Right from the Start
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Jeanie London
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15.1K
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15
Chapter One
“I’M GUESSING YOU don’t believe in love at first sight?” the student asked.
Not much of a guess from where Kenzie James stood, which was at the front of the classroom. The room was filled to maximum capacity with students of both genders. They ranged in ages from barely-legal-to-drink to middle-aged. They represented demographics from the young woman with facial piercings who had asked the question to an army officer wearing a knife-creased uniform.
Kenzie’s classrooms were always full—a bittersweet commentary on the state of marital affairs. As a rule she didn’t share her opinions during divorcing parent classes, but occasionally a group would actually be interested in participating rather than simply marking time in the court-ordered class.
Participators could motivate others, so Kenzie seized the teaching moment.
“No, I’m not a believer in love at first sight,” she admitted. “In my opinion a love that will weather life’s storms involves a lot of things—respect, caring, commitment, self-sacrifice to mention a few—none of which are spontaneous.”
“Fair enough,” the pierced young woman said genially. “What about lust at first sight?”
There was a titter of movement from the back of the classroom, where several obviously bored men showed life signs. An impatient woman wearing a business suit narrowed her gaze disapprovingly at the shocker question, or the appearance of the girl who’d asked. Maybe both.
The army officer’s expression didn’t flinch. Clearly the man was well trained in controlling his responses. Not a bad thing in Kenzie’s opinion.
And questions meant to shock were all part of her job, so she leaned a hip against the table where her handouts were stacked and said, “Lust at first sight is another beast entirely. Chemistry is a natural, physical response. The only problem with lust is how often people confuse it with love. Because they both begin with the letter L, do you think?”
That got a laugh from around the room. Even the officer grinned. Not the impatient businesswoman.
But Kenzie had the class’s attention. “Lust can certainly be a part of successful love, but the feelings are in no way interchangeable. Human emotion operates on impulse and instinct, at the maturity level of a seven-year-old. I call it the inner child. We all have one.”
Stepping to the whiteboard, she grabbed a dry-erase marker and drew circles. “Think about your children. Those of you who have teens will know what I’m talking about. Those of you with babies who haven’t yet hit the toddler phase get ready.”
She turned to the class. “Think about when your children want something. They want to watch TV now, not later. They want to go out and play now, not later. And what happens when you tell them no?”
A woman with a ponytail raised her hand. “My son is three. I can get anything from tears to a full-blown tantrum.”
“My daughter is thirteen,” the impatient businesswoman added. “I get a nasty look and an attitude.”
“Exactly.” Kenzie spread her hands in entreaty. “The responses vary with the age group, but basically all children want immediate gratification. When they’re denied, they can respond with tears or tantrums or any emotion in between. As they get older and more socially aware, they can manipulate. It’s common for children in divorce situations to play one parent against the other.”
Kenzie used the marker to point at the largest circle on the board then wrote two words inside it. “Inner child. The feelings and reactions you see in your children never go away. All of our inner children want immediate gratification. They want to pitch a fit when they’re told no. They’re willing to move heaven and earth to get their way.”
She pointed to the next smallest circle. “There’s absolutely nothing wrong with our inner children. We should acknowledge how we feel and embrace our feelings. They’re what make us human. But the difference between children and adults is that adults learn how to channel those feelings constructively.”
Kenzie wrote adult in that circle. “Self-control is the key here. Adults learn to step back and make sense of a feeling before taking action.”
A simple concept that managed to be so complicated.
Kenzie didn’t share that opinion with the class, but after eight years as a divorce mediator with the state of North Carolina and now owner of her own agency, Positive Partings, she knew how underutilized emotional coping skills could be.
“Adults understand consequences. There are plenty of mornings I wake up and don’t feel like coming to work,” she said. “I make a choice. Do I want to risk losing my job so I can stay in bed, or not? Do I want to sacrifice my reliable reputation so I can roll over and go back to sleep, or not?”
Kenzie wrote the word parent in the smallest, farthest circle on the board. “Parents take their choices one step further. Not only must they think about the consequences to themselves, but they have to think about what’s in the best interest of their children. That’s why you’re here tonight and why the court appoints these classes.”
Setting down the marker, Kenzie faced the room. Every eye was on her now.
“Bottom line, people, you’re divorcing your spouses, not your children. Just because you won’t be married to your husband or wife anymore doesn’t mean you’ll stop parenting together. You’re still a family. You’ll always be a family. Life goes on. There’ll be decisions to make about schooling and a thousand other things. There’ll be birthdays and graduations and holidays and weddings and births and on and on as long as you live.”
If people realized this fact from the start, they might see how much simpler life would be if they resolved problems together rather than divorcing and dragging the same problems into another relationship.
“The goal of these classes is learning to navigate divorce in a healthy way so you and your family don’t suffer. That starts by understanding our inner children and assuming control in ways that help us to be productive adults and effective parents. Most kids don’t want their parents to divorce. They’re scared and don’t know how to articulate their fears. They need the adults in their lives to act like responsible parents who will work together to reassure them they’re loved, they’re still part of a family and they’re not responsible for the divorce.
“Adults who are effective parents learn to step back from divorce drama and manage whatever feelings they have for their former spouses in private. That’s hard to do if you’re hurt or angry or worried. But that’s what you signed up for when you became parents.”
There was a collective pause, the classroom so silent Kenzie could have heard a pin drop. She smiled.
“And that’s why I don’t believe in love at first sight, to get back to the original question. Lust at first sight is the domain of our inner children, who want passion and excitement and immediate gratification. They want to feel good now. Love is the domain of adults who recognize those shiny new feelings will eventually fade. Life’s going to have ups and downs and joys and sorrows.
“Successful love will require people to place the needs of their spouses and families ahead of their own desires, and unless a couple has healthy emotional coping skills, they’ll likely have trouble succeeding at marriage.”
Precisely why Kenzie’s classes were always full.
Reaching for her handouts, she went down the center aisle setting small stacks on each table to be passed around.
“I want you to take a look at how quickly most of you will jump into your next marriage and the percentage of those marriages that will fail. I just updated with the latest statistics, so this information is current. The fact is when families become blended, there will be more complications, not fewer, so now’s the time to get healthy coping skills in place.”
Unless they wanted to spend another four hours sitting in this court-appointed class.
Love at first sight?
Not a good idea in Kenzie’s book.
* * *
WILL RUSSELL BRACED himself for the meeting ahead while opening the front door of the unassuming two-story house. He barely noticed the plaque by the door anymore.
Angel House.
A Sanctuary for Families Facing Autism.
Tucked behind a church, this house had become another home to him and his son, Sam. In many ways Angel House was more of a home than even their own with just Will and Sam and an ex-wife who could only be a drop-by mom.
He and Sam certainly spent enough time here between classes and evaluations, Will’s nighttime support groups and ongoing fund-raising meetings. The fund-raising was as important as everything else because without money, no work would get done, no kids or families helped to make sense of the unexpected and complicated journey that came with this disorder.
Will took another deep breath and plunked himself in a chair in the reception room. He’d arrived nearly fifteen minutes early. All afternoon he’d been in City Hall at a council meeting. Rather than tackling five o’clock traffic, he’d walked the six blocks. Hadn’t taken long. He’d practically jogged here because he was still wound up from the meeting. Not because he was eager to hear news he expected to be all bad.
Leaning forward, Will steeled himself to deal with even more pressure. Was it even possible he could feel more? He suspected the answer would be an unfortunate yes. Angel House had reached the literal end of the line. Only a miracle could save them now, and miracles were damned slow in the making.
He’d been working on this particular miracle for two years already—a meticulous process that involved a lot of factors coming together in the right way at the right time. His luck had held, and now the end was finally in sight. He needed a little more time...and didn’t hold out much hope he’d get it. Time depended on money around here, and both were in short supply.
“You’re here already,” a harried voice said.
He glanced up as Deanne emerged through the open doorway.
“You should have rung the bell, Will. I wasn’t busy.”
He doubted that. In their entire acquaintance, he’d never known her not to be busy. “Just got here. Barely sat down.”
She glanced at his suit. “Looks like you came from City Hall.”
“I needed some exercise.”
She smiled, and something about her smile seemed forced. Will knew right then the luck had run out. He knew it as surely as he’d come to know Deanne Sandler, the executive director of Angel House, a determined and accomplished woman with a cloud of dark hair that wisped around her face, lending to the rushed, high-energy impression of someone who never sat still. To Will’s knowledge she didn’t. At least not often.
“Come to my office.” She led the way toward the back of the house on quick steps.
As a hardworking mom slash administrator slash advocate for needy kids and their families, she was dressed casually. Her neat khaki slacks and button shirt with rolled-up sleeves were the perfect uniform for carrying out the myriad functions that made up her days. Long hours spent in her office with faculty and therapists. Impromptu chases after kids who could bolt like sprinters. Presenting issues to various media sources and politicians. Reassuring stunned parents after a diagnosis of Autism Spectrum Disorder.
Will knew firsthand how reassuring Deanne could be because she’d been a lifeline for him, a caring guide during the three years he and Sam had been affiliated with Angel House. She was a mentor who had become a much-valued friend.
At the moment, the classrooms were silent and empty in such a striking contrast to the normal daytime activity.
“Have a seat, Will,” Deanne said as they entered her office.
There was no missing the cracked plaster molding that hinted at foundation instability or the discolored patches on the ceiling, water damage from roof leaks.
As a contractor, Will noticed it all.
Sinking into a chair, he loosened the tie that suddenly choked him. “You have the final numbers from the golf classic?”
Deanne clasped her hands on the desk, mouth pursed, gaze leveled, an expression Will had come to recognize as her we’ll-forge-ahead-and-figure-out-how-to-make-it-happen look. “You want the good news or the bad news first?”
“Good news always.” At least there actually was some.
“I have a lead on an agency that sounds as if it was custom made to fit the criteria for Family Foundations.”
“Unexpected, but very good news.”
She nodded. “And I got the numbers. Not so good.”
“How long?” Not how much. The amount they raised only translated into how long they could remain operating.
“Enough to cover expenses until December.”
“With or without the projection from the festival?”
“With.”
“Damn.” They faced each other without speaking because there was nothing to say. They’d hoped the revenue would cover operating expenses until at least next April, giving Will time to put the last pieces in place on their miracle. They could get one more school year out of this location.
No such luck. He hated how this always happened. Every quarter they projected costs for the upcoming quarter and decided whether or not they could keep the doors open. Then he got to go home to his son, knowing he had no way to provide everything Sam needed. Not without Angel House.
Living hand to mouth, his mother had always called it, and she would know since she’d reared three boys with no help from a deadbeat dad. Robbing Peter to pay Paul. That was another way to phrase what boiled down to plain not having enough money.
“Any possibility of squeezing another event into the calendar?” he asked. “Something big enough to tie us over until the McKay money gets here? That’ll carry us through to the apple festival in September. Everything will be in place by then.”
“I don’t see what else our parents can do,” she admitted. “The schedule is crammed already, and you know how labor intensive the festival is. There aren’t enough hours in the day. Not without sacrificing all our time at home with the kids, and they’re the whole point of everything we’re doing. I don’t know how we accomplish what we do already. It’s not as if we get nights and weekends off.”
That much was true. Sam’s learning wasn’t confined to a classroom during a normal school day. He didn’t get to come home, do homework then spend the rest of his night being a kid. No, the learning was an ongoing process that took up every waking second of every minute of every day, and Will was Sam’s teacher when he wasn’t in school.
Even the simplest things, such as getting Sam to brush his teeth, required an action plan and consistent reinforcement. It had taken months for him to brush after breakfast without a meltdown that made it impossible to get out the door. Now Sam brushed before bed, too. The ultimate goal was to brush after each meal. Then they could move on to learning the next skill.
Slow progress, perhaps, but progress nonetheless.
Will was grateful for every move in a positive direction. And grateful that he only had Sam to worry about, and work. He wasn’t the norm. Most parents juggled marriages and siblings in addition to their jobs and kid’s special needs. As a parent with less on his plate than most, he’d felt obligated to help Angel House get on solid financial footing.
“What did the accountant say? Can’t he pinpoint where the problem is?” That’s exactly what Will’s financial officer did for his contracting company, and those projections were hugely instrumental in sidestepping trouble.
“It’s the economy, plain and simple,” Deanne said somberly. “We’re devoting more time to fund-raising for a lot less money. That’s never a winning combination.”
Will sighed. No arguing that. Even his company felt the pinch. New construction was down, and with so many people struggling to pay mortgages, renovations were a luxury many couldn’t afford.
Or maybe Will had been so involved trying to solve Angel House’s problems that he hadn’t been focusing enough on his business. That was also a possibility.
“Whatever happens, Will, you should be at peace. You’ve gone above and beyond to help us qualify for this grant. Even if we can’t apply with the Ramsey Foundation, you’ll find some way to raise awareness about autism. I know you will, and we have no way of determining what good might come from that.”
“Not after all this work.” He’d won a seat on the city council to make this miracle happen—one more job he didn’t have time for. “I’m not going to let a few months take away our chances. That’s really all it amounts to. The deadline for the annual walk-through isn’t until August thirty-one—”
“August thirtieth, remember? The thirty-first falls on a Saturday.”
Great. Not even the calendar was on board with the plan. “One day isn’t going to matter. If we can’t keep operating here until next summer, then we have no choice but to move up the timetable and make this year’s deadline.”
Deanne sank back in her chair and stared at him. “Is that even possible?”
Not without a real miracle because the manufactured kind didn’t seem to be cutting it.
But what was Will supposed to do—let Angel House close its doors? Sam needed more help than the government offered with all their special services, and the insurance company fought him every step of the way on additional therapies. But without the extra help, Sam wouldn’t be accepted into a regular school. He’d be labeled “intensive needs” and sent to an exceptional center that still didn’t have the services he needed.
Angel House filled that gap. It provided the extra training necessary to help Sam become higher functioning so he could get by with the level of special services the school system provided and continue to progress in the least restrictive classroom environment.
That’s what Will wanted for Sam. He wasn’t going to accept anything less. Period.
“We’ve got everything else in place, Deanne. All we need is a permanent location that fits specs for the grant. We’ve found that, too. We just need to move in.”
She frowned. “You’re talking about extensive renovations on a building that covers nearly an entire city block.”
“Did I mention I own a construction company?”
Of course, he couldn’t start the renovations until he had a partner to share the space and offset the private status of Angel House, thereby fulfilling the last requirement for tenancy.
“Tell me about this agency. Give me something to work with here.” Stretching his legs in front of him, Will rubbed his temples. A tension headache on the way. What was new?
Deanne must have recognized the symptoms or was getting a headache of her own because she shoved away from the desk and stood. “You want coffee? I need a cup.”
“Please.” Maybe caffeine would constrict the blood vessels and cut off the throbbing before it worsened.
She headed off to the nearby staff room then returned with two foam cups.
“Here you go.” She handed him one. “Judge Parrish sits on the board for the Young Leaders Camp Initiative. I presented to the board this week about developing more opportunities for our lower-functioning kids.” She took a tentative sip as she sat. “After the meeting we talked about our potential involvement in Family Foundations, and Judge Parrish mentioned a divorce mediator who has an independent agency based here in Hendersonville.”
“What’s the name?”
“Positive Partings.”
“Why does that sound familiar?”
Deanne shrugged. “Maybe you read about it? Apparently the owner has been active lobbying for divorce reform.”
“Maybe.” Not that he read much anymore. Not unless an issue involved the City of Hendersonville. For those issues he stayed tuned to the local radio station whenever he was in his truck and pored through council briefings in any spare moment. There weren’t many of those.
“The agency fits the criteria for both Family Foundations and the Ramsey Foundation?” he asked. That was critical, and so far they hadn’t had much luck.
“Looks like Positive Partings might be the answer to our prayers. Judge Parrish spoke highly of the owner and said they’d worked together with the family court. I did some research. The agency opened two years ago and serves a huge network of professionals from all over the state.”
“Does it need more space?”
“Possibly. The owner teaches divorcing parent classes for the court. Apparently that’s a part of all the lobbying she does—she’s trying to standardize the system of court-ordered education.”
“Those classes need reform. I attended one with some guy who managed to make four hours feel like two lifetimes of completely wasted time.”
Deanne chuckled. “Yeah, well, it was probably good for you to sit down and relax for a change.”
“Right back at you. But the coffee wasn’t too bad if memory serves. Not as good as this, of course.” He took another swig of brew that could have rusted a galvanized nail.
“It was good a few hours ago.” She thoughtfully swirled the dregs in the bottom of her own cup. “Besides, I never argue with free. Smile and be grateful.”
The coffee was a donation from the café on Main Street and demonstrated exactly the sort of community spirit and generosity that made Hendersonville special. A city small enough so people didn’t get lost in the crowd, yet infused with new blood because of tourism and some-timers who kept vacation homes in the mountains. This sort of community was largely responsible for bringing Angel House into existence and keeping it going.
Until December, anyway.
“So Positive Partings might need more classrooms,” he said. “And you think the owner might be interested in a historic building the city’s willing to cut her a break on rent for?”
Once he renovated it, of course.
“That’s what Judge Parrish said. She thinks a location close to the courthouse would be attractive. And no question Main Street would be visible for folks who come to those classes. We’ve got a lot to offer. The low-rent lease. The location. Positive Partings would be crazy not to at least consider a move.”
“Is the owner from around here?” Why else would anyone set up shop in Hendersonville? He could think of a lot of places in North Carolina with better access to the state capital.
“Hendersonville born and bred, according to the website.” Deanne reached for her laptop. “Take a look for yourself. You won’t believe the list of professionals the agency serves. Would be great exposure for Angel House.”
Will tossed his cup in the trash before heading to Deanne’s side of the desk. He half sat on the edge and waited while she called up the site. “Can’t get much more public service than family court.”
“I know, right.”
Given the demographic it served, Angel House would have been a shoo-in to benefit from the Family Foundations Project, which targeted five areas of focus for revitalization of Hendersonville. There was only one problem with Angel House: its affiliation with a Roman Catholic Church.
Will hadn’t been involved with Angel House back then, but he knew the story well. Deanne had been looking for help after her daughter’s autism diagnosis. Ten years ago there hadn’t been an Angel House to help a parent maneuver the minefield of information and misinformation.
But she’d refused to settle for the meager services the government offered, which simply weren’t enough to affect any progress in her daughter’s treatment. She also refused to accept that she couldn’t help her child.
So she traveled around the country to investigate every program that dealt with autism then approached her pastor to put her knowledge to use for her daughter and other families experiencing similar difficulties.
Angel House had started as a ministry in some unused classrooms of the parish school. And through the generosity of caring parishioners and the dedicated involvement of parents and professionals, Angel House flourished.
The church gifted the center with the house and land it occupied now. Deanne had reached out into the community to fund the renovations. The center had outgrown the old house, and there was no expanding. They needed to level the old structure and start from scratch and, given the costs involved, that simply wasn’t possible as a ministry of one church.
No, for Angel House to grow and serve more kids, it needed to grow into a real not-for-profit organization. That’s when Will had conceived of letting the City of Hendersonville provide a new location through Family Foundations.
The church affiliation was the problem.
While Angel House served kids based on need, it was still perceived as a religious organization. If there was any better way to trigger a firestorm of controversy about how the city allocated funds, Will couldn’t think of one.
No one wanted to hear that Will’s company would fund the building renovations, or that Angel House supported itself through donations, fund-raising and private grants that came from all over the community, and the nation, too—if they could secure the all-important Ramsey Foundation grant. But applying for that grant meant they needed a permanent location in an area that served its community.
The chicken and egg.
In order to make this work, Will had to couple Angel House with another organization with a strong public service affiliation in the new location to bridge the distance between the city’s private and public sectors.
Positive Partings?
“Here you go.” Deanne tilted the laptop his way then stopped. She placed her hand over his. “Seriously, Will. Before we go one step further, do you really think it’s possible to get all that work done? I know what renovating this place was like and we didn’t knock down walls.”
She met his gaze with the quiet desperation and determination of a mother who took every breath to clear obstacles out of her daughter’s way and give her a chance to learn. There was no time for fear in the journey, no room for doubts, only the grinding day-to-day, minute-by-minute, steps along the path.
And lots of hard-won triumphs to light the way.
Deanne had helped Will see those, too, to accept that, while his journey as a parent differed from what he’d expected, the differences brought unique joys, and so much love.
She devoted her life to helping her daughter and to paving a smoother way for others until the medical community and insurance companies and the local, state and federal governments caught up with their services.
“I won’t lie, Deanne. Even if this agency proves to be the right one, and we can convince the owner to sign on fast, we’ll be making a leap. The building has to be updated before I can bring it up to specs for Angel House. And I won’t even know what I have to do until I get inside and start taking things apart. But how can we not at least try when we’re this close?”
All the uncertainty melted from Deanne’s expression. She understood shooting for the stars. She knew what it meant to hope against hope.
And she went for it every time and taught others to take those insane leaps of faith, to believe in miracles because there was always hope.
How could Will do any less for the woman who’d given him so much, for all the families who relied on Angel House?
How could he do any less for Sam?
