla felt her own temper rising. This girl was none of her business and she didn’t know why she was even trying. Then she reminded herself that she was trying because of Nathan. She was trying because Nathan believed in Jazleen. She needed to believe in her, too. And she had to find a way to get through to her.

“It’s very important to me that you start back to school,” Calla said. “And this book club is a great chance for you. Landry Sinclair is making a special effort to get you placed in the group.”

Jazleen’s jaw dropped open and her expression changed. She eyed Calla in silence for one long minute and then she smiled.

“Wait a minute,” she said. “Oh, I see what’s going on. I didn’t get it, but, of course, now it makes perfect sense.”

“What?” Calla asked.

“This book group…why you’re asking me to do this?”

Calla stared at her. She had no idea what the teenager meant.

“This is for Landry Sinclair,” Jazleen stated. “Your boyfriend wants me back in school, so you’re doing this to impress him.”

“No, of course not,” Calla said quickly.

“Yes, absolutely yes,” Jazleen said. “You can’t fool me.”

Jazleen was grinning. Calla didn’t think she recalled her smiling at anybody except Nathan.

“You want a favor from me,” Jazleen said. “That’s what this is. You want something and you’re trying to pretty it all up to make me think it’s for me, but it’s really for you. It’s for you to show off to your man.”

The girl found that delightfully funny.

Calla was about to deny it, but instinct stilled her tongue. She realized she had a better chance of convincing Jazleen when she was laughing than when she was defensive.

“Well, I do know that he wants you back in school,” she said. “And it would make me look pretty good if I could get you to go.”

“I knew it!”

“So what do you think?” Calla asked her. “Could you do this for me? It would really mean a lot.”

Jazleen hesitated. “If I did, you would owe me, big time!”

Calla nodded. She sent a wordless appeal to heaven that the payback would be worth it.

“Okay, I’ll try it,” Jazleen told her. “But I’m not promising to stick it out for the whole school year.”

Calla nodded calmly in agreement, but she felt a sense of elation. And she could hardly wait to share news of her success.

She went home and spent the rest of the afternoon taking care of household chores and glancing out the front window at every opportunity.

Finally she saw Landry going into his house. She hurriedly checked her hair and makeup and then walked over to his front door, as bold as brass. Maybe the whole neighborhood was watching, but she couldn’t have cared less.

He ushered her inside immediately.

“Where is your coat? It’s freezing out there.”

“I was too excited to grab it,” she admitted. “I had to come tell you. I planted a bulb today.”

He raised his eyebrows in surprise and grinned broadly at her.

“That’s great!”

“Jazleen has agreed to attend Cavitz Alternative and she’s willing to be involved in the book group.”

“Wow, you are a miracle worker,” he said.

Calla laughed and feigned a curtsy.

“Sit down. Let me fix you some…coffee? Hot tea? Hot chocolate?”

Calla opted for the last, which suited her mood perfectly. She felt like a kid just in from the cold on a winter afternoon.

Landry’s tiny kitchen was only big enough for one person to move around in. It was separated from the living room area by a narrow breakfast bar with two stools. Calla took a seat on one and watched him. The place was clean and neat, Spartan in the way that only a single man could be. His one concession to decoration was the pot of African violets growing underneath the fluorescent light above the counter.

Calla noticed that he prepared the chocolate the old-fashioned way, melting sugar and semisweet chunks into the milk. He stirred it carefully to heat it without allowing it to scorch.

“I always use instant,” she admitted.

He nodded. “I used to, too. But it’s so quick and easy, I was drinking more than my share.” Landry patted his midriff. “Most guys get forgiven for a beer gut at a certain age. I’m not sure that a hot chocolate paunch is ever acceptable.”

Calla smiled. In his shirtsleeves, Landry didn’t look in any danger of putting on weight. He was lean and trim, not heavily muscled like a man who spent a lot of time in the gym. Instead he had the firm body of a man who kept busy and active.

A rich scent filled the little kitchen as he poured the steaming hot chocolate in the saucepan into heavy mugs. He set both on the counter and then came around to sit on the stool next to Calla.

She tasted her drink and made an almost involuntary sound of pleasure. “Mmmm.”

Landry smiled.

“This is almost as good as the news that Jazleen is coming to school,” he said.

Calla chuckled. “It is that good.”

“Yes it is,” he agreed.

She took a sip of her chocolate, pleased. “So my job is done,” she said. “The rest is up to you and Literature for All of Us.”

“What?” Landry asked. “You’re thinking that your part is finished?”

“I’ve planted my bulb,” she pointed out. “Now all I have to do is wait for the springtime.”

He raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“I don’t think it quite works that way,” he told her.

“What do you mean?”

“Once you’ve got your bulb planted, you’re going to have to guard the ground where you put it,” he said. “You can’t let the rain wash it out or the squirrels dig it up or somebody pave over it with a concrete parking lot.”

Calla laughed. “I don’t think there’ll be any parking lots going up around Jazleen.”

Landry shook his head. “For every person trying to do the right thing for these kids, there’s another person who’s working against them and two more who just don’t care. You’ve gotten Jazleen this far. You have to be there for her until she can find her own way.”

“How am I going to do that?”

“I’ve got some ideas.”

“Okay, what?”

“Well, one thing that this program tries to do is to give these students the book club experience,” Landry said. “It takes volunteers to do that.”

“I can’t lead a book club,” Calla declared with certainty.

“That’s not what we need. The Literature for All of Us program sends trained leaders for the session. What we need are volunteers to set the ambiance, to provide the refreshments, to make it feel like the special event that it is. You could do that.”

“But I have a job,” she said.

He nodded. “Lots of employers want their employees to put in volunteer hours.”

“Dr. Walker isn’t a big corporation,” Calla insisted. “He has a small office. I’m not at all sure that I could get away.”

“Well, you can try,” Landry suggested.

“Yes,” she admitted. “I could try.”

“If you can turn Jazleen around, your boss ought to be easy by comparison.”

Calla chuckled. “I guess so,” she admitted.

“How did you convince Jazleen?” Landry asked.

Calla opened her mouth to reply and then hesitated.

“What?”

“It’s a little embarrassing,” she admitted. “She’s doing it as a favor to me.”

“A favor?”

She nodded. “Jazleen thinks I’m trying to impress you. So as a favor, she’s helping.”

“Oh, I see.” His dark eyes crinkled with humor, but his tone was low and sexy. “Well, I am impressed.”

Calla felt herself blushing. “Jazleen’s just so young,” she explained unnecessarily. “She doesn’t understand how two grown-up people can just…just enjoy each other’s company without any…any silly romance sort of stuff going on.”

His expression grew slightly more serious. He walked his fingers slowly across the smooth surface until they reached her hand, which he clasped gently in his own.

“No, no of course,” he whispered. “Two grown-up people like us. There would never be any silly romance stuff going on.”

Calla’s heart was beating so loudly she worried that he could hear it. Breathlessness was not a feeling to which she was accustomed.

Get a hold of yourself! she silently admonished. She wanted to move away from him. She could have easily freed her hand, but somehow she didn’t want to relinquish the warmth, the connection that he offered.

“I don’t… I don’t have flings or…or affairs or whatever you call it,” she told him.

Landry lowered his chin slightly. “I’m not sure I have a word for what I want to have with you. Whatever it is, it’s kind of a new thing for me.” He rose to his feet and took a step closer to her.

Calla stiffened her back.

“I don’t want to scare you,” he said. “I just want to kiss you.”

She didn’t know what she thought about that. Her brain seemed sluggish as her senses tightened into electric expectation.

Landry laid his palm across her jaw and raised her face toward him. His movements were slow, deliberate, as if he were drawing out the anticipation. Finally, she could no longer wait and she met his lips with her own.

He tasted like chocolate and Calla couldn’t get enough. She trembled in his arms. Landry wrapped her tightly in his embrace. She felt so safe, so cared for, so desired.

When their lips parted, he continued to hold her close. Calla buried her face into his neck and shoulder, taking in the wonderful masculine scent of him. Oh how she had missed this! She could no longer believe that she’d been willing to forego this, willing to say these feelings were only something from the past.

Landry stepped back and seated himself once more on the stool facing her. His expression was smoky with desire.

“Do you think I could get away with seducing you on Canasta Street in the middle of a Monday afternoon?”

“Uh…maybe,” she answered.

He laughed. “I take that as a challenge.”

Chapter Five

Calla was genuinely surprised how easy her venture into school volunteering turned out to be. The book group was scheduled for Thursday mornings, which just happened to be Dr. Walker’s weekly match at the handball court. The office staff used that time to clear up paperwork and the doctor was completely fine with Calla staying a half hour later each afternoon to make up her share.

Jazleen was as good as her word. Monday morning, she made her way to Cavitz Alternative High School and filled out the paperwork to officially become a student again. Calla didn’t see any magical change in the girl. And when she asked, “How was school?” Jazleen’s responses always centered around whether or not she’d seen Landry that day, which was apparently what she thought Calla wanted to know.

On the first day of the book club, Calla found herself almost as leery of going to school as Jazleen had been. The building did not have a gathering place for students, a statue of a long-dead community hero or a motto in Latin over the doorway.

Cavitz Alternative was located in a corner building in the shadow of a busy expressway. It had once housed a dry goods emporium, the name of which was still visible in the tile of the lobby. Calla was loaded down with what she hoped were the perfect accoutrements for a book club. She must have looked as out of place as she felt because a young woman stopped to help her.

“I need to find the book group.”

The woman nodded enthusiastically. “Second floor, study hall,” she told Calla, pointing toward the wide stairway in the back.

Struggling with all she had to carry, Calla wandered around until she found the elevator. She took it up one flight and then, after asking more directions, found herself in front of a door with a sheet of white paper identifying the location.

She tapped politely a couple of times before turning the knob. The room was empty. Calla set her bags on a nearby table and surveyed it slowly. Dingy, aged glass block provided light from the upper half of the two outside walls. There was an old but comfy-looking couch in one corner and a couple of mismatched armchairs. The center of the room was dominated by a functional-looking library table surrounded by chairs.

Calla immediately set to work. She dragged the table to the wall and rearranged the chairs to form a conversation circle around the couch. What the space needed was a coffee table, but of course there was nothing like that. She allowed disappointment to spark innovation and borrowed the metal wastepaper basket by the door. Hanging on the wall above it was a small bulletin board that held only two notes. One was a schedule for the room’s use, the other an admonition with exclamation points about cleaning up your own mess. Calla decided the room could do without both for a couple of hours. She set the bulletin board facedown across the top of the wastepaper basket to create an instant coffee table. From her bag she got out a table runner. It was too long, but it covered the width of the board perfectly. She folded it so that it hung down a few inches from the floor on either side. Calla liked the look. It was welcoming and cozy. She added a couple of candles for a centerpiece.

Her Sunday best tablecloth covered the big table next to the wall. She’d brought her nicest things. Most of them never got out of the cabinet except on Christmas. The Fosteria glass pitcher that had been her mother’s was soon filled with raspberry tea. The tray Mark had bought for her on a trip to Washington displayed the fancy finger sandwiches she’d made. There was a plate of apples that she’d carefully cut into leaf patterns and brushed with lemon juice. And for something sweet, she’d made a pineapple upside-down cake with red maraschino cherries in the centers of the rings.

She’d just finished laying out the forks and napkins when the door opened. A stylish young woman, short and round and wearing black jeans and a bright pink sweater, came through the door. She pulled a rolling bag that looked more like an oversized briefcase than a piece of luggage.

“Hi, I’m Lyssa,” she said. “I’m the group leader from Literature for All of Us.”

The two shook hands. “Calla Middleton, volunteer,” she said, by way of introduction.

“This looks lovely,” Lyssa said.

Calla smiled, pleased. “Well, Landry…uh, Mr. Sinclair said that you wanted it to be like a ladies’ book club. So, it seems you’ve got to have fancy food and nice tablecloths.”

“You’ve outdone yourself,” Lyssa said. “We usually just have juice and chips. I hope we can count on you coming every week.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Typically the volunteers make themselves scarce during the meeting,” Lyssa said.

Calla nodded. “I think that would be best. My son’s girlfriend is in this group and I’m sure she’ll settle in better without thinking I’m looking over her shoulder. I’ll find someplace to bide my time and then I’ll come back to clean up.”

Perhaps five minute later the girls began arriving and Calla made her exit. She passed Jazleen in the hallway. The girl sidled over to her and spoke in a furtive whisper.

“I just saw him go into the teachers’ lounge around the corner and all the way to the end of the hall.” The girl added a thumbs-up sign for emphasis.

Calla could only shake her head. But she did follow those directions. As she approached the door, it opened and Landry walked out. If he was surprised to see her, he gave no indication, just a wide grin of pleasure at having run into her.

“Have I discovered the truth about you, Mr. Landry?” she asked. “Are you one of those principals that hang out in the teachers’ lounge?”

“Not really. And none of my teachers get much lounging time.”

“But you’re here now.”

“Looking for you,” he admitted. “I thought you might be hanging out here while the book group is in session.”

“Actually Jazleen sent me in this direction,” Calla told him. “She saw you headed this way.”

Landry grinned. “I like that girl more and more,” he said, chuckling. “I wanted to give you a tour of our school.”

“Great.”

“The teachers’ lounge here is about what you’d expect,” he said, opening the door wide enough to peek in. “A coffeepot and a refrigerator. Not the complete comforts of home, but it works. And you are welcome to hang out here anytime.”

“Thanks.”

They began walking down the hallway. He kept his voice low so they wouldn’t disturb any classes in session.

“We have eighty-six students currently enrolled,” he said. “Ten teachers, six full-time and four part-time. We’ve got a staff of three, a few volunteers and a dozen trained mentors that are here on a regular basis.”

“That seems like a lot of people for so few students.”

“It’s a ten-to-one ratio, which is much better than a typical school,” Landry said. “But many of our students have been in our educational system for years without spending ten minutes with a teacher, so I figure it all evens out.”

He showed her an empty classroom that had only a half-dozen desks.

“We do both day and night classes,” he said. “We try to accommodate varied schedules, so all the classes are small.”

Calla nodded.

“On the first floor we have our Family First program,” he said. “Right now we’re just providing child care for our students when they’re in class. We’re hoping to start up some regular parenting classes not only for our students and alumni, but for all the young parents in the neighborhood.”

“Wow,” Calla said.

“Our students face a lot of obstacles to education,” Landry said. “We try to figure out what they are and deal with them as effectively as we can.”

The tour included a tiny but up-to-date computer lab, the half-dozen shelves that made up the school’s lending library, and a former loading dock that had been turned into an experimental theater.

“Our students are from a media generation. They write the plays, perform the plays, provide the music and even capture it all on film.”

Calla couldn’t help but be impressed. “Jazleen is going to love it here,” she said. “I’m beginning to think this is where Nathan should have gone.”

Landry shook his head. “Nathan is a lucky guy. He’s smart, motivated and he had parents that had an eye to the future. He was going to flourish no matter what the educational element. Our students need a little more help to get them on to a more level playing field.”

In the stairwell, Landry took her hand. “Are you saving your Saturday night for me?”

She nodded.

“Good, can I have Friday night and all of Sunday, too?”

“You’re going to get very tired of me,” she warned.

He shook his head. “I can’t help myself. You’re like hard liquor, completely intoxicating and very addictive.”

By the time he took his leave they were back on the second floor in front of the study hall. The ninety-minute book club meeting was ending. Calla waited for the first few girls to leave before she made her way inside.

She spotted Jazleen immediately. A large girl, heavily pregnant, was talking to her. Jazleen’s face was completely blank, revealing nothing. When Jazleen caught sight of Calla, she immediately made an excuse to get away.

“So how was it?”

“I think that’s the question I’m supposed to ask you,” Calla said.

Jazleen shrugged.

It was a noncommittal gesture, but it wasn’t negative. Calla took that as a good start.

“The real reason I’m here is to score you points with the principal.”

Calla smiled. “Well, you’re doing a great job. I just spent the whole time you were in the book group touring the school.”

Jazleen raised an eyebrow.

“Did he show you the Lust Bin?”

“The Lust Bin?”

Jazleen laughed, her face lighting up as if from the inside. “It’s really the janitor’s closet, but sometimes couples sneak in there to steal some snug time.”

Calla tutted and shook her head. “No, I missed the Lust Bin. I’ll have to ask him about it next time.”

“Don’t have him tell you about it,” she teased. “You’ve got to have him take you there.”

The next few weeks passed almost like a checklist. Nathan’s college paperwork in the mail. Check. Halloween candy. Check. Buy a turkey for Thanksgiving. Check. And every Thursday, Calla made her way to the book group. Coming up with interesting snacks to serve and decorating the table was quickly becoming an important and cherished part of her week. She had begun to know the girls now, and as they loosened up with each other, they also did with Calla. They didn’t always express their appreciation directly, but she felt it and she liked it.

Missing the week’s meeting for Thanksgiving was a bit of a letdown, but it spurred Calla to action. Since Mark’s death, she and Nathan had shared the holidays alone. Their celebrations were quiet and at times bittersweet. A husband and father was most missed on family occasions, and becoming accustomed to not having him there did not make the loss any easier to bear.

“Jazleen, I want to invite you and your aunt for Thanksgiving dinner,” Calla announced the weekend before the holiday.

The kids were on the couch. Jazleen was sitting up and Nathan had his head in her lap. Both were reading. Calla saw Jazleen’s book was Beloved by Toni Morrison—the group’s chosen title for the next meeting. They looked up at her comment.

“That’s a great idea!” Nathan said.

Jazleen seemed hesitant. “I don’t know if my aunt will come.”

“Tell her I bake the best pumpkin pie she’s ever tasted,” Calla said. “And that I’m inviting Mrs. Gamble and Eunice.”

Nathan frowned. “Do you think they’ll come?”

“I know they will,” Calla answered. “Landry Sinclair is going to be here.”

Calla was right, of course. She never doubted for a minute that a gossip like Eunice wouldn’t jump at the chance to spend time breaking bread with her current favorite subjects.

With Nathan’s help, she moved some of the living room furniture upstairs and pushed the heavier pieces against the walls, then brought in the dining table, extending it as far as it would go. The linens, now staples of book group days, were already ironed, and Calla brought down her good dishes from the top cabinet over the sink.

In fact she was standing on a chair retrieving them when Jazleen showed up in the kitchen.

“You’re going to kill yourself!” the girl predicted.

“Let me hand these down to you,” Calla suggested.

Together they made quick work of the task. When all the plates and cups and saucers were safely on the counter, Jazleen spoke.

“I came to ask you a favor. No, I guess I came to collect on a favor. You owe me, remember.”

Calla did remember. Jazleen’s tone was so sharp and defensive, it was obvious that the girl was not at all accustomed to making requests

“Okay,” Calla said, hoping fervently that she wasn’t going to ask the impossible. The only way Jazleen would ever learn to ask for help was if she could anticipate that it would be provided.

“You know Darlada,” she said.

Calla nodded. The heavyset, heavily pregnant young woman was one of the book group members.

“She’s got nowhere to go on Thanksgiving, so I wanted to invite her here,” Jazleen said. “Now, you got to know up front that she eats a lot. I can bring a dish of something, but you’re still going to have to cook more than you thought.”

“Of course she can come,” Calla said, thrilled not only that it was such an easy request, but that Jazleen was the person to think of it. “We should have asked the entire book club.”

“Everybody has a plan except Darlada,” Jazleen said. “She’s got…she’s got nobody really, and I don’t like the idea of her spending another holiday alone. She wrote a poem about eating potato chips last Christmas. That ought to be just a once-in-a-lifetime thing.”

Calla agreed.

“By next year,” Jazleen said. “She’ll have her baby to be company. But until she gets born, it’s really up to people she knows.”

“Jazleen, you tell her that I’m delighted and excited to have her here to share our holiday,” Calla said. “And she can eat as much as she wants. There is always way too much food.”

The young woman seemed surprised at that last statement and Calla wondered how many holiday dinners she had been to.

Calla did recruit Jazleen to help her with the cooking. The girl was handy in the kitchen, but she had no experience with fancy cakes or pies and she knew nothing about basting a turkey. The two spent most of the day working together in the kitchen, Nathan coming in from time to time to check on their progress and sneak nibbles. It became a game between him and Jazleen. He would let her catch him at it and she would feign fury and chase him out of the room.

By the time the guests began to show up, everyone was in high spirits. Gerty Cleveland had dressed more attractively than Calla had seen her in twenty years.

“I can’t let Eunice and Mrs. Gamble show me up,” she explained.

There might have been some danger of that. Each woman had on her very best Sunday outfit. Eunice pretended that this was nothing out of the ordinary, but Mrs. Gamble was not so discreet.

“I’m so excited to have on this dress,” she said. “I was beginning to think the next chance I’d get to wear it I’d be lying in my casket.”

Nathan answered the door for Darlada and the girl hesitated on the porch. She had changed her mind and was making excuses why she couldn’t stay, when Jazleen went out and dragged her in.

“I’m not in the right clothes,” she whispered worriedly to Calla. “But I’ve got so big, I can’t fit into anything else.”

In jeans and a sweatshirt the size of a pup tent, she was under-dressed for the occasion, but Calla didn’t care.

“When we’re pregnant we always think we look worse than we do,” she told the girl. “Once you get your figure back, everything will fit beautifully.”

“I didn’t have a good figure to begin with,” she said. “I’ve always been fat.”

“I think we now call it ‘traditionally built’.”

“Traditionally built? I like that.”

“It’s from The No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency. Have you read it?”

Darlada shook her head. “I never even heard of it.”

“I’ve got the first two books,” Calla said. “I’ll loan them to you.”

The young woman seemed momentarily surprised and then happily agreed. “I guess that’s what people who read stuff do,” she said. “They loan books to each other.”

Landry arrived looking both handsome and at home. He was charming to the ladies, including Darlada, whom he recognized from school. Eunice was giving him a down-the-nose eagle eye, but he made no attempt to disguise his feelings for Calla. In fact, he kissed her hello. It was just a peck but spoke volumes about their relationship.

“Jazleen said you were dating Miz Calla,” Darlada said. “It’s a good idea.”

“I think so, too,” Landry told her.

Calla wasn’t sure that Eunice agreed, but at least as a guest in Calla’s house, she kept her opinion to herself.

They took their places around the table, and Calla offered a prayer with a depth of thankfulness that she hadn’t felt in years.

As the food was consumed and appreciated, the conversation gained momentum. Gerty Cleveland talked a little louder than necessary and frequently asked to have things repeated, but no one complained about it. She and Mrs. Gamble took turns telling Darlada about their childbirth experiences and both managed to entertain and enlighten without scaring the teenager.

Landry talked to Nathan about his college admissions and even dragged Jazleen into the conversation.

“It’s not too early for you to be thinking about college.”

She looked shocked. “Me? Go to college? I’ll be lucky if I finish high school.”

“It doesn’t take luck,” Landry assured her. “It just takes time and self-discipline. My impression is that you’ve got your share of both.”

Jazleen didn’t deny it. Calla saw that as hope.

The cranberries were passed. The gravy was ladled. The stuffing was served and the succotash spooned. When the last fork was laid down, Calla urged everyone to keep talking as she cleared the table.

Darlada followed her into the kitchen carrying a stack of dishes.

“You don’t have to do that,” Calla insisted. “You’re a guest. Go enjoy yourself.”

“I wanted to help clean up—as a kind of thank-you for inviting me.”

“I was happy that you could come,” Calla said. “And I’m so glad that Jazleen thought of it.”

“She’s good, you know,” Darlada said. “I mean, I know being Nathan’s mama and all, you probably worry about who a girl is. But I know Jazleen is good.”

“Thank you,” Calla said. “It’s nice to hear that.”

“When I read my potato chips poem,” Darlada said, “our group leader was real supportive of it. I am the worst poetry writer in the book group and I know it. But Lyssa told me that what is important is what I have to say, not how well I say it. Jazleen—her poems are way better.”

“You write poetry in the group?”

“Oh, yes, ma’am. We all do. That’s what our journals are mostly full of. We read what other writers write and then we try to express our own feelings in our own words.”

“That’s a great thing,” Calla said. “I wrote a poem or two when I was young. I still feel close to those words, even though that was a long time ago.”

Darlada nodded. “You should ask Jazleen to read you her poems. She can express herself real good. Sometimes she seems all closed up. But when she writes, it’s like a flower just opening right up.”

“Maybe I will,” Calla told her.

She sliced the pies and cake and allowed Darlada to help carry them to the table. After pouring cups of strong coffee for everybody, Calla gratefully settled back into the discussion around the table.

“Do you think you’ll put in a garden in the springtime?” Mrs. Gamble asked Landry.

“I’m thinking about it,” he said. “Nothing like snow on the ground and a cold wind blowing outside to put my mind to thoughts of fresh tomatoes and snap beans.”

There was more talk about the weather, the neighborhood, the future. It was late by the time everyone was talked out. Gerty Cleveland, Mrs. Gamble and Eunice made their way home. Jazleen and Nathan decided to walk Darlada home and Landry stuck around to help with the cleanup.

“I think everything went well,” she told him.

“It was the nicest Thanksgiving I remember in a very long time,” he told her. “It was great that you included the Gambles. I know they’ve been spreading gossip about us, but I really did my best to charm them.”

“If they weren’t charmed, then they must be excellent actresses. Mrs. Gamble thinks you’re the greatest thing since sliced bread. And Eunice, well, I’m afraid you missed your chance there. She had her eye on you.”

“Really?”

“You never noticed?”

Landry shook his head dramatically. “Once I caught sight of you, I was blinded to all other women.”

Calla slapped him with a dishtowel. He took it from her and began drying dishes.

“It was good meeting Jazleen’s aunt,” he said. “I really try to get to know the families of my students. Sometimes it’s not possible.”

“What about Darlada’s family?” Calla asked.

“Nothing much to speak of,” he answered. “She’s living in a kind of halfway house for expectant mothers. She’ll be able to stay there a few months after the baby is born, but ultimately she’s going to have to find some different kind of arrangement.”

Calla nodded. She told Landry what Jazleen had said about Darlada’s poem.

Landry sighed heavily. “That’s one of the realities of the lives of these girls. Often they do find themselves all alone in a very scary world. I think that’s why the book group helps so much. They find out that their experience is not unique to them. And they can talk about it with other girls who have been in the same place.”

“It’s really interesting that they write poetry,” Calla said. “I always thought that poetry was like a pipeline to the deepest interior of the soul.”

Landry raised his dark eyebrows and grinned at her. “Now that’s a very vivid image,” he said, reaching over to snake an arm around her waist. “Is that how I get to the deepest interior of your soul?”

“You said you wrote poetry in school,” she reminded him with a flirtatious grin. “You might have to hone your skills again.”

Landry stood behind her at the kitchen sink and wrapped both arms around her tightly. He leaned down to bury his chin into the crook of her throat.

“I’m always willing to try,” he said. “My Calla has a house on Canasta. Falling for her, I could not have done any faster…”

Chapter Six

It felt as if the Thanksgiving dishes were barely put away before the festive lights of the Christmas season started showing up in the neighborhood. Calla had never been much of a holiday decorator, but this year she found it fun to integrate the season into the book group’s refreshment table. And the girls seemed to appreciate it, oohing and ahhing over little Santa Bear cookies and candy canes. School, of course, would be out for winter vacation. That meant three group meetings cancelled.

“I don’t know if I can live without book club for three weeks,” she heard one girl comment after a session.

“I know what you mean,” Calla heard Jazleen reply. “Being here, being with all of you—I look forward to it all week long.”

Inside her head, Calla was doing a goal line celebration. If Jazleen loved book group, she would not be dropping out to sit at home and watch daytime TV.

Nathan said as much one evening at dinner.

“Jazzy’s really liking her classes and making friends and her grades are good for starting so late in the semester. I told her she could probably get Mr. Sinclair to give her a transfer back to high school with me.”

“Really?”

Nathan nodded. “She wasn’t interested. Jazzy says she likes the teachers and students where she is. It’s going to take an extra year for her to graduate. And she said since I’m going to be gone off to college anyway, she thought it might be good for our relationship to have our own lives.”

He said the last line with such incredulity that Calla couldn’t help but chuckle. “I think your baby is growing up,” she teased.

She may have been joking, but it was easy to see that for Jazleen, something had changed. The singular focus on Nathan and the raging jealousy had disappeared. And in her relationship with Calla, the anger was gone.

Calla decided to ask the girl about it.

“What made you decide that you weren’t angry with me?” she asked. “My involvement with the book club or dating Landry Sinclair?”

They were sitting in the warm kitchen on a blustery winter evening. Nathan had gone to a basketball game with a couple of friends. In the past, Jazleen would have tagged along, but she’d finally become secure enough to let the guys go without her.

“Nathan always talks about you like you’re so perfect. I’m not so perfect.” She shrugged. “I guess you wanting Mr. Sinclair, that made you more human.”

“I am not perfect,” Calla said with incredulity. “I can’t imagine Nathan thinks that.”

“Well, maybe he never used that word,” Jazleen admitted. “But when he’d talk about you, even if he was complaining about something, it was obvious that he respected you and that he knew that everything you did, you did because you love him.”

“Of course I do,” Calla said. “He’s my child.”

“See, that’s what made me mad.”

“What?”

“That confidence that it’s nothing unusual. That doing what’s best for your child is what mothers do. That it’s proof of loving their child.”

Calla nodded.

“The backside of that for me was that my mother didn’t look out for me, she didn’t do what was best. Does that mean she didn’t love me?”

Calla didn’t know what to say.

“I know the truth,” Jazleen said. “I know that she did love me. At least at one time she did. And the way you are, it just…it just made me think that I might be wrong, or that you would say that I was wrong or…or I don’t know exactly what, but comparing you to my mama, it just made me mad.”

“I’m sorry you felt that way,” Calla said.

Jazleen shrugged. “And the weird thing was, I wasn’t really even aware of what was going on in my head all the time. It’s like I didn’t stop long enough to think about it and figure out what was going on there.”

“That happens sometimes.”

“Then I wrote a poem about my mama and how I felt about her and how angry I am at her,” Jazleen said. “It just felt so good to say it. And once I could say it, it’s like I finally know that I can handle it.”

“That’s wonderful, Jazleen.”

“Would you like to hear it?”

“Your poem? Yes, I’d love to. Darlada says you’re the best poet in the whole book club.”

Jazleen waved off the compliment. “There’s all kinds of different writers in the group. I have lots of vocabulary, more than a lot of the girls. But some of them have a richness or a deepness that I can’t come close to.”

“Still, I’d like to hear your poem.”

Jazleen nodded and went to the living room where she’d left her book bag. A couple of minutes later she was back with her book group journal. She set it on the table in front of her and began leafing through it. Calla knew that she was being offered a trust that was rarely given. She silently vowed to always deserve it.

“Here it is,” Jazleen said. “I call it The Gift from God.”

She glanced up at Calla, who gave her a reassuring nod.

“I am the gift from God

That’s what she told me.

I believed it.

I love you. I need you. I don’t regret you.

That’s what she told me.

I believed it.

Then the day the choice came

Between the dealer and the daughter.

It was the dealer who got deference

And the daughter who got done.

Damaged.

Damn you.

How could you?

I am the gift of God

Given to pay down

Debt on a dirty drug deal.

You better believe it.

Some gifts get tossed.

Even a gift from God.

But inside my mama, hidden

By the glaze from a needle,

Is the love she bears for me always.

I still believe it.”

Calla didn’t know what to say. She got up from her chair and went to kneel next to Jazleen. She took the young woman in her arms and held her tightly. Sometimes only words could express and sometimes words were unnecessary.

Spring finally came to Canasta Street. The Carnaby children played stickball in the street. Old Mr. Whitten snored in the sunshine on his front porch. And the dirty gray snow that had been part of the landscape for so long magically retreated for another year.

Nathan prepared to cross the stage as a high school graduate. Calla would be there as she’d always imagined, but she would not be alone. She’d have Landry on one side and Jazleen on the other. Nathan got a full-ride scholarship to Northwestern, which was everything they had hoped for. Jazleen, too, now had college as her goal, but it would take another year at least.

Darlada had her baby, a healthy little girl. Surprisingly she’d moved in with the Gambles. Mrs. Gamble had suffered a fall late in the winter and Eunice realized that she needed help. Bringing Darlada and the baby into their household was like a tonic to the older woman and a breath of freedom for Eunice.

Early one morning Landry came knocking at Calla’s door. She was still in her bathrobe and her hair was in a towel.

“Come outside,” he said.

“What?”

“I have something to show you.”

“Let me get dressed.”

“No time for clothes. You’ve got to come right now.”

Calla followed him down the porch, out through the gate and around the fence to his backyard. There in the small plot of ground, just poking their little green shoots out of the brown earth, were the bulbs he had planted.

“It really happened,” she said. “After all the cold, dark waiting, there are really going to be full-grown flowers here.”

Landry nodded. “And I want us to be together when our daffodils all come into bloom.”

He held her hand in his and pulled her closer. “Calla, you are the most stately flower in my garden. I don’t think it would even be a garden for me without you. Do you understand my meaning? It’s pretty muddy here, but I’ll drop down on one knee if I have to.”

Calla smiled. “I understand your meaning, Landry. And my answer is yes!”

Dear Reader,

Karen Thompson was not looking to change the world. A stay-at-home mom with a desire to do work she liked on her own schedule, Karen utilized her education and love of books by becoming a professional book group leader. She loved her job and was having marvelous success. Her work was personally fulfilling and she was completely satisfied with the direction of her life.

Then one day a person in her group suggested that the power of the book club was such a wonderful thing, wouldn’t it be great if they could find a way to share it with at-risk young women in the city’s urban core?

Karen thought that was an interesting idea, but she didn’t feel qualified. She wasn’t a social worker. She wasn’t a youth counselor. She wasn’t a survivor of a depressed inner city community. She wasn’t young and she wasn’t a minority. Surely, she wasn’t the person for the job.

For a year, she went on with her day-to-day life as the idea percolated in the back of her mind, calling her, pushing her.

Finally, she decided to do one group. Just one group, she assured herself, just to see if the concept was even feasible.

That first group was almost an homage to her own career. She remembered how she got started: How alone and isolated she’d been as a young mother, and how desperate to think about something besides babies and diapers and the cost of the light bill.

Her first group was entirely made up of teenage moms. Many, including Karen, worried that they might not have any interest at all in reading, writing or each other.

From that very first day, Literature for All of Us changed lives. To hear Karen talk about it is like listening to the witness of a miracle. Reading stories, responding to the themes presented and talking about how they pertained to their own lives had the power to alter the young people’s perception of themselves and the world around them. “Their self-esteem and self-confidence went up.” Using the literature they read as a model, Karen asked them to write poetry about themselves. “At a difficult time in their lives…they wrote the truth…and realized how much strength they had.”

Today, in collaboration with alternative high schools, GED providers and after-school programs, the organization carries the book group model to young men and women in underserved neighborhoods impacted by poverty, violence, gangs and drugs. More than half of their clients are pregnant or parenting teens. The program not only enriches their lives, but allows them to pass on the gift of family literacy to the next generation.

If you would like to share your love of reading and the magic of its impact on your life, please check out the website literatureforallofus.org or write to Literature for All of Us, 2010 Dewey Avenue, Evanston, IL 60201

Volunteers, trained book group leaders and financial donations all help to change lives. And changing lives is changing the world.

Pamela Morsi

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