“We need return on investment,” he says, as we walk in.
“We will discuss your thoughts. Now please sit,” Antonia says.
He spins around, face falling as he realizes he was caught mid-flow, then he scurries to the chair furthest from hers.
Antonia lowers herself into the chair at the top of the table. Clara guides me to the one beside her, then takes a seat on her other side. She lays out her notebook and pen.
“Good morning,” Antonia begins. She unbuttons her suit jacket, exposing a perfectly pressed white shirt. She launches into a quick summary of the retreat’s build progress, the issues with the contractor, and proposed plans for the coming months.
“And we are still looking at a summer opening?” one man asks. I can’t remember his name.
“Yes, we are,” Antonia replies without hesitation. “The contractor issue has been rectified.”
The discussion continues for another ten minutes or so, each man offering small words of positivity. It’s all surface-level conversation, and I get the impression they just want to see the site, then get back to their day jobs.
“Are we really going to ignore the elephant in the room?” Julian remarks before he exhales heavily. “Or are you all as blind to the mob outside as she is?”
I sit a little straighter then. The other men tense, bracing for impact.
“I’m not blind, Julian,” Antonia says, maintaining a neutral tone. Her restraint is impressive. It takes all of my self-control not to berate him for the open disrespect. “But I also know I can’t stop them reporting what they want to.”
“But we can counter it.”
It’s Antonia’s turn to straighten in her seat. Her eyes narrow as if she knows exactly where he’s going with this. As if theconversation started long before we walked into the boardroom. No one else speaks. Not one man stands beside either of them; they just squirm in their seats.
“Dr. Jones didn’t ask for funding to be made a spectacle of. His family is off limits.”
Something tightens in my chest. I blink. “Could you elaborate?” I ask.
Julian and Antonia’s eyes dart to me.
“Opengate needs good PR,” Julian says bluntly.
“I said no,” Antonia interjects. “We’re involved with the retreat for the right reasons, not just saving our image.”
“There won’t be a retreat if we burn,” Julian shoots back.
He’s talking about flames and business continuity. I’m thinking of the families.
“Tell me what you want,” I say to him.
“Opengate needs good PR,” Julian repeats. “That was the point of supporting a charity in the first place. To give back and improve our image. Right now, we’re paying out, but there’s no return.”
“Okay, so what do you want?”
“A face. Someone to publicly speak about the retreat. The need for it. And why it’s being created.”
I listen. Antonia bristles beside me, her teeth grinding just loud enough to hear.
“I assume it’s me you want to speak. To whom and where?”
“Newspapers, internet blogs, anyone who will listen,” he continues as he leans back in his chair. “Just some positive articles amongst the negative would help.”
“And am I speaking as an oncologist?” I pause. “Or as a widower?”
The room stills. Julian and I lock eyes. His lips threaten a smile. “Both.”
“No,” Antonia’s voice slices clean through the meeting. All attention turns to her. “We will not objectify someone’s grief to save ourselves. Let’s move on.”