Chapter Five
Five
Julian
There had to be some sort of cheat code to properly filling out government grants.
Julian was certain of it as he stared at the blank document on his computer.
He scrolled through miles of unanswered questions until he reached the end of the application and slumped back in his chair with a defeated sigh.
He’d already been at this for the better part of an hour and still no end in sight.
Despite the seven years he’d been doing this, submitting applications in the hopes of receiving additional government funding, he still hadn’t figured out the winning combination.
And every year, he had to admit defeat and relegate the music program to a work in progress.
If only he could figure out what the reviewers sitting in their fancy government offices wanted to hear.
Was it statistics on the positive effect of music on the elderly?
Or maybe they wanted to be entertained? He could give them any number of funny or heartwarming personal anecdotes from his time at Glendale.
The problem was Julian never knew which way to lean with these applications, and he was obviously doing something wrong because for years he’d heard nothing but radio silence.
He wasn’t foolish enough to think that he was the only person trying to squeeze more money out of a broken system, but he figured after this many tries, he might have struck it lucky at least once.
Julian minimized the application, giving his eyes a break from the screen as he checked the big calendar on his desk.
There was less than a month until the end of December.
Until another year came and went. It had been a good year, he supposed, though he couldn’t shake the feeling that he wanted to be able to do more for the residents.
Maybe he should consider hiring a grant writer.
There were people that made a living perfecting these types of applications.
But what would that cost him in the end besides precious funds from his already taxed budget?
If the application still amounted to nothing, then he’d be eating into his meager funds for no reason, which would mean fewer trips to the community center, less programming and fewer supplies to run those programs. Julian already knew that if he let the paint run out in the art room or failed to provide gardening supplies in the spring there would be hell to pay.
He snorted under his breath at the mental image of being hunted down the halls of Glendale by an angry mob of cane-wielding residents.
Okay, a grant writer was probably not the right choice.
Still, he had to try something to keep this music program going once Charlie left.
Charlie, who didn’t even want to be here.
Charlie, who’d been occupying his mind for days now.
Charlie, whom he needed to stop thinking about because she was only a temporary fix to a long-term problem.
And as far as he and Charlie were concerned, that was for the best.
But he still needed an action plan for the new year.
Julian opened another document on his computer screen, finding the Volunteers Wanted poster he’d been working on earlier.
After a quick spelling-and-grammar check, he hit Print.
There was no guarantee that he’d scrounge up another volunteer in the community, a market he’d already tapped, but he needed to try something.
Maybe he should have titled the poster Christmas Miracle Wanted.
Julian rolled across his office on his desk chair to reach the printer when a familiar squeak issued from the hall. He looked up in time to see a small cart appear in the doorway, followed by a beaming smile.
“Morning!” Warren chirped as he followed the cart into the room.
He kicked on the brakes and leaned against the cart in his scrubs, his ID badge hanging from one of his pockets and a stethoscope poking out of another.
Though most of the residents at Glendale were independent, there were a few that needed additional care, requiring a small team of medical professionals.
“You’re making the rounds early,” Julian said, grabbing his printed posters.
“The staff have CPR recertification after lunch.”
“Oh right. You told me that.”
Warren was both a colleague and a friend, and one of the most dedicated nurses Julian had ever met.
He’d been working at Glendale even longer than Julian and was the kind of guy who would sit down after his shift for a coffee with a lonely resident.
Julian had always admired that. Actually, he aspired to be a little bit like Warren.
Glendale was lucky to have him. Julian was lucky to have him.
Warren cocked his head and frowned. “You got a headache?”
“No,” Julian said. “Why are you asking?”
“Because you’ve got that pinched look you get right before you start complaining about the headache the budget is giving you.”
Julian smirked. “I’m fine.”
Warren gave him a pointed look.
“Really, I swear.”
Warren tapped the top of his cart. “Tylenol and applesauce is my special of the day. Just saying.”
“Isn’t that the special every day?”
Warren’s lips turned up at the corner. “Pretty sure it’s the sixth food group when you hit a certain age.” He stretched. “I’m almost there myself. Everything’s starting to ache.”
“Yeah, right. You’re going to outlast both me and Diane. What I really need you to get me is something that will help me write a winning grant application.”
Warren hummed, sitting down in the chair across from Julian’s desk. “Fresh out of that, I’m afraid.”
“Figured.”
“But I’m serious,” Warren said. “You look stressed. What’s up?”
“Nothing. Just the usual music program blues.”
Warren leaned against the desk, his eyebrows lifting. “What are you talking about? That volunteer you found—Charlie? She’s fantastic.”
“You met her?”
He nodded. “I couldn’t find some of the residents in their usual hangouts.
Then I heard all this commotion coming from the end of the hall.
So I popped by the music room. I swear I’ve never seen it so full.
Residents were literally hanging out the door, trying to get in on the action.
” He barked a laugh. “Felt like some sort of exclusive club I hadn’t been invited to. ”
“Really?” Julian frowned. He hadn’t had time to pop down to the music room the last few times Charlie had been here.
Or more like, he’d been avoiding it. The less he put himself in her direct path, the less he had to worry about owning up to the fact that his pulse quickened every time they were in the same room together. Out of sight, out of mind.
“What do you mean, really?” Warren scoffed. “You gave her the position. Didn’t you know she could sing like that?”
Julian shrugged a bit. “Yeah, I guess. I mean, she attended Juilliard. I’ve just been a little busy up here.
” He held up his Volunteers Wanted posters.
His time was much better spent figuring out what to do when Charlie left.
Plus, he really hadn’t wanted to deal with more of those warring sparks of annoyance and exasperation and…
wistfulness? Every time the past surfaced, he was forced to remember how amazing it felt to be wanted the way Charlie had wanted him that summer.
And then he’d remember how wretched it felt being left behind.
Tossed aside.
Abandoned.
When summer ended, she’d gone back to Juilliard, and he’d returned to college, but the feelings had lingered, and for a while they’d made it work. Phone calls between classes. Late night texts. Links to funny articles and memes and things that reminded them of each other.
Then it all fell off. It was slow at first, with distracted conversations and missed calls and unanswered texts. Then all at once she disappeared from his life without ever telling him why, and Julian had promised himself never again.
“Well, I’d make time to check it out if I were you,” Warren said. “Tons of residents in attendance. I could barely get through the door to check the blood sugars. Standing room only,” he joked. “If Charlie keeps this up, you could start selling tickets. Then you wouldn’t need Diane’s budget.”
“Now there’s an idea,” Julian muttered. But the fact that this would all disappear the moment Charlie left irritated him. She couldn’t just waltz back here, make this kind of impression and then ditch them. Well, she could. She could do whatever she wanted.
And that bothered him. The fact that she could come back and make him feel like this, tugging on some invisible something inside him…
Julian grumbled under his breath. He wasn’t twenty-one anymore, tripping over himself because some pretty girl blinked twice at him.
He needed to remember that. In fact, the sooner Charlie was out of here, the better.
His attention drifted back to his computer as an email notification pinged.
It was the monthly community center newsletter.
He often browsed it for activities that might interest the residents.
This month an unfamiliar banner took up the top portion of the newsletter.
It was an advertisement for the Elm Springs Twentieth Annual Christmas Choir Competition.
“Have you seen this?” Julian asked, clicking on it.
Warren leaned across the desk. “Every year if I’m not working. It gives the family something to do on Christmas Eve. Usually a fun time. Why?”
“No, this,” Julian said, using the mouse to direct Warren’s attention to the fine print.
He read it off. “This year, the Christmas Eve event is being sponsored by the Elm Springs Arts Council, with a grand prize of twenty thousand dollars for the winning choir.” There was a website link for more information.
“Well, that’s new. I didn’t even know the Arts Council had twenty grand for that kind of thing.” Warren laughed. “Not since they commissioned that weird fountain in the town square. You know the one with all the metal dog statues?”