Chapter Twenty Five
G reg, Vic, Jerome, Kenneth, and David huddled around Aubrey. She could hardly look them in the eyes. As hard as she tried, she had no money to open the shelter tonight. She'd stretched the supplies until there wasn't enough for half the people seeking help.
"How long will the shelter remain closed?" Jerome bent the bill of his baseball cap and slipped it onto his head.
Her guilt intensified. She employed men who relied on her keeping the shelter open, so they'd have a roof over their head each night. The small amount of money they received for working gave them their dignity back.
She felt awful.
"I'm going straight home and working until I find a grant and can drum up some donations. Hopefully, but next month I'll have enough resources." Her voice cracked.
Kenneth shook his head and walked out of the meeting. Behind her, the front door closed. He wasn't the only one who left. She'd told the others she employed earlier, and received the same response. They were disappointed in her.
She wanted to run after him and offer to let him stay at her house, but she knew that would only add to the problem.
All she had to blame was herself.
She got caught up in her relationship with Serge and let everything fall to the side. Her house needed attention, the shelter needed more money, and everything fell on her shoulders while she lived with Serge and centered her life around him.
That's not how she wanted to live. She owed it to the others to fulfill her promise and ensure the shelter was open for them.
She needed to find a balance.
"I'm sorry." She swallowed hard. "As soon as I figure out a way to open again, you'll all be the first to know."
"Don't be so hard on yourself." Greg patted her shoulder. "These things happen."
It was easy for him to say. He had early retirement benefits coming in. The others were homeless without her.
"I'm going to go hang up the notice and then lock the doors." She blinked to keep the tears at bay.
They'd already turned off the lights in the gym and shut off the boiler. The building was paid for with the life insurance from her mom. But she couldn't gather enough money to cover the day-to-day expenses for the shelter.
She opened the door. The others slipped out onto the sidewalk, leaving with their heads down. She hung the notice and sniffed. It wasn't only her employees she had let down. Each night, fifty adults used the shelter to escape the streets. Now, they had nowhere to go.
In two months, night temperatures would drop drastically. In three months, there would be snow on the ground. So many people would die from the elements if they didn't find a way to get indoors.
Her knuckle scraped against the brick exterior. She sobbed, using the slight discomfort as an excuse to release the pain building inside her. There had to be more she could do.
Tonight, she'd research grants until she found some money.
She stood back and hugged her middle. This was all her fault.
If she hadn't prioritized her private life over her business, she might have avoided closing the shelter. She wasn't blaming anyone but herself.
Making sure the door was locked, she walked down the block, picking up her step. She had no time to waste.
Behind her, a car followed slowly. She glanced over her shoulder. Antonio was a constant shadow, but even he wouldn't stop her from doing what she had to do.
At her car, she hopped in and drove home.
Serge would be at his office until six o'clock. She'd call afterward to let him know what had happened and her plans to fix the situation. For now, if she rushed, she'd have four hours to sift through the grants offered by the state. Homelessness was a significant problem in Spokane. Many non-profit organizations were doing their best to solve the issue. Without help, though, none of them would survive.
As she approached the house, Mrs. Sullivan from next door walked out onto her porch and waved. She crossed the lawn.
"How are you doing, Mrs. Sullivan?" she asked.
"I'm having a good day." Mrs. Sullivan wagged her finger at Aubrey. "You have too many men hanging around your house."
She looked behind her. Antonio parked out on the street.
"He's my...my boyfriend's friend." She blew out her breath.
Why was it hard to explain her relationship with Serge? They were together. Obviously, he was her boyfriend. Though, nobody would ever look at Serge and call him boyfriend material. He was too sexy. Too rich. Too dominating.
"If you say so, dear."
She walked backward, heading toward her house. "I need to go inside and work."
"Don't work too much. You're young. Enjoy life," yelled Mrs. Sullivan.
"I'll try." She ducked inside and shut the door.
Kicking off her shoes, she went to her desk and powered on her computer.
Her cell rang. She looked at the screen and connected the call. "Serge?"
"Why are you at home?"
"I need my computer to work." She sat down in the chair. "I had to close the shelter today. I've run out of money for supplies."
"Stay there. I'm heading that way now."
"No, no, no." She sat up straighter. "Seriously, Serge. I need time to work. Stay there, and I'll talk to you when your day is over, and we can decide if I'm coming to your house or if I'm pulling an all-nighter. Between now and then, I'm going to wade through the grants to see if the shelter qualifies for anything offered." When he never replied, she looked at the screen of her phone. "He disconnected the call."
Sliding her phone to the side of the desk, she scrolled through the website, searching for anything that would meet her needs. With little time to read each description thoroughly, she concentrated on specific keywords until she developed a headache.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
She jumped from her chair, heart racing. Going to the window at the front of the house, she gazed outside and found Serge on her porch. She unlocked the door and swung it open.
He stormed in, filling her house with urgency. She put her hand on his chest. There was no reason for him to rush over here. There was nothing he could do. She'd created the mess she was in. She'd figure a way out.
Serge cupped the front of her neck and brought her up to her toes to kiss her. The pressure on her neck gave her a rush.
"You smell good." She dropped to her heels.
"Not me." He let go of her and held up a bag of take-out. "Food."
She raised her brows. Usually, he'd hurry in and demand that she go home with him. He had never arrived at the house with dinner in hand.
She hugged him. "Thank you."
That was exactly what she needed in the relationship. Support, understanding, and compromise.
"We can eat while I write a check, and you can open the shelter back up." He walked to the kitchen island. "Where's your plates?"
"Wait. What?" She hurried after him. "You can't do that. I don't want you to do that."
"Plates?" he asked again.
"In the cabinet on the right by the microwave." She pointed. "I'm going to find a grant. If that doesn't work, I'll go to the churches in the area and other non-profits and see if we can merge our resources."
"That's only a band-aid on the problem."
"I know, but I have to do something." She leaned her hip against the counter. "All those people are going to be outside tonight because I—"
"Stop." Serge pulled a checkbook from his back pocket and walked to the desk.
He took a pen and leaned over to write on a check. She shook her head. He was being ridiculous.
"I'll tear it up," she said.
"Then, I'll write another one."
Her chest ached as she walked out of the room. She stopped at the window at the back of the house and peered out into the small backyard, which was much neglected. The grass was overgrown and bald in spots. She needed to hire someone to come and take care of the lawn.
She inhaled deeply. Everything was piling up on her. Not only had she disappointed so many people, but she was embarrassed. She should have done better.
Tears slipped down her cheeks. She couldn't hold it in anymore.
"Bree?"
She swiped her cheeks. Normally, she wasn't a crier.
Failing only reminded her of how unlovable she was. Her mom was probably rolling over in her grave in delight at seeing her dream fall apart. She had never approved of her wanting to help those less fortunate than herself.
She felt like she was losing everything.
Serge wrapped his arms around her from behind. "Don't cry."
"I can't help it." She sniffed. "I keep thinking of Evie and Sia. They finally found resources so she could get medical help and get off the street. I was helping others, too. They might not be children, but they were humans. They deserve more."
Serge turned her around, using his hands to wipe the wetness from her cheeks. "I want you to go somewhere with me."
"I can't. I have to work."
"That can wait."
"No, it can't." She moistened her lips. "The sooner I can—"
"Aubrey." His deep voice vibrated through her. "Get a jacket. Now."
She rubbed her pounding head. "A jacket?"
"I rode my motorcycle over here. We're going for a ride."
There was no use arguing with him. He wasn't going to budge. She went to her bedroom, found a jean jacket, stopped in the bathroom, took some Tylenol, and returned to Serge's side.
"Ready?" He held out his hand.
She nodded. It wasn't like she had a choice. Things couldn't get any worse.