darkly.
“Let’s get started,” Clotilde announced over the top of
Astrid’s expressions of gratitude. I took my seat as Clotilde ran through quick
introductions. Since I’d perused the shelter newsletter, I was familiar with
the names and only had to match them to the faces. Sean Benson, the lawyer,
caught my attention first of all, because I assumed he’d have the most say in
my situation. He was, of course, one of the besuited gents. He was also really
hot in an I’m-a-power-hungry-stud kind of way. The other suit, Steve Riccio,
was the shelter treasurer and a professional accountant. He handed me his card.
The aging hippy was Dr. Brian Feldman. “Retired,” he clarified as he shook my
hand. Soft, limp grip, but a friendly smile. I’d already pegged Beth. She was
the wealthiest looking alcoholic I’d ever seen. Despite that, she appeared
down-to-earth, and just as friendly as Dr. Brian. The second woman, Amy Myers,
looked crisp and professional and slightly irritated at the delay. Her bright
smile surprised me, though and I decided I was projecting. Last of all was
Joyce Trent, a former shelter resident turned employee, who sat on the board as
a resident representative. Months ago, when Regina had first brought me, I’d
heard whispers about Joyce’s past. She towered over me by a good four inches
and embraced the no-makeup look of the shelter women. She also looked like she
could bench press a small cow.
“I need to bring up one item before we go over Regina’s case
load,” Joyce said. “I need the board’s approval for a Buddy tracker on one of
our kids. There is—”
“What’s a Buddy tracker?” I asked. Okay, it had nothing to
do with me, but hey, I was curious.
Joyce went mute, letting Clotilde answer. “It’s a GPS
tracking device. We use them in extreme situations when we fear a parent might
abscond with a child. It needs board approval.”
“There is a restraining order in place between the father
and mother,” Clotilde continued, “but the court has allowed supervised
visitation. Dad has already tried picking the boy up at daycare, so we can see
how well he respects court orders. The boy is only three and a half years old
and can’t be expected to refuse a surprise visit from Daddy, even if he’s seen
the man beating his mother once a week for the last two years. He has a teddy
bear that we can plant the Buddy in.”
Lachlyn sighed. “I wish we could home school every one of
them. It’s ridiculous that their lives are in such danger and we blithely send
them out to school or daycare while we sit back and pretend their fathers can’t
get to them.”
Beth spoke up. “Well, we can’t isolate them forever,
Lachlyn.”
“Why not?” Lachlyn smiled ruefully.
“If it’s okay with the board, I’ll get you the Buddy tracker
this afternoon, Joyce,” Astrid said.
After the board approved the motion, Clotilde broached my
role as Regina’s professional executor. Astrid passed around copies of Regina’s
arrangements, although I noted that Sean Benson, the lawyer, already had one. Feldman
and Beth both asked him a few questions clarifying what a professional
executor’s role was. His answers meshed with what I’d learned, so I didn’t
interrupt.
“So, what do you need from us?” Beth finally turned to Clotilde.
Her forthrightness verged on abruptness, but she softened it with a smile.
Riccio nodded at her question, glancing at his watch. Time was money and apparently
he needed to go count it.
“We need to know just how far this document reaches,” Clotilde
answered. “Are we talking about Regina’s case load at the time of the accident?
Or is this more far-reaching? I’m particularly concerned that Regina’s unusual choice
. . . ” she turned to me with an aside. “No offense.”
“None taken,” I lied.
“Regina’s choice is an outsider. Someone completely
unfamiliar with shelter policies and practices, which, of course, could be
dangerous to our
“Let’s get started,” Clotilde announced over the top of
Astrid’s expressions of gratitude. I took my seat as Clotilde ran through quick
introductions. Since I’d perused the shelter newsletter, I was familiar with
the names and only had to match them to the faces. Sean Benson, the lawyer,
caught my attention first of all, because I assumed he’d have the most say in
my situation. He was, of course, one of the besuited gents. He was also really
hot in an I’m-a-power-hungry-stud kind of way. The other suit, Steve Riccio,
was the shelter treasurer and a professional accountant. He handed me his card.
The aging hippy was Dr. Brian Feldman. “Retired,” he clarified as he shook my
hand. Soft, limp grip, but a friendly smile. I’d already pegged Beth. She was
the wealthiest looking alcoholic I’d ever seen. Despite that, she appeared
down-to-earth, and just as friendly as Dr. Brian. The second woman, Amy Myers,
looked crisp and professional and slightly irritated at the delay. Her bright
smile surprised me, though and I decided I was projecting. Last of all was
Joyce Trent, a former shelter resident turned employee, who sat on the board as
a resident representative. Months ago, when Regina had first brought me, I’d
heard whispers about Joyce’s past. She towered over me by a good four inches
and embraced the no-makeup look of the shelter women. She also looked like she
could bench press a small cow.
“I need to bring up one item before we go over Regina’s case
load,” Joyce said. “I need the board’s approval for a Buddy tracker on one of
our kids. There is—”
“What’s a Buddy tracker?” I asked. Okay, it had nothing to
do with me, but hey, I was curious.
Joyce went mute, letting Clotilde answer. “It’s a GPS
tracking device. We use them in extreme situations when we fear a parent might
abscond with a child. It needs board approval.”
“There is a restraining order in place between the father
and mother,” Clotilde continued, “but the court has allowed supervised
visitation. Dad has already tried picking the boy up at daycare, so we can see
how well he respects court orders. The boy is only three and a half years old
and can’t be expected to refuse a surprise visit from Daddy, even if he’s seen
the man beating his mother once a week for the last two years. He has a teddy
bear that we can plant the Buddy in.”
Lachlyn sighed. “I wish we could home school every one of
them. It’s ridiculous that their lives are in such danger and we blithely send
them out to school or daycare while we sit back and pretend their fathers can’t
get to them.”
Beth spoke up. “Well, we can’t isolate them forever,
Lachlyn.”
“Why not?” Lachlyn smiled ruefully.
“If it’s okay with the board, I’ll get you the Buddy tracker
this afternoon, Joyce,” Astrid said.
After the board approved the motion, Clotilde broached my
role as Regina’s professional executor. Astrid passed around copies of Regina’s
arrangements, although I noted that Sean Benson, the lawyer, already had one. Feldman
and Beth both asked him a few questions clarifying what a professional
executor’s role was. His answers meshed with what I’d learned, so I didn’t
interrupt.
“So, what do you need from us?” Beth finally turned to Clotilde.
Her forthrightness verged on abruptness, but she softened it with a smile.
Riccio nodded at her question, glancing at his watch. Time was money and apparently
he needed to go count it.
“We need to know just how far this document reaches,” Clotilde
answered. “Are we talking about Regina’s case load at the time of the accident?
Or is this more far-reaching? I’m particularly concerned that Regina’s unusual choice
. . . ” she turned to me with an aside. “No offense.”
“None taken,” I lied.
“Regina’s choice is an outsider. Someone completely
unfamiliar with shelter policies and practices, which, of course, could be
dangerous to our
Similar Books
