7.5 on presentation.
Disqualification for deflowering the front left burner on my stove.
…and for making me late to work.
Rowan
What can I say? I like kissing you.
And no worries, next time I’ll use the *gasp* back burner.
Me
ROWAN!
You will do nosuch thing!
Rowan
Watch me.
“Ms. James,your cheeks’ll break if you keep splitting your face like that.” The familiar voice cuts through thewhishof the automatic doors as I enter the reception area of the children’s hospital.
“Dottie,” I croon. “How’s my favorite nurse?”
The middle-aged woman in bubble-gum-pink scrubs has sat vigil behind the desk of the hospital’s main entrance for the past two decades. She gives me a flat stare. “Hot flashes are a bitch, and I’m pretty sure I’ve got a bunion, but other than that, I’m peachy.”
We exchange a laugh while I slide my phone into my purse.
“I came to pick up some old property prints for the fundraiser. Mr. Whitley said he’d leave them here for me.”
Dottie lifts a finger, pushing back from the desk. “That he did. Let me grab those for you.”
“Actually, Dottie,” a voice calls from behind me, “hold on a sec.”
I spin on my heel to see the chairman of the board coming down the corridor. “Mr. Whitley, good to see you.”
He smiles. “You too, dear. I’d like to steal you away for a chat if you’ve got time.”
“Sure thing.” I tell Dottie I’ll grab the prints on my way out and turn back to the chairman.
“Walk with me,” he says.
En route to the cafeteria, we stroll through a hall of triage bays situated at the emergency entrance.
“You remember when we got those?” he asks, pointing to two private bays at the back. From the outside, the rooms look standard, but inside they’re outfitted with flat screen televisions mounted in the ceiling and saltwater fish tanks in the walls for the youngest patients who need a distraction while they’re getting stitched up.
“I believe that was from the funds raised in the gala’s inaugural year.” If you could call a silent auction held in the fellowship hall of a local church a gala, then yeah, it was a gala. The fifty guests in attendance brought in a modest ten thousand dollars in donations.
“That’s right,” he confirms.
We pass a few nurse stations, cross through a set of hydraulic doors, and turn down another long corridor. At a hallway intersection, we pause to let a team of doctors pass.
“And this?” he asks, gesturing to a room on my left. A hospital staffer wheels a young boy inside where I spot a CT scanner.
Year five. Our first black-tie event with over two hundred guests. And the first time we crossed the six-figure threshold in funds raised.
“I believe that was our fifth year, sir.”