CHAPTER 13
Rebecca
A Ministry for “the Least”
New enrichment camp helps kids’ bodies, minds while providing safe summertime haven
By Rebecca Chastain, Dahlia Weekly
Devon Robinson sits in the red leatherette diner booth, his mouth crammed with burger and French fries like any other eleven-year-old as he chatters excitedly.
Only instead of video games or his latest soccer match, Devon is regaling the Dahlia Weekly with stories of the nonprofit ministry he founded in one of the poorest schools in the region: James Watkins Elementary.
The ministry, West Dahlia Leaders Summer Enrichment Camp, features a daylong slate of mind-, body- and spirit-centered programming designed to keep elementary and middle school kids off the streets in a safe, fun environment.
“These kids had no place to go during the summer,” Mayor Jimmy Ballentine said, applauding the program, which started Monday and runs all summer.
“They were tearing up the soccer field, getting in fights and causing a ruckus, and our town desperately needed a solution. Thanks to young Devon and our caucus of community churches, Dahlia now has that solution.”
Volunteer Director Jane Scott said the fifty-three kids—dubbed “leaders”—range from second to eighth grade.
They spend their mornings engaged in reading comprehension activities, often debating higher-level topics such as racial justice, bullying, substance abuse and more in college-style circle discussions.
“They call all the kids ‘leaders’ in the camp,” Devon said. “You know, to make us feel important. I’ve gotta admit, it does feel good being called Leader Devon all day long.”
Lunch and two snacks are provided by the Department of Social Services, and the day winds down with computer time and physical play.
“I love the program,” said Tasha Smithers, 11, jumping rope with a friend. “Before, I didn’t have nothing to do all day long but sleep and watch TV and get into trouble with my friends. But this is fun!”
Twelve-year-old CJ Samuel said he didn’t want to go to the program at first, but his mother forced him. “I’m glad she did,” he said. “I’d probably be sitting at home bored out of my mind. Now we can all hang out together here.”
That’s what it’s all about, Devon said—helping kids have a good time and enrich their minds while providing a safe place during the summer months. He, too, attends the enrichment program, but also helps in a visionary role to guide lessons and logistics.
Devon said he just wants to “serve Jesus,” and the West Dahlia Leaders Summer Enrichment Program is one way for him to do that.
“If I’m going to call myself a Christian, a real one, then I want to step up and actually be one, really do stuff for him, to make him happy. Like caring for the ‘least,’” Devon said, noting underserved children, along with widows, orphans and others in need, require extra attention and care.
The program is all-volunteer and subsidized by donations from local churches and community members. For more information, call James Watkins Elementary at 555-7000.
◆◆◆
On Wednesday, the latest Dahlia Weekly in her hands, Rebecca read over the article once more.
All around her desk, the phones rang and people popped in to check their subscription or buy a single copy of the paper.
She’d come to love Wednesday mornings in the newsroom; the hustle and bustle reminded her of the paper in New York, all that energy and noise and flurry of activity that spelled relevance, life.
She’d put the Devon piece on the front page in spite of it being a feature story—figured the quote from the mayor and the community service angle gave it heightened importance—and ran the photo of the kids in book discussion a full five columns.
Running it as lead photo was purely coincidence; she’d had to pull one of Tiff’s meeting stories last-minute and needed a filler.
But now, looking the paper over, she was glad she’d done it.
It looked good, and it had been a while since she’d had kids pictured on the front.
It made for nice balance, plus was good play against the in-depth economy piece.
“Boss?” Tiff raised a hand nervously, then realized what she was doing and quickly lowered it.
“Yes, Tiff. And please—call me Rebecca.”
“Okay, Boss. Um, Ms. Rebecca. So I’ve been thinking. Along with the economy stories we’ve been running, what if we did a story about the people behind the meetings? You know, deeper features about our elected officials.”
Rebecca made a face. “Sounds like campaign stuff.”
Tiff shook her head, eyes wide. “I wouldn’t do that! More like human interest. Besides, they’re not up for election this year.”
“I don’t know. We have to be really careful about that stuff.” She gave Tiff a kind smile. “But I’ll think about it. Thanks for making a suggestion.”
“Okay. Um, you’re welcome. Oh, and I really liked your story on the summer camp.” Tiff blushed and tucked a stray lock of mousy brown hair behind her ear, the phones ringing loudly around them.
“Rebecca, line one.” Millie called out, and Rebecca gratefully swiveled her chair away from Tiff and picked up.
The girl irritated her beyond belief and she didn’t know why—something about the combination of sweet shyness and drab run-of-the-mill prettiness blended with that whole I’m-a-startled-doe act.
“Rebecca Chastain.”
“This is Lib Pauling,” a huffy-voiced woman began, “and I want you to know your piece on the town’s financial standing is way off-mark.”
Lib Pauling. Rebecca recalled the steel-gray hair and walking-shorts-clad proper Southern lady who’d claimed to be Granny’s best friend. “I’m sorry to hear that, Mrs.—”
“Forget it,” Lib barked. “Just be careful about what you’re doing with those articles.
You have no idea the kind of impact your stories can have in this town.
Now, for the real reason I called.” She paused, took an obvious breath.
“That story about the ministry at James Watkins Elementary was perfect. My church helped get that program started, and even though I didn’t see any mention of any of our churches by name, which in my opinion was a sore oversight, that article was wonderful and will do a lot to help community morale and PR for the ministry. ”
“Mrs. Pauling, thank you, but it wasn’t intended to be a PR piece—”
“No, no, no, that’s not the point.” Rebecca could visualize the woman waving her hand dismissively, held her tongue. “Anyhow, I have to go. Tennis in an hour. Just keep doing those kind of stories and keep away from that exposé garbage.”
The line went dead, and Rebecca stared at the phone in her hand a moment, then replaced the receiver.
One of Millie’s sticky note scriptures had gotten caught underneath the headset, and Rebecca distractedly crumpled it, not bothering to read the words, and tossed it in the trash.
She stifled a giggle as she realized that might actually have been the first underhanded praise call she’d received since she’d taken the helm of the Dahlia Weekly three months ago. Well, well.
“Rebecca, line four,” Millie sang out from across the room.
Three hours and four complaint calls later, plus two praise calls, Rebecca had put out a handful of advertising fires, charted the news budget for next week’s paper, and gone over Tiff’s assignments with her.
Dinah the ad rep had seen a marginal boost in advertising, but she’d messed up sizing on a real estate ad and forgotten to note a placement request on another, so Rebecca had needed to talk down a grumpy business owner who didn’t like that she’d not put his ad in the youth sports section.
“Here,” Millie said, and Rebecca looked up, startled. The prim-faced woman in the pale-blue polyester blazer was standing over her, a neatly tucked brown bag in her wrinkled hands. “A turkey and cheese from Sam’s Sammies, and those healthy chips you like.”
“Oh, thank you! You didn’t have to—”
“Nonsense,” Millie said, her voice brusque. “I figured you wouldn’t eat, and you’ve been skin and bones lately.”
“Thank you,” she repeated, touched by the gesture even if Millie hadn’t been exactly friendly about it.
She opened the bag and pulled out the sandwich and chips, the aroma already making her mouth water. The sandwich was still warm and toasty, the cheese that just-right kind of gooey. She took a huge, satisfied bite and sighed contentedly.
Millie was back in her chair, and Rebecca realized they were the only ones in the room. Dinah was out making the rounds, she knew, and Tiff must have run off to grab lunch or do a story, maybe both. Millie opened her own bag and bowed her head a moment, mouthed some words Rebecca couldn’t hear.
“So how are things going?” Rebecca asked after the prayer was done.
“Same old, same old.” Millie shrugged, took a bite. “Got my grands on the weekends while their mama works and my church summer clothing bazaar next week. Between that and work, there’s never a moment’s rest.”
“I hear you.” Rebecca tried to make her voice sympathetic. “Well, you’re doing a good job on the bookkeeping and customer service. I really appreciate that.”
“It’s my job,” Millie said simply. “And I heard some of the calls this morning—you really did do a nice job with that story about the summer camp.”
“Thanks.”
“No, really—that’s the sort of thing people like around here. It’s news, but it’s news people actually care about. You do more stories like that and you’ll see your numbers start to pick up again. People need to see we care about the community, that we’re not only out for a profit.”
Rebecca wrinkled her nose. “I’m not so sure that’s going to drive numbers. Didn’t the last editor do that stuff? And the guy before him?”
Millie snorted. “TJ Banks did the bare minimum. He was a nice person, don’t let me tell you wrong, but the stories were blander than potatoes with no salt and butter. You might try some of what he did but taking it up a notch.”
“We’ll see.”
“Rebecca, with all due respect, what worked somewhere else isn’t necessarily the right recipe for Dahlia.” Millie’s cheeks had little points of color at the center.
“Thank you, Millie,” Rebecca said, her tone clear: Conversation closed. Millie’s mouth pressed into its familiar thin line.
When Rebecca left that day, the stack of mail had a blue sticky note on top. Instead of scripture, Millie had scrawled four words: I’m praying for you.
Rebecca balled it up and jammed it in her purse.
“Rebecca!”
She looked up from her car to see Erik Wennerman waving from the coffee shop up the road.
Joe Mama’s. She could almost smell the coffee beans from here.
Erik was grinning at her, his shirt sleeves rolled in the afternoon sunlight, and she had to tamp down the sudden sear of attraction.
She waved back as casually as she could manage.
“Got a minute?” he called. “Can I treat you to a cup of coffee?”
Millie and the anger she’d felt moments ago instantly faded, and the flame instead became a little ember of thrill. Why not? It’s just business.
“Sure.” She smiled back and clicked the lock on her car, quickly crossed the street.
“Good to see you,” he said, holding open the door to usher her in.
Popping her sunglasses atop her head, she stepped inside. He stood a little too close, and she brushed against him slightly. The spot where their bodies touched felt warm and buzzy as she moved inside the café.
The cool air and nutty, slightly bitter aroma of French roast swarmed her senses, and she felt herself begin to relax.
Joe Mama’s was a charming shop, with books, high-end lotions, and artsy collectibles stacked neatly on the shelves.
A few metal tables were scattered around the room, one taken by the town’s sole hipster pastor, a goateed twenty-something guy who wore a massive wooden cross, surf shorts, and flip flops and pored through the Bible like he was searching for the meaning of life.
Two older ladies sat at another table, discussing a book and laughing like sisters.
“I don’t know about you, but their lattes are my favorite,” Erik said as they approached the counter. “After the day I’ve had, I can use a pick-me-up.”
“Sounds good to me.” It really did. She smiled at him.
“Two lattes,” he said. “With whipped cream.”
Minutes later, they’d taken a seat at one of the cute bistro tables and he was regaling her with tales of his day. She found herself laughing like she hadn’t in days.
“The kicker came when I called on this one shop and accidentally asked for the owner—who’d died the month before.”
“No!” Rebecca covered her mouth with her hand.
“Oh, yes.” Erik shook his head ruefully. “Like I said, one of those days.”
“I’m all too familiar with those days.”
“Oh!” He reached into his leather satchel, pulled out today’s paper. She glanced at his hand as he did. No wedding ring. “I loved your story on the camp, by the way. I bet you’ve gotten a million calls about it.”
“Thanks.” She flushed.
“Seriously, you’re an incredible writer.” He looked straight into her eyes, and her stomach gave a flip-flop. “I mean it.”
She gave a shake of her head, glanced at her watch. I’ve got to get out of here.
“Got to run.” She downed the last of her coffee. He’d been right—the lattes were amazing. “I promised I’d help my Granny with something. Oh, and hey—thanks for the ad partnership. I’m really grateful you’re on board with us.”
“I feel the same.” His smile lingered again, and suddenly she felt uncomfortably nervous. Almost date-like.
Which was the last thing she should have been feeling, at least per her therapist. Note to self: “Just coffee” is never “just coffee.”
“See you later.” She stood, gave a little wave.
And fled Joe Mama’s as fast as she could possibly maneuver.
As she got to her car, she glanced across the street and saw a familiar form. She squinted. Devon Robinson, peddling slowly along First Street, shoulders hunched and backpack on.
She turned left instead of right when she pulled out onto the street, rolled her window down, and tooted the horn.
Devon looked startled, stopped the bike.
“Hey, Devon. Thanks again for the story the other day.” Rebecca smiled, gradually realizing it was her real smile.
“No problem, Miss Becca. I hope it helps.” He straddled the bike.
“I’ll bring some by maybe tomorrow. Papers, I mean, to the school. Is that okay?”
“Sure.” He shrugged but smiled, and Rebecca motioned to the bike.
“You’re a long way from your neighborhood. Want a lift?”
“No, um—I’m visiting a friend. Thanks, though.”
“Okey doke. See you around.”
“See you.”
She drove off, watching him get smaller and smaller in her rearview mirror as the distance between them grew.