29. Chapter 29
Elowen
The drive home from the park felt like traveling through a fog. Julian’s admission that he’d tried to mold me, and even our children, into extensions of his own ego lingered. I could still see the way Leo and Meredith had touched their noses.
By the time Monday morning rolled around, my mind was a messy knot of hope and exhaustion. Pride is a strange thing; I told Julian I’ve seen some positive changes, and I meant it, but that doesn’t instantly mend us.
Needing something else to focus on, I settle into work early.
I could stay at home and do remote work, but the kids are at day camp, and I want to get out of the house today.
I need a win. I need to know that my vision for the sanctuary wasn’t just a frantic escape from my failing marriage, but a viable reality.
I stare at my computer screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard.
And it’s there. The Trixie J Foundation email sits unopened in my inbox like a time bomb.
One click could change everything for the cat sanctuary I’m naming Button’s Sanctuary Academy.
One click could tell me if all those late nights hunched over spreadsheets and permit applications paid off.
I take a deep breath, close my eyes for a moment, and click.
The email loads. My eyes skip past the formal greeting in search of the answer.
“We are pleased to inform you that the Trixie J Foundation Board of Directors has reviewed your proposal for the Buttons Sanctuary Academy and found it to be aligned with our mission of supporting innovative community initiatives…”
My heart pounds. I grip the edge of my desk, afraid that the email will suddenly say “however” or “unfortunately.”
“Subject to the following conditions, we are prepared to award a grant of $250,000 toward your initial campaign.”
I can’t breathe. A quarter of a million dollars. I got it! I actually got it! My fingers tremble as I scroll to see the conditions.
“As outlined in our application guidelines, all major projects require significant corporate sponsorship to ensure long-term sustainability. Before funds can be disbursed, the Buttons Sanctuary Academy must secure a founding corporate sponsor with a minimum commitment of $100,000. This sponsor must…”
The rest of the sentence blurs as my stomach drops.
Corporate sponsorship. Of course. I forgot!
The one detail I’d glossed over, assuming I could secure the foundation grant first and use that momentum to attract corporate donors later.
Shoot. Without the sponsorship, the grant disappears, and while I knew the grant required sponsorship, I also stupidly thought it would be something like $25,000, maybe $50,000, but $100,00? !
“Bad news or constipation?”
I look up to find Beatrix standing in the doorway of the tiny office, her reading glasses perched on her nose and a stack of veterinary records under one arm.
“Wish it was constipation,” I mumble. “The Trixie J Foundation likes our proposal.”
“But?” Beatrix’s brow arches knowingly.
“But we need a corporate sponsor with deep pockets before they’ll release the funds.” I swivel my monitor so she can see the email. “A hundred thousand minimum.”
Beatrix reads without comment, her expression neutral. “Well, you did work in Corporate America. Use those connections.”
She delivers this line like it’s obvious, as if pointing out that I have brown hair or can read English.
Then she’s gone. I suppose this came as no surprise to her.
She’s used to charities having to jump through hoops to secure funding.
It’s just odd to be on the other side of it.
Usually, I help Julian donate to charity, not become the charity that needs donating to.
I stare at the empty doorway. Use those connections. As if it’s that simple. But maybe it is. Beatrix let me apply for the grant because she believes in me, and now it’s time that I fully believe in me, too.
I pull out my phone and scroll through my contacts.
Names I haven’t thought about in weeks flash by.
There’s a lot of people who smiled at me politely when I was on Julian’s arm but probably wouldn’t recognize me in jeans with cat hair clinging to my sweater.
Though, I could stick to those I spoke to at the children’s hospital gala.
I dial the first number. Dave Ramsen, CFO at an investment firm. We chatted about his rescue dog at the gala.
“Dave? It’s Elowen Plaza. Yes, it’s been a while.” I then launch into my pitch, keeping my voice professional. After all, I’m not calling to set up tea with his wife.
“That’s certainly an interesting project,” he says when I finish. His tone is the careful neutrality of someone about to say no. “But our philanthropic budget for this quarter is already allocated. Perhaps next year?”
“Of course,” I say, as if it doesn’t physically pain me. “I understand. Thank you for taking my call.”
Don’t give up. I take a deep breath and dial again.
“Vivian? It’s Elowen Plaza. I’m calling about an amazing program—”
“Oh, Elowen! How are you? We’ve missed seeing you at the club. Perhaps Julian can play against Jonathan next week.”
My teeth clench at the many implications of her simple statement. I am not making a social call for my estranged husband, nor am I socializing at all. This is exactly why I’m putting on my best professional voice.
It’s then that I realize my mistake. Having known my contacts for years, I can’t simply cold call them and expect nothing personal to bleed through.
Changing strategies, I say, “I’m great, actually.
Leo and Meredith are having the time of their lives volunteering with me.
It’s taught them some great responsibilities.
Speaking of which, I’m working with the Seattle King Co Animal Shelter, and we’re expanding into a full rehabilitation sanctuary.
The Trixie J Foundation is offering a massive grant, but we need corporate sponsorship to secure it. ”
“How charitable of you.” Her voice carries a hint of confusion. “But corporate giving decisions go through our foundation committee. You should submit a proposal through the online portal. Takes about six to eight weeks for review.”
The sanctuary can’t wait two months. “Is there any way to expedite it?”
“Rules are rules. Send the kids my best!”
Click.
I make four more calls. Each rejection weighs down on me:
“We’ve already committed to another animal welfare organization.”
“This year we’re focusing on children’s education initiatives.”
“Oh, I would, but gosh darn it, the shelter is out of our zip code.” That doesn’t even make sense! Animals are animals.
“Oh, you were Julian’s secretary, right? The one he married?”
That last one makes me grip my phone so hard I’m surprised the screen doesn’t crack. I was never “just” Julian’s secretary, and I’m certainly not defined by having married him. But in their world—my former world—that’s exactly who I am. The failed corporate wife experiment.
Out of all the people I spoke to at the gala, there has to be someone. I remember the month after, Beatrix said we received a bunch of individual donations. I should focus on those who personally donated; they may be more likely to approve a corporate sponsorship.
I dial Shane Archer, CEO of Archer Capital.
“Elowen!” His voice gravels through the phone. “How the hell are you?”
“I’m good, Shane. Really good, actually.” I find myself smiling despite the string of rejections. “I’m calling about a project I’m working on.”
“The animal shelter, right? You gave quite the passionate speech at the gala. Had my wife researching rescue dogs the next day. Almost ended up with a three-legged German Shepherd named Chance, but by the time we saw him, he’d already been adopted.”
I blink in surprise. “You remember?”
“Hard to forget. First time I’d seen real fire in your eyes in a long time.” He clears his throat. “So what can I do for you?”
I explain the Trixie J grant and the sponsorship requirements.
“I’d be happy to contribute, Elowen,” Shane says when I finish. “Your vision for this project is exactly the kind of community initiative we want to support. How does twenty-five thousand sound for starters?”
Relief floods through me. “That would be incredible, Shane. Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. This is good business. The sanctuary gets the funding it needs, and Archer Capital gets associated with a meaningful community project. Win-win.”
“I’m so happy, I could put your name on a plaque on the wall.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad. Send me a picture if you do.”
By the end of the morning, I’ve secured commitments totaling sixty thousand dollars. Not insignificant, but still forty thousand short of what we need. I stare at my contact list, scrolling past names I’ve already called, until my finger hovers over the one I’ve been avoiding.
My darling, estranged husband.
I think of the animals waiting for their second chance.
Leo reading patiently to frightened cats.
Meredith confidently explaining adoption procedures to visitors.
Beatrix’s rare smile when I presented the sanctuary blueprints.
None of this is about me and my pride, or Julian and our history.
But I can’t just call him; I need to speak to him in person.
I step through the glass doors of Plaza Investments and feel the familiar chill of air conditioning.
Funny enough, I forgot how Julian prefers the temperature at sixty-six degrees exactly to “keep him on his toes.” Even during the winter, he kept it that low.
When it snowed outside, I’d bring in a mini-heater for my desk.
Sometimes if it was extra chilly, I’d stovetop some hot cocoa.