“I’m thinking emergency med, probably,” Bri replies.
Reaching into his coat pocket, he says, “I’m not one to poach doctors, and I certainly don’t make final decisions on hiring, but when the time comes, if you’re on the hunt for a fellowship, don’t hesitate to reach out.”
Adam offers Bri a business card. “I’ll do that. Thank you, sir.”
My attention lingers on my stepsister as she surveys the card for several beats, tucks it in her purse.
“I’m gonna get another glass of wine,” she announces, pushing to stand.
Dubs rushes to his feet. “I got you, Brooky. Chardonnay, right?”
“I can get my own drink.”
“‘Well, I’ll be, that’s so kind of you, Chuck. Yes, a glass of chardonnay would be wonderful. Thank you,’I think is what you meant to say.” He flashes her a wink and saunters off.
Bri’s look of resignation lands on each of us, one by one, as she lowers back to her seat.
“Brooky?” Hannah asks.
With a smile she’ll never admit to, Bri says, “Brooklyn Bridge. Don’t look at me like that, I don’t understand it either.” Then she pins her exasperation on me. “This is allyourfault.”
I lift my glass. “Cheers.”
Dubs returns to the table, wine in hand, and what’s sure to be a questionable plan at best written all over his face. He lowers to one knee beside my stepsister, presenting her glass like a servant honoring royalty. “Your royal nectar, my queen.”
Heads turn all around us, looks of uncertainty abounding. Is he proposing? Begging for forgiveness? Performing Shakespeare? Who’s to say.
Bri takes the wine as if this is totally normal black-tie function behavior, sips it slowly without taking her eyes off Dubs’ moronic expression. She rolls the chardonnay as a seasoned sommelier would before swallowing it down. On a tired sigh, she says, “That’ll do.” A dismissive hand wave. “Be gone, peasant.”
The table erupts with laughter as catering staff clears our plates, dinner music fading.
Mr. Whitley takes the stage and spends a few minutes welcoming everybody, thanking the organizations who donated to tonight’s festivities. He wraps up by acknowledging Hawkley House for their continued stellar work for the hospital.
“Ladies and gentleman,” he continues, “this event would not be possible if weren’t for a woman by the name of Hannah James. She’s the hospital’s PR manager at Hawkley, but more importantly, she’s a longtime advocate of our mission. In fact”—he gestures around the room—“this event was her idea from the start.
“Nine years ago, I received an email from an ambitious nineteen-year-old college student looking to log some philanthropy hours as a requirement for one of her courses. She told me her story then—her experience with Boulder Children’s—and I knew right away she was something special.”
Hannah’s chin drops to her chest, feet shuffling anxiously beneath her. I stroke my thumb over her knee.
“I signed off on her hours at the end of her semester, but Ms. James didn’t stop there. Between that inaugural event and the six events since, we’ve raised funds sufficient to purchase cutting-edge, life-saving equipment, add full-sized sleeper sofas to every overnight room, and increase critical care staff so our nurse to patient ratio is now the best it’s ever been. And tonight, year eight, we’re on track to complete our fundraising efforts to break ground on our expanded, state-of-the-art, pediatric oncology wing as early as this fall.”
Applause breaks out amongst everyone else, but Hannah has my hand locked in her grip.
“A member of the board usually gives the keynote speech. Tonight, however, we wanted you to hear from the woman whose heart and soul has made this all possible. The person who took a tragedy that would break most people and, instead, used it to fuel a passion to do good and serve others.
“Ladies and gentleman, would you please welcome Ms. Hannah James.”
I scoot out of my chair to help with hers as she climbs to her feet.Her eyes find mine for a moment, lips tight like her nerves hold her smile hostage.
While the applause continues, I tell her, “I’m already so proud of you. Just breathe, okay?”
She nods, squeezes my hand once, heads for the stage. Adam eases back from the lectern and the two exchange a quick hug as the room quiets down.
“Good evening, everyone,” she says. Hannah starts by thanking the board for their kind words while she pulls her speech from her pocket.
Elbows propped on the table, I rest my chin on my clasped hands and listen in.
“The first time I stepped inside the doors of Boulder Children’s Hospital, I was a patient. Unfortunately for my first-grade ego, I didn’t get anything cool I could show off to my friends like a cast or crutches. Nope, just a good ol’ run-of-the-mill appendicitis.”